Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I frown at Trevor for throwing me in blind. He mouths “Sorry,” but goes on eating. I’m finishing my fish when a young woman, dressed well but simply, takes the podium.
“Thank you all for attending our monthly Restore luncheon.” She licks her lips, my only clue that the overflowing crowd might make her a bit nervous. “There are so many of you here today, and I think I know why.”
She glances back at a woman seated behind her onstage. The woman has the most gorgeous skin I may have ever seen, the color of dark cocoa, not a blemish in sight. Her hair is cropped close to her head, leaving her stark bone structure prominent. She is slim and dressed even more simply than the girl at the podium. The shift dress she wears is bright orange and contrasts beautifully with her dark skin. Her smile as she returns to the speaker makes her face glow.
“We are so pleased to have our guest with us today,” the woman continues. “Her story, her courage, and her ongoing fight against FGM have inspired us all. She inspires thousands every year, and we are honored to hear her today. Please welcome to the stage Halima Mendy.”
While I’m still using context clues to try to figure out what FGM is, everyone else applauds as Halima takes the stage. She receives a warm welcome and offers an even warmer smile.
“Greetings, all.” Her soft voice, thickly accented, hushes the crowd. “I am honored to be here with you today. Thank you, Lisa, for that lovely introduction. Many of you have heard my story, but many have not, so I’ll ask those who have to bear with me. Your story is your most powerful weapon. We must use our hurts to help, and so I tell my story every chance I get. Every time I do, I raise a fist against my oppressors.”
I’m unprepared for her passion. She is soft-spoken, but her eyes gleam with the truth of her words. Even standing still, arms at her side, she has the look of a warrior.
“I was ten when they woke me before the sun was up,” she continues, her eyes roving the crowd. “Me, my sisters, my cousins, girls from my village, all taken before daylight. One by one, we were held down, our legs spread, and we were cut. I have no words for the pain. I have never borne children, maybe I never will, but I am told this pain of female genital mutilation is greater than that. They cut away our pleasure and exchanged it for pain, for infection, for trouble that will follow many of us for the rest of our lives.”
Her dark eyes scan the crowd. I don’t know what she’s searching for, but for some reason when she reaches me, it’s like she finds it. Her eyes hold and lock with mine. And somehow I know it has nothing to do with the fact that she probably recognizes my face. It is that she recognizes me. Connects with something inside of me. I don’t understand it, but I know it.
“I tell this story all over the world, but the one place I can never tell it is in my village in Gambia. My family has disowned me. If I ever go back, I will surely die for telling the truth about how our girls, not just in Gambia, but in Egypt, all over Africa, all over the world, are being abused, even right here in America.”
Her mouth tightens as her fists ball at her sides.
“Yes, FMG is on the rise here in America. Vacation cutting is on the rise as those who have immigrated here send their young girls home to be cut, and they come back forever changed.”
I’m stunned by the facts she shares over the next half hour. Shocked that I never knew this was happening. Mostly I am unsettled by her words.
Your story is your most powerful weapon. We must use our hurts to help.
I close my eyes against the images flooding my mind. Kyle’s smug face, Shaunti Miller’s frightened eyes. Memories from that night fifteen years ago that I have stuffed into a dark corner in the back of my mind, but Walsh’s words from this morning and Halima’s words now tug and pull at those memories until they are spread out before me, not dusty and wrinkled, but fresh and crisp like they happened only yesterday.
“Sofie.” Trevor speaks into my ear as everyone else applauds the end of Halima’s speech. “Are you okay, darlin’?”
I turn my eyes to him, meeting his concern finally with an honest answer.
“No.” I shake my head and blink at the tears I’ve been keeping at bay since last night. “I’m not.”
“Let’s get out of here.” He gathers my things and is pulling my chair away from the table when he’s stopped by a hand on his sleeve.