Feel Carine's pain at being Breast Ironed...

Image: Google

I did a PIECE on Breast Ironing a few days back. When my good friend, Tolu also captured the issue in a short story, I couldn't resist the urge to share. I still think breast ironing is cruel and does not make sense at all. How much does  it reduce immorality or the incidences of teenage pregnancy or rape?

Abeg, Who Breast Ironing Epp?

Read Carine's story:

"Ahan, your daughter is becoming a woman o!" Uncle smiled at Papa as he remarked, not averting his gaze from my chest.

"How old are you now, Carine?" he asked me.

"I am eleven years old, Uncle" I replied smiling back.

As I set a bowl of water beside him, I noticed he was still studying me while Mama placed a tray of food before him and Papa.

Then, he dipped his hand into his left pocket and brought out a squeezed colored paper and thrust it into my palm.

I opened my palm and saw he had given me One Thousand Naira.

"Ah Uncle, thank you!" I said and immediately went on my knees as was the custom.

I thought Mama would be proud and smile at Uncle. Instead, she was rigid. I looked at Papa, his eyes were expressionless but fixed on Mama. I was confused. I thanked Uncle again and followed Mama who had started walking hurriedly into the house

Image: Google

Mama spoke not a word as she sat by the fireplace. I could tell she was crying but I didn't know the reason.

"Carine, bring me the pestle!" Mama instructed me in a voice choked with tears.

"Mama, why are you crying?" tears welled up in my own eyes as I sat on the stool beside her, my arm around her shoulder. She just turned away from me and quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her palms.

"Get me the pestle!" Mama commanded this time though she failed in her attempt to hide the pain in her voice. I obeyed.

Something nagged at me. The house had suddenly gone cold since Uncle's visit. I watched Mama place the pestle on the fire she had made. Something wasn't right.

Image: Google

"Mama, why are you roasting the pestle?" because that was exactly what I thought she was doing.

"Child! You will ask your mother no more silly questions!" Someone replied from behind. I turned to look at my grandmother, her eyes as cold as her voice.

"I wonder what your stubbornness will get you! You act as though our customs and traditions are evil! You are the evil one!" Grandma spat those words at Mama. I shuddered at her bitterness.

Mama's back wordlessly replied Grandma though she was rattled by her presence. Grandma wasn't moved by her silence. She spilled out more...

"Is it until she births a child at this age and I become a laughing stock that you will do the needful? You are an unrepentant bastard! If you won't do it, I will do it myself! I wouldn't let you drag my honorable name in the mud..."

"Carine, remove your cloth and lie down on the mat! You are too young to be a woman!" Mama shouted as she rose with the now-red pestle. I obeyed out of fear as Grandma knelt beside me and held my hands to the mat.

Mama approached me with the pestle in her hand. I did not understand what my mother wanted to do until she also knelt beside me, held my neck with her free hand and forcefully pressed the pestle on the little swellings on my chest.

***Originally written by Tolu Akinsola

P.S. Cheers to the weekend, folks!