A scream echoed through the night. Waris winced in pain as a wave of contractions hit her: the first of many. Despite it being the middle of the night, the refugee camp bustled with life. Children ran barefoot between the narrow alleyways, the sound of their laughter seeming to trail behind them. Men huddled together listening to a live report of the evening’s soccer game, which played loudly from a radio placed in the centre of them. A cheer would erupt each time a goal was scored and the chatter of women sounded over them. Through the chaos, a few stray dogs howled through the night and the soft sound of waves gently crashed against the shore. Stars scattered across the sky and an eerie light from a crescent moon filtered through the dimly lit alleyways.
Clutching her swollen belly, she stumbled towards the opening of her tent, but another wave of contractions followed – more painful than the last. Her legs gave in and a cry escaped her lips. Not one of pain, but of a woman who endured so much hurt and betrayal building up to that moment. The fact that she was alive was a testament to what she had gone through. Her mother once told her that giving birth was not as painful as it was made out to be, that she would not feel a thing. Her mother lied. With all the strength she could muster, Waris got up again. Her dirac, still damp, draped over her belly, seemingly emphasizing its bulge. She only had one thing on her mind: to have this baby, or die trying.
I just have to get to the door.
It was in her sight, but the pain and the effort weakened her. She lived alone. Her tent was situated in the heart of the camp. The area was crowded, and with new refugees clocking in almost every day, there was virtually little room to accommodate everyone, putting a lot of pressure on the resources available. Although the WHO made efforts to supply the camp with medical supplies and volunteers, it was never enough. Waris did not have a family either. The few belongings she had were arranged neatly by her bedside: a comb, three hijabs, few pieces of jewelry, her childhood photographs and a candle. Her blanket and shawl lay in a tangled mess on her mattress on the floor. They did little to keep out the cold.
Just when she thought all hope was lost, Taban, her young Sudanese neighbour, rushed to her side. He wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gently put his arm around her waist. Waris leaned her weight on him and let out a sigh of relief as she looked him in the eye.
“Thank you.”
His expression softened. To think that he was staring in the eyes of a woman who was a stranger months ago was hard to believe. She was the same woman with whom he had endured the treacherous journey across the Atlantic and Western Mediterranean to Europe in search of peace. The same deep-brown-eyes that he fell for.
“Let’s hurry.”
With only the light of the moon to guide them, the two hurried through the crowded streets. Tents were neatly aligned on either side of them and specks of gravel kicked at their heels. Still clutching her belly, Waris tried her best to keep up with Taban as he weaved their way to the medical tent, narrowly avoiding stepping on human faeces in the middle of the path. Waris could not have been more relieved to see the makeshift clinic. When the medical staff finally noticed the two figures approaching them, Waris had already collapsed three times and Taban had to carry her the rest of the way.
Flanked by medical staff and volunteers, she was led inside and laid on a gurney. Taban stood by her side and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The news of Waris’ condition spread through the camp. Every now and then, Taban would catch the head of a curious child poking through the flaps, desperate to get a peek. Through teary eyes, Waris could not help but notice the look of shock and horror on the medical staff’s faces as she spread her legs. The stitches ran from the tip to the base of her femininity, or what was left of it, leaving a space that could only be described as the size of a button. Everything else had been sealed up and cut off.
Before they could think of how they were going to deliver the baby, Waris screamed and pained sobs followed. Her contractions were getting stronger and becoming more frequent. One of the nurses frantically rummaged through the medicine cabinets with hopes of finding morphine but the bottle was empty. Her screams grew louder and neither she nor they knew how to make the birth any easier. Then it occurred to her. As the saying went: desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Cut me.”
The tone in which the demand was issued brought everyone to a standstill.
“It’s the only way. Cut me,” she said in between sobs.
Her voice was hoarse from screaming, but that did not weaken her resolve. Soon, preparations were under way for the impromptu operations. Defibulation is a simple procedure, but unmedicated, that only complicates matters. Waris knew the implications of her decision but her mind was made up.
The scalpel hovered uneasily in the doctor’s hand.
“Do it!”
She turned to look at Taban, who dutifully stood by her side
“Promise me… you won’t let go of my hand….”
And as soon as the knife touched her skin, the memories came flooding back.
She was only 8 years old when it happened. Near the coast of Mogadishu, the city’s marketplace bustled with life. It was barely midday but the sun shone with great intensity. Women hurried from stall to stall with hopes of finding last minute ingredients before lunchtime, and men huddled by the docks hauling nets of freshly caught fish. Waris wondered why her mother sent her there to buy more eggs. Just the other day, father had come home with a basket full of them. Nonetheless, like the obedient child she was, Waris did her mother’s bidding. Only when she was home did she have the uncanny feeling that something was not quite right. She was led by her mother to the living room where she was greeted by all her aunts, female cousins, and a few of her mothers’ friends who’d often come over for tea, and on most occasions, gossip. There was only one unfamiliar face in the room: an old man seated at the centre of the room. A daya.
