Junior Doctor's Diary: Circumcision was the longest 15 minutes of my life

The practice of male circumcision is as old as history itself. This practice dates back to the times of Abraham when it was believed to be a way of forming a covenant with God. Most communities in Kenya are embracing male circumcision including those who didn't have it imprinted in their DNA. My experience with the 'ritual' is one that has remained embedded deep in the recesses of my mind.

I remember that cold December morning with a lot of nostalgia. My father rose very early at the crow of the first cock. I saw him through the window of my room that was slightly obscured by the dew that covered the panes. He stood at a strategic point in our homestead to ensure that my brother and I didn’t leave. He knew I dreaded this moment. The moment when my blood would be shed to the ground to show solidarity with those who went ahead of us. I had no choice but to submit to the dark forces that had conspired against me.

A black pick-up halted at our gate a few hours later. It was an old Datsun that had covered several miles on the sands of time. I knew for sure that the time had come for us to go. We half-heartedly climbed into the back together with my brother and met a number of other boys in our age group that were sentenced to the same fate as ours. Some by their parents, others by their own will. My father waved as the pick-up fled. I never wanted him to see my face because I was not happy with this.

I wish there was a way in which I could get to the circumcision parlour without using this designated pick-up. This pick up was known in the entire village to be the initiates’ vehicle. Some boys saw it on the road and literally took to their heels leaving us bursting in laughter. We threw them insults that they were not brave enough to face the knife. We even told them never to play with us. This succeeded in distracting me from the impending danger. We passed a few girls on the way. They carried buckets on their heads and without support, the buckets stood steadily, only sometimes swaying slightly with the swinging of their hips and behind. As we passed, they recognized the pick-up and shouted, “Udhi nyange!” this meant we were going for circumcision. It was shouted in a mocking way that I felt embarrassed.

One by one we got into the improvised theatre in a local primary school classroom. We were to get in one at a time because the surgeons were only two against twenty or so boys. Those who went before me came out strong. I admired their courage. I went in. I removed my clothes and submitted myself to them like a lamb offered as a living sacrifice.

The first injection of local anaesthesia went deep into the base of my thingy. It was so painful that I protested loudly. In fact, I almost kicked one of the surgeons but he moved out of the way of my legs and the legs went into the air. My man felt heavy for the first time, so heavy that if I were to stand, he would have brought me down.

At stitching time, the effect of the anaesthetic drug was slowly abating and I was interacting with raw human pain. A dose of local anaesthetic was added right beside the point where the first injection went. I am glad the operation came to an end fifteen minutes later. Those were the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

Going back home was trouble. People now knew that we had faced the knife but that was none of my problems. The road leading to my village is a loose marram road with a lot of rocks and stones along the way. We sat behind the driver with my brother. Whenever the old pickup hit a stone, I would literally stand holding my man gently to avoid the impact caused by the rugged terrain. Sometimes I just did not anticipate bumps and the impact would be crazy.

My brother was silent all this while, occasionally he would show his teeth when he could not contain the pain. The boy next to him was moaning. You would think it was a lady doing so under intense pleasure from her lover. Oh my! That day I found myself in a pack of cowards, did I show courage myself? No. Why? I don’t know.

On that day my father was unusually kind. That was the only day he allowed us to play video games in place of the 9 pm bulletin which he could not dare miss on any other day. I wonder what it is with parents and news. "Omera ketna news," my father was fond of saying at 8.58 pm imploring us to change to a news channel. But then he would change to so many channels in quick successions that I wondered whether it was just the news he wanted or the joy of controlling the remote. My mother served us food like kings for the first time in our teen lives.

Healing was as horrendous as the procedure itself. I had to sit in a particular way or sleep in a particular way to ensure that there was peace between me and this guy of mine. Passing water was hell on earth. I had to wait for several minutes for the water to flow and endure the pain it caused. Afterwards, I would gently sink in my bed with a towel around my waist. Groaning.

My brother was recovering uneventfully. Once in a while, he would shout in the night when the stitches held a piece of cotton and was pulling his flesh as he tried to pull it out. He shouted like a movie star who was destroying his greatest enemy. I laughed. Two days later I suffered the same fate when my towel held the stitch at the upper part of my guy. I tried to pull gently but the pain was too much. I took a blade, cut the string attached and I was relieved, but part of the string remained attached to the stitch. It was supposed to stay there, till the stitches fall off.

Thirteen years later I never thought that parting ways with your foreskin could be a criterion to be elected in a political office. In fact, how often do you even become conscious of your big toe, let alone your foreskin? Your awareness is shifted to your big toe when it hits an obstacle and, in that case, it will only be the pain that draws you to it, the rest of the time you live higher up in your mind. In a world where humans are hovering in space, foreskins are immaterial. Our politicians should let the politics of ideology define their space and not those of foreskins and the big toe.