Thousands of young girls annually prepare for their initiation into a women’s secret association, Sande Society, which operates mostly in Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea. As part of their initiation, young women take a vow of secrecy after weeks of training in the forest, promising not to not tell uninitiated girls or men what happens to them, to assume new names, and to have their clitorises cut off - known as female
genital mutilation (FGM) - according to women in the secret society.

About half of Liberia’s some 16 ethnic groups, including the Bassa, Mende, Gola and Kissi, observe the rules of this historically-secret, centuries-old society.

One Mende member from Tubmanburg, Western Liberia, who asked not to be named, told IRIN removing a girl’s clitoris helps her become a “prolific child bearer.”

Another member, 42-year-old Jebbeh Sonneh, explained to IRIN, “Those who perform such [FGM] acts are typically elderly women in the community designated for the task, or traditional birth attendants.”

Secrecy shrouds outreach

Sociologist Theo Kerkulah at the University of Liberia in Monrovia says even though the practice of rural forest initiations is common in Liberia, it is not openly discussed. “It is a difficult topic to teach. Most girls who joined the society are now in the classroom and never feel happy when you talk about it in the open. They feel [it is a betrayal]. Perhaps because of the myths that are associated with it.”

Kerkulah says the girls are bound by secrecy vows and the time they spend together in the forest where they undergo trainingto enter adulthood, learning domestic skills and moral lessons.
The lecturer told IRIN many girls believe the spirit of Sande, the guardian of women, guides them into and during adulthood.

Monrovia-based medical researcher Deddeh Siah says physical pain is an additional factor binding the young girls, “In some Sandes [initiates], not only is her genitalia removed, the student is marked [cut] so that large scars remain on the skin of the initiate for life.”

She estimates about 5,000 puberty-aged adolescents join the group every year, either by force or choice.

Culture can kill

Sandes are a part of Liberia’s cultural heritage, says Jomo Weah who works at a government-run culture centre in Kendeja, on the outskirts of Monrovia. “We cannot stop it. It is our culture. We can only intervene by allowing them to go about doing it when the girls are on school break.”

Local civil society groups including Girls Movement for Education have tried to discourage parents from allowing their girls to join Sande Society.

Government health worker Mary Mah says FGM is killing hundreds of girls in Liberia every year. “Over 20 percent of the initiates die from excessive bleeding after their clitoris has been removed.”

Mah told IRIN if excessive pain and extreme bleeding do not kill the girls, FGM can scar or disfigure her for life. “Risk of serious potentially life-threatening complications [include] ongoing bleeding, infection including HIV, urine retention, stress, shock…[and] psychological trauma.”

Catherine Watson Khasu, an elected leader in Grand Cape Mount County in Western Liberia, about 140 km from Monrovia, dismisses these risks, “People have said all sorts of things against our cultural heritage, which are not true. I am a member of the Sande [Society] and I’m proud of it. There is nothing harmful about the Sande.”

She told IRIN the government and human rights organisations should respect the tradition of Liberia’s indigenous groups, “We know the [1989-2003 civil] war did a lot of damage to our country, but that does not mean we should desecrate our traditional shrines.”

IRIN 

When Steve Matlhabela, 16, left his home on a chilly June morning to visit some relatives in a village not far from his in the rolling hills outside the town of Tzaneen, in South Africa's Limpopo Province, he didn't expect that it would be a month before he returned.

At his relative's village Steve met a boy he knew, who invited him to go see a movie. Steve agreed and they walked for some distance before reaching a remote camp where it soon became clear there would be no movies.

"I wasn't scared at first because there were many other boys there," Steve told IRIN/PlusNews, "but then they told me to take off my clothes." Steve's clothes were delivered to his mother by the same boy who had taken him to the camp. "Your son has gone to initiation," he told her.

Steve's cousin, Thabang, who had been in the family's care since his mother died from an AIDS-related illness in February, was also at the initiation "school". The family was informed that the fee for both of them would be R1,420 (US$192), a significant sum considering their only source of income is two child support grants totalling R420 (US$57) a month.

"We felt there was nothing we could do," said Steve's grandmother, Rosinah Matlhabela. Going to the police was not an option, she said, because the school was run a local police captain. Eventually, they took out a loan to pay the fees.

Steve was circumcised by a traditional practitioner soon after arriving at the school. No anaesthetic was administered; bearing the pain of the cutting is considered vital to the process of becoming a man. A disposable blade was used, but the wound was not bandaged; the only protection against infection was the application of some traditional medicine.

More than a month after being cut, Steve said the wound still caused him pain but he would not to go to a doctor. "They told me if I go to the doctor I'm not a real man."

Traditional circumcision overlooked