Waris’ heart sank and she was filled with a sense of dread. She heard the stories. She knew the rumours but she never thought her turn would come. Her body began to tremble as she turned to face her mother and tears welled in her eyes.
“Grab her!”
She was in hysterics. Her legs flailed wildly as she was held down by her aunties. Maybe this was some form of punishment for something she had done. Waris confessed to everything she had done wrong. That she was the one who broke her mother’s teacup. That she dipped her hand in the sugar bowl. That she accidentally tore a hole in the curtains. Confessed to every little sin with hopes that her mother would come to her rescue, but her pleas were met with a sharp pain between her legs. That first cut was something she would not wish on her worst enemy. Searing pain shot through her body as the daya expertly cut his way through her femininity. From her labia to her clitoris, the daya removed the parts that were culturally considered unclean and with blood stained hands, he then stitched Waris up, leaving just enough room for her to pee.
Waris was never the same after that. Robbed of her innocence, the only thing she associated with that part of her was pain. The pain of walking. The agony of using the bathroom. She could not even look at herself in the mirror. For years she felt ashamed of her body. Unbeknownst to her, many Somali girls had felt the same way. Sex was an obstacle itself. An act meant to signify the uniting of two souls filled with love and lust only brought her discomfort. Amir tried to be gentle with her but the slow arching of her back, the soft moan that escaped her lips and her sharp intake of breath only seemed to stir him on. Each thrust would tug at the stitches and the pleasures were rare.
Fast forward 14 years, she found herself in a similar predicament, only this time, she did so willingly. Her cries were then replaced by those of the squirming little bundle in the doctor’s hands.
“It’s a girl!”
It was over, the fight for her daughter’s life was finally over. How she wished for Amir to see their little girl but he was long dead, shot by Al-Shabaab jihadists in Mogadishu, what later promoted Waris to seek asylum. How he would’ve marveled at her short black curls, her tiny fingers and toes and big hazel eyes.
“Xoriyo… her name is Xoriyo,” Waris took in a shaky breath before continuing, “it means ‘Freedom’.” From that moment, Waris felt she could rest easy knowing that her daughter would not have to go through what she experienced in her home country. Generations of women from her family had undergone the procedure, but with Xoriyo, she would put an end to the cycle.
She planted a soft kiss on Xoriyo’s forehead and Taban had kept his promise, his fingers gently entwined in hers, but the moment was ruined by the look of panic shared among the medical staff’s faces. Taban was the first to notice.
“What’s wrong?”
Blood seeped through the mattress and dripped onto the floor. A river of crimson. The source: the gaping hole left by Xoriyo’s arrival.
The scar tissue had barely healed and Xoriyo’s birth reopened old wounds. The doctors tried as hard as they could to stop the bleeding – bandages, towels, tissues, but to no avail. And Waris could feel herself slowly slipping away. The muffled sounds of the doctors’ and nurses’ desperate attempts to save her life faded into the background. She became paler by the second, but with the little of the strength she had left, she planted a final kiss on Xoriyo’s forehead, and still holding Tabans hand, she placed his palm on her cheek.
“Will you promise to never let go of her hand?” she implored in a breathy whisper.
“I promise.” Taban nearly choked on the words.
Her hold on Xoriyo began to slacken. The baby had no idea that her mother was slowly fading from existence. To Waris, Xoriyo’s cooing was like a gentle whisper, a lullaby putting her to an eternal slumber.
Sleep did not come easy for Taban that night. It was a bittersweet moment: a life was lost but a new life was just beginning. But for Taban, the loss of the woman he had come to love and was so close to calling his own gave him a heavy heart.
Xoriyo spent the first few months of her life in the medical tent under the watchful eye of the doctors and nurses there. Taban would visit her every day until the day he was permitted to take her home with him. Taban raised Xoriyo like she was his own daughter, which she was in a way. Xoriyo grew up to be a kind and bright little girl and on her 8th birthday, Taban had something special planned for her.
“I have a gift for you my desert flower”
That was the name he would call her in honour of her mothers’ memory: it was what Waris’ name translated to. He then handed her a small box. Inside it was a comb, 3 neatly folded hijabs, some jewelry and a few old photos. Xoriyo picked up one of the photos and carefully studied the little girl that stared back at her.
“Baba, who is this?”
A few days after Xoriyo was born, Taban went back to Waris’ tent and collected all of her belongings and put them away with hopes that one day, when Xoriyo was old enough, he would give them to her.
