“I Suffered During Childbirth” – Wellingara Ba Mother Speaks Out Against FGM
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On February 16, 2026, in this village located about 170 kilometres from Banjul via the Trans-Gambia route, the mother of three spoke softly but firmly about an experience that has shaped her life and changed the way she sees a long-standing tradition.
“I suffered a lot during childbirth,” she said.
“The nurses told me the pain I went through was because of Female Genital Mutilation.” Conteh, now in her early thirties, was mutilated as a small child. She was too young to understand what was happening, and like many girls in her community, the decision was made for her in the name of tradition.
Wellingara Ba is largely inhabited by members of the Fula community, where Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) has long been seen as both a cultural and religious obligation. For generations, girls have undergone the practice as a rite of passage into womanhood. Conteh grew up accepting the tradition without question.
Born, educated and married in the same village, she never imagined that the practice would follow her into adulthood in the form of lasting physical pain. It was only years later, during the birth of her first child, that she began to understand its consequences.
“When I went into labour, I thought it was normal pain,” she recalled. “But it became too much. I suffered a lot.”
Health workers later explained that the complications she experienced were linked to the cutting she underwent as a child — a revelation that changed how she viewed the practice. Since then, Conteh says she has listened closely whenever the subject is discussed in the village, particularly during women's gatherings where personal experiences are shared openly.
“When we meet, people talk about the pain they went through during FGM and during childbirth,” she said. “Many women have suffered.”
Despite the deep respect for tradition in Wellingara Ba, Conteh believes attitudes are slowly shifting as more women speak openly and health workers continue to educate families about the risks. “Tradition here is very important. People respect it,” she said. “But things are changing with time and with what the government is teaching people.”
Nurses and other health workers, she said, often encourage mothers to protect their daughters from the same experience. “The nurses tell us the pain we experience is because of this practice, and they advise us not to allow our children to go through the same thing,” Conteh explained.
Although she is unsure whether the practice still continues in her immediate community, Conteh believes awareness is growing. “Many people have now changed,” she said with a faint smile. “Thank God.”
For Conteh, the issue is deeply personal. As a mother, she says she cannot imagine allowing her daughters — or any young girl — to experience the pain she endured. “They should stop it,” she said firmly.
“Even if people think it has benefits, they are very small. In reality, it has no real use. It only causes suffering.” She also spoke about the stigma sometimes faced by girls who are not mutilated, emphasising that womanhood should not be defined by the practice. “Whether someone has done it or not has nothing to do with their value or their life,” she said.
“I do not want anyone to feel ashamed.”
As the afternoon shadows lengthened across the compound, Conteh’s voice remained calm but determined. Breaking her silence, she hopes, will help ensure that the next generation of girls in Wellingara Ba will grow up without the pain she still remembers.
For Conteh, ending FGM is not just about changing tradition — it is about protecting daughters, easing mothers’ suffering, and allowing girls to grow into womanhood without harm.
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: Bakary Jassey
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