"My vulva cupcakes were confiscated" - a day in the life of an anti-FGM campaigner
Smuggling vulva-decorated cupcakes into the Somali region of Ethiopia was one of those moments where I thought: “My work as an anti-FGM campaigner gets me into interesting situations sometimes.”
Three years earlier I’d made vulva cupcakes as part of a documentary about FGM that I’d done for Channel 4. “We need you to bring them with you,” said Sagal Abdi, vice executive director of Maandeeq, when she invited me to an event in Jijiga, the capital of the region, part of 16 days of activism against gender-based violence.
Honestly, I was taken aback. I grew up in the UK as part of the Somali diaspora, and I’d assumed the people of Jijiga would not be ready for vulva cupcakes. But Abdi, also part of the diaspora, reassured me that the Ethiopian women had requested them. “Leyla, they watched the documentary and loved the concept of using art for campaigning,” she said.
On reflection, the fact that he recognised the icing decoration as vulvas was good
Abdi filled me in on the current status of the women from Jijiga. It was the usual story of inequality, gender-based violence, lack of employment and access to healthcare. But Abdi gave me hope as she described these negative situations. By the end of that phone call I couldn’t wait to meet her. The only snag was, how would I carry vulva cupcakes from London to Jijiga?
I am always up for a challenge. I managed to carry the cupcakes, made in London, in my hand luggage all the way to Addis Ababa. I really began to think I was going to pull this off. But just as I was about to embark on my final flight to Jijiga, one of the officers told me to step aside and opened the box. When he saw the cakes staring back at him he made a sound halfway between a gasp and a giggle. “Why would you bring these here?” he asked. “Oh, you know what they are then?” I thought. He said I needed permission to carry them and he needed to investigate. My flight was taking off in 10 minutes, so I sadly had to leave the cakes behind.
On reflection, the fact that he recognised the icing decoration as vulvas was good – many men and women don’t know what women’s genitals look like. I hope he enjoyed eating those red velvet pussies.
Something extraordinary came out of that trip. On the flight to Jijiga I suddenly realised that everyone around me was speaking Somali. My family isn’t from that region but the last time I was in Somalia was 25 years ago, when I was 10 years old. The heat hit me and felt so familiar. Tears streamed down my face. I tried to hold them back but it was overwhelming.
Abdi and her colleague, Hodan, were very sweet and comforted me when they picked me up. They were disappointed about the cakes, but as Somali women we weren’t going to let that setback stop us from getting our message getting across.
On my way to my hotel I felt a sense of belonging to a city I’ve never been to before, but also the fear that I would be targeted with threats, as I am known as an outspoken advocate for women’s and girls’ rights.
The next day I presented my work on gender equality and female genital mutilation (FGM), exploring how to create safe spaces for survivors of violence free from shame. I got a positive reaction from the local women and young people, even from the politicians in attendance. They asked me to come back as often as I could. I was deeply touched to be appreciated by my own people.
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