“That, my dear, is your mother. In fact, all these little trinkets were hers”
Xoriyos’ eyes went wide and then followed a torrent of questions. What was she like? What happened to her? Where was she from? What was her name? Where is she now? Taban only looked at her and smiled.
“Her name was Waris, and you, my dear, look just like her”
Taban brushed away a lock of hair from her face and gently took her hands in his.
“I promised your mother that I would never let go of your hand, and now, my desert flower, I make the same promise to you.”
Taban pulled her into a warm embrace and her little head rested on his shoulder.
Tiwelengabe , I hope it’s a great one
Awesome 👍
I want to read more of this❤️❤️10/10
Congratulations though I didn’t read it all
Very beautiful story so touching. I read a lot about the pain women go through in the name of culture and tradition. It is sad…
this is a wonderful story
Awwwwww What a Beautiful story
beautifully written and very touching.I love how the story highlights female mutilation and the struggles of Refugees searching for a better life.its hard to believe this was written by a 20 year old…its simply captivating. Once i started reading i couldnt stop.A book is needed …it was my pleasure to read this…once again…beautifully written
Bravo
Wow
Wow what an ending
Great story, such a beautiful piece. I enjoyed reading this, reminded me of stories in the book looking for a rain God.
This is the best story for me🔥🔥🔥🔥
Awwwwh wow this is so beautiful
Real art truly lives🔥🔥
Wow! What a write up!
Wow, this is so awesome, has left me with tears but it was worth it
The writings of a talented writer
Keep it up
Haven’t gone through but looks like a nice story.
Great piece of prose! Very realistic setting and theme.
Female genital mutilation(FGM) being the main course of concern.
Poor health and living conditions in Refugee Camps another major highlight…
“Not My Daughter” very ambiguous at first read! But makes sense!
Good one!
Wow! What a beautiful story 😊
People can write 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥nice
What a beautiful and touching story….
The author touched on an important topic. I think genital mutilation is still common in some war infested countries, and the topic can bring up some mind-set change regarding this issue.
The author should work on her punctuation as well just like the first author, but I noticed that it’s not easy to be conversant with it when you are writing especially fiction. I urge the author to proof-read her write-ups.
Like the first writer seems to be having some difficulties to connect lines in their stories but they did all they could to keep on painting pictures for us readers.
On the other hand, as the writer progresses, she’ll need to be very conversant with some words which are sensitive. It being a short story which can’t only be read by adults (in my opinion), it needs to have some words censored or have some descriptive words for them for the sake of kids who aren’t familiar with them.
Overall, I like the themes presented.
Way to go, push harder!
Enjoyed the whole story
Good job
Wowwww🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 what a beautiful piece🥁🥁🥁🥁
Talented young people 💪🏾💥
This is brilliant
Worth millions
I have read this to completion, each time I choose to pause for a while something tells me finish & get to the end. The art of writing, every line invites a reader to the next line and next and next then next it’s done.
What a story, what an intense of emotional appeal, what an ease of following the paragraphs renders.
What a writer you are. Congratulations and well done!
Worthy nomination indeed. This is a masterpiece. I repeat this is a masterpiece.
Kudos.
I vote for this one. Its encouraging, it gives hope. After the death of a parent, there is someone to take care of the daughter like her own
Relentless plot, apt vocabulary and agonizing story.
Wonderful story
Beautiful
Wow….. This story is just the best…. Congratulations to the one who wrote it and she should keep it up
The literature is just so nice making us readers to read more and more
Wow, I shed a tear. Beautifully writted
This is wondeful
Absolutely top notch writing ♥
I was able to finish reading this. Other than the first.
It’s captivating and nice.
I would want to read more.
Wow
Wow
Wow.
A nice story
You are so creative
Quite intriguing
Monalisa Nkhata, this story has just unfold the true meaning of your identity. From high time, since we met, I didn’t know anything about this talent in you. You’re not just a common classmate I know, but you hold on to the roots of my inspiration as well. I wish you all the best throughout your distinctive career’s journey. You always deserve the goodness! I like you so much!
This for me is perfectly written and deserve to win this competition
Nice story for the little girl. Let’s hope kuti alemba yekha without copying or pasting
Brilliant and Outstanding !!! Love the way every little detail and emotion was captured. Well done & congratulations
Thank you for sharing, useful information keep on sharing
Great story🔥🔥, deserving top two indeed. Female mutilation sure has to end.
It’s really a touching story and very wonderful,, this is the work of art,🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
An amazing emotional story depicting a lot of things at once
👏👏this is really nice and I almost shed a tear when Waris had a flashback of her past. Well done
Nice story, creative enough like iam watching a movie,you have done a great job.
