“I Refused the Knife”: The Gambian Woman Who Ended a Generational FGM Legacy
“They told me it was the mark of a woman; I decided it was the scar of a secret I refused to carry.”
When Mrs. Nyaranding Cham was asked to inherit the title of “Ngansingbaa”—the community’s traditional cutter—after her mother’s passing, she made a decision that would quietly transform her village: she refused.
It was a hot afternoon in March 2026. As the sun softened and a cool breeze drifted through Kolior in Kiang, Lower River Region, families prepared to break their fast. In a quiet compound just off the Trans-Gambia Highway, Nyaranding, believed to be in her late 70s or early 80s, sat on a cement platform at the centre of her home. Around her, younger women moved between the kitchen and courtyard, preparing the evening meal.
Her voice was low, strained, and unsteady, but her message was firm.
“We are the custodians of the knife in Kolior,” she said. “My grandmother was a cutter. When she passed, my mother inherited it. And when my mother died, the villagers came to me. They said I was next.”
She paused.
“I refused.”
For generations, Nyaranding’s family held a revered position in the community. They were not only practitioners of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), but symbols of tradition and identity. The role carried status, respect, and influence—at a time when the practice was widely believed to be both culturally essential and religiously justified.
“The knife was passed down from my grandmother to my mother, and then to me,” she explained. “Back then, people did not question it. It was what made a girl a woman.”
But by the time the responsibility reached her, the context had changed.
The Gambia had enacted a ban on FGM in 2015. Health professionals and advocates had intensified awareness campaigns, presenting evidence that the practice carries no health benefits and can cause severe physical and psychological harm. However, enforcement remains a challenge, with the practice often continuing in secrecy or across borders.
According to the World Health Organisation, Female Genital Mutilation has no health benefits and can lead to severe complications, including chronic pain, infections, childbirth complications, and psychological trauma.
Globally, more than 230 million girls and women alive today have undergone FGM, according to UNICEF, with the practice concentrated in parts of Africa, the Middle East, and Asia.
Health experts warn that beyond immediate risks, survivors may face lifelong consequences, including complications during childbirth and an increased risk of newborn deaths.
“When my mother died, I refused to become a circumciser,” she said. “I did not want to conflict with the law. Health workers said the practice is harmful, so I told my community we should stop and protect our children.”
Her decision was not easy. Turning away from a deeply rooted family legacy meant challenging social expectations and risking community disapproval. For generations, mothers were taught that subjecting their daughters to FGM was a sign of good parenting—a pathway to marriage, respect, and belonging.
“FGM was not just a practice,” she said. “It was a celebration. Girls were honoured after the cut. But now, it is fading.”
Today, that fading is visible in Kolior. According to community members, Nyaranding’s family were the only practitioners in the village. With her refusal, the practice has effectively stopped—except in rare cases where girls are taken elsewhere.
Nyakassi Mass, a local woman who has worked closely with Nyaranding, said education played a key role in shifting attitudes.
“We supported her with information about the effects of FGM,” she said. “We made sure she would not be pressured into continuing the practice.”
Nyakassi speaks from personal conviction shaped by witnessing the consequences.
“I know a woman who suffers because of how she was cut,” she said. “She told me that every time she has sexual intercourse with her husband, she cries because of the pain.”
She added: “I was taught that being a good woman meant accepting the blade—that pain was necessary for marriage, purity, and community. My mother believed it, and her mother before her. But when I saw the infections, the trauma, and the loss of confidence it causes, I chose a different path.”
“I refuse to break my daughter’s body to uphold a tradition that destroys her soul.”
Through community discussions and sensitisation meetings, Nyakassi said attitudes are gradually changing.
“In the past, people believed that a circumcised girl would be more disciplined,” she said. “But that is not true. We see many girls who are not circumcised, and they are well-behaved and responsible.”
In Kolior, the silence of the knife now tells a different story—one of resistance, reflection, and change led not by outsiders, but from within.
And at the centre of that change is an elderly woman who chose, against generations of expectation, to say no.
This article is part of the Breaking the Silence: Voices of FGM Survivors Project, supported by the Foundation for Women’s Health Research and Development (FORWARD UK).
Author: Nelson Manneh
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