I walked into a room and saw knives – I knew what was about to happen

Following my grandmother through the strange house, a feeling of unease came over me.

That feeling only intensified when we walked into a dark, silent room with nothing but a table inside. 

Then I saw them. Knives, razors and a bowl with oil laid out and two women sitting and staring at me.  

At that moment I knew exactly why we were there.

On that day, they made me one of the more than 230 million girls and women alive today who have undergone female genital mutilation (FGM).

That’s something I can never forgive or forget.

My parents were very young when I was born in Lagos, Nigeria, and at the time my mum got pregnant, she was only 17 and my father was 20. 

Being born a child of young parents, though, meant I was sent to live with and be raised by my grandmother. She became my mother, my comfort, my everything. 

She worked hard running a small shop to support us, and even though that meant I spent a lot of time alone, I never doubted how much she cared. When she came home, she would bring me little sweets or braid my hair while telling me stories. 

When I was 16, she told me that we were going on a holiday – I had never been on holiday before, it truly felt like a dream come true. 

I went and packed my luggage thinking I was going back to the village I grew up in. But on the way, she said we needed to make a stop to go and see someone I had never met before.  

I didn’t question this at all. I trusted my grandmother completely.

When we arrived at the strange house, a tall woman – who looked scary to me with her long dress, head wrap and a stern-looking face – opened the door.

Something in me felt unsettled, and when the door shut behind us, the sound echoed in my chest. 

That’s when I first felt the fear creeping in. 

She led us into a dark, silent room with the knives and table. My heart sank. I understood why we were there. 

I had heard of being cut, but only in whispers – I didn’t know what it really meant. I knew my grandmother had been cut, but no one ever talked about it openly. It was treated like a rite of passage, something girls were simply meant to go through. 

I was confused and afraid, but my grandmother told me that it was necessary – that it was something done to make me a woman in our culture, and it was done out of love. The heartbreaking truth is that she really believed that. 

But this isn’t true, of course. FGM has no health benefits whatsoever, and actually does more harm to the natural functions of a girl’s and a woman’s body.

In the immediate aftermath complications can include severe pain, excessive bleeding (haemorrhage), infections, and in some cases death. Longer term issues can be everything from urinary problems to childbirth complications. 

All this on top of the immeasurable number of psychological scars that FGM survivors are left with.

However, my grandmother didn’t know this – she wasn’t trying to hurt me. She was trying to protect me, the only way she knew how. She believed it would secure my place in our community, give me respect, and prepare me for womanhood.

I decided to put up a fight. I fought with everything I had. I screamed, I kicked, I tried to run. But before I knew it, I was on the floor.

One of the cutters sat on my chest and the other two held my arms and legs down. Then, with a piece of metal that wasn’t even too sharp, the cutters began the cutting. The pain was unimaginable. 

I was screaming until I couldn’t anymore. Through my tears, I saw my grandmother standing at the door. She was crying. She didn’t say anything. I think at that moment, her heart broke too. 

I was made to lay down on the floor for hours after and we then stayed in that house for two days. The bleeding took time to stop, I was weak and in pain. 

I had constant infections and urinary issues. It was a pain no one could understand and I endured all of it in silence. 

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Summer passed and I had to go back to school and ‘normality’ – not that I ever felt ‘normal’ again. I was changed – I felt isolated and ashamed. I withdrew from friends and stopped laughing like I used to. 

My relationship with my grandmother changed too. For a long time, I couldn’t speak to her about what happened. But with time, I came to understand that she didn’t do it out of cruelty, it was misguided love.

That understanding helped me find peace with her, even if I never forgot what was done. 

I got into university, and during my final year, I met the man who is now my husband. 

He came from a culture that didn’t practice FGM and explaining what I’d been through wasn’t easy. But he listened and held space for me with no judgment. I felt truly seen and accepted. 

We moved to London in 1998 and luckily were able to have three beautiful children together.

Not all women and girls who are survivors of FGM are able to have this so I feel truly blessed. I never take that for granted, and I promised myself that my daughters will never be cut. 

In 2021, I founded Women of Grace, a UK-based survivor-led organisation working to end FGM and all forms of gender-based violence. 

We support survivors through trauma-informed counselling, safe spaces and legal guidance.

We go into schools and communities to educate, train frontline workers, teachers, doctors and social workers so they know how to identify girls at risk and how to act with sensitivity and care.

We advocate for policy change both in the UK and globally, ensuring survivor voices are at the centre of the conversation. 

And most of all, we create hope. 

Even though the World Health Organization passed a resolution in 2008 to eliminate FGM, it is still practiced in more than 30 countries in Africa, the Middle East and Asia, leaving 4 million girls at risk every year.

We must take a stand.

FGM is not tradition. It’s not care. It is violence rooted in inequality. It is a denial of girls’ rights to their bodies, their choices and their futures. 

But it can be stopped, and we are stopping it – one conversation, one intervention, one girl at a time. 

Earlier this year, a letter arrived unexpectedly in the post. I remember opening it slowly, rereading it several times to be sure I’d understood it correctly.

I was being appointed an MBE in the 2026 New Year’s Honours.

I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and emotion. It was humbling, affirming, and deeply moving not just for me, but for everyone who has walked this journey with me and believed in the work of protecting women and girls.

No girl or woman should have to suffer like I did. And because of Women of Grace, many never will. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

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