I like the way he was connecting stories it’s was a expected like the way she left out with the father of xariyo,and how he turn back to old days,the way the memory came in her mind,,it was special
And one can crealy notices the major theme which is effects of some culture practices
Big up,,for the entataining story
I 💕, let the guy win the money 💸
💥
I have enjoyed reading the story , this is pure talent and a beautiful art .
The context can easily give the leader an insight and imagery of what was happening
It was I am watching a movie
#NotMyDaughter
Wow this is an amazing story and its so eye opening as well; personally i never knew that such a tradition happens.
The story is great
Good job
Good one🔥
Taban please don’t leave her hand .. very beautiful
Nice story
I salute miss Nkhata
Inuyo tengani award bas, mwawina…
Interested
Very nice story
well written. Thumbs up!!
Impressive.
Impressive. This deserves a medal.
This story is so amazing you deserve to win dear monalisa
Zili bwino kwambiri biggy,polish her up akukwanira.
The best story
Nice short story
Such a great read
Such a great read, all the words well woven and brings out all the emotions.
Beautiful story. If only Waris lived to see her daughter.
Beautiful story. Waris didn’t have to die
A great story which really deserved the price….just about wat happened to waris tho….
This is fire🫡
Love it
Painful at the same time interesting. The author has got skills
Such a sad but beautiful story.
Beautiful
Reading it for the second time 🔥
Wow! This is really incredible I really like it.
This is an awesome story.
What a great piece. Full of fundamental lessons. Good work
Beautiful write up….
This so amazing and meaningful.
I can read this a million times
Great piece
This is true reflection of love. On the other hand it explores what life looks like in refugee camps. There are a lot sufferings in camps. I have really enjoyed the story.
Lovely story. Enjoyed reading every bit.
Wow , what a great writer she is
What a story so touching. These are the effects of female genital mutilation. Eeeeish though we appreciate that culture is valued but other practices are demonic. Especially those done without the owners consent
What a story. Nice one. Couple of questions. Are you Somalian? Lol, you look like one.
Were the tents in somali or somewhere else? )Lol
I write as well. I wish that one day, i should produce something good out of my name as you have just done here.
Feels so real that it opened my old wounds.
Wow she is talented… she is the next big thing
Wow, very touching story.
The story is amazing. The author has the ability to make the reader imagine that there were there when reading the story. I love it
This is one beautiful story. Well written. However, I would have loved a happy ending.
Well narrated
Actually it’s a nice story but this is not short story in my suggestion anyway
Wow, she is really good.
We’ll put. And a great use of vocabulary
Some cultures though, eish,we ladies we go through alot, and just the mention of the fear of stepping on people’s faces eish that reminds me of bwaila hospital toilets, no hygiene at all.
What a story…. I think this story has been written by a refugee himself/herself…
What a touching story. I literally shed tears.
A beautiful story, well written
Ooh woow,what a sad and beautiful story respectively,you are a great writer keep it up
A masterpiece filled with emotional twists. A well articulated story that cuts deep through the heart. Well deserved 🙏
Wow I love the flow and content of the story. Our next Tiyambe Zeleza in the making. Thumbs up dear
Wow! What a beautiful piece of writing. keep it up
ilibho 😅😅
Total creativeness. Great work.
Its such a nice touching story.
Great 😊
Yaa this is story indeed
So nicee😍😍😍
Very beautiful and creative writing
Well written. Detailed and Appealing.
What a beautiful writing, my tears couldn’t hold.
This really deserves the win
This is a masterpiece!
Awesome
It’s a nice story, so realistic and at a certain point it made me feel the pain the woman was feeling. Really like it keep it up. 🔥
This is heart felt keep up the great work and congratulations you deserve the prize❤️
Wow wow.. like the story….
But the ending iishi…
Inspired
Great art ,full of meaningful messages
Wooow what astory
😭😭😭 very very wise and good composed. I am wishing all the best to the writer! From the start up to end the story is so emotional and attractive. She deserve to be the winner! And to me I can say she is more than the winner!
The story is so impressive 😀👏and sweet like honey to read🔥🔥🔥
Nice
Wow. This is beautiful. I loved every second of it.
Wow, Just wow!
Amazing story
🔥🔥 Beautiful!!
Wow the flow the grammar yooo…this is great 🥰❤️
Wow, this is real art
A beautiful story it is. One that captures the mind of a reader, triggering all sorts of emotions. Impressive!
Tears, tears all over. I love this story so much. A very perfect reminder of what girl children pass through in different cultures. A round of applause🤗
Beautifully crafted plot and depiction of individual attributes.
Keep writing!!
Thrilling 🔥
A great read. The artistry in the piece is just epic.
Hey people!!!!!
Good mood and good luck to everyone!!!!!
Wow this is awesome