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Life had made her whip-smart and fearless, with flashing eyes the color of the Guadalupe in sunlight. She was starting a new life here, with nothing but us as her anchors. Suddenly I wondered: was this what being a mother was like?
It was easy to forget, sometimes, that she was a child. I couldn’t understand why she would want me to feel so afraid, so helpless, and so very much like a fool. and now she was the one who was scared—scared that she’d ruined everything between us. I thought of the many times in high school that I’d hurt my mother, and how I’d still never doubted her love for me.e’d been separated for a month by the night of the dinner. It was this desperate desire, I think, that made him do what he did: ambush me with his daughter at dinner. I could not teach this child, this girl so quickly becoming a woman, that to stay was always right.
Dakwa is a community volunteer who spends a lot of time trying to make circumcisions safer, running seminars near the Eastern Cape town of Flagstaff, teaching traditional surgeons how to safely dress wounds.
However, since previous initiates are sworn to secrecy about the ritual’s details, as he lies in a hut with the other boys, rabid speculation is Nkqinqa’s only close companion.
The next day, the 13 boys in his cohort consecutively go to see a surgeon.
Using a blade about the size of a steak knife, he slices off each of their foreskins.
When Dakwa returns later for an inspection of all the boys’ progress, he observes that Nkqinqa is faint and unresponsive. Urine no longer is discharged from his urethra, seeping instead out of other parts of the shaft.
The panic, the terror, the maternal protectiveness that unfurled like wings, so suddenly and completely that I couldn’t breathe. I texted her back, called, scrambled into clothing (it was morning and I worked from home), called her father, called the school.She looked nine again, the age she was when I’d met her in Seattle and she’d given me a cool, appraising glance over her father’s shoulder.Later that trip, she’d held both our hands, swinging between us with laughter thrown up to low black clouds.The Xhosa boys are also circumcised during this time, and most years these schools make headlines because dozens of the boys die during the process. It is customary for the patriarch in a family to send a boy off, but Nkqinqa’s father has not been a part of his life for several years, and three of his uncles are dead.So a neighbor named Patrick Dakwa has agreed to take responsibility for him.
The pain is unremitting and debilitating, but Nkqinqa tries not to let his discomfort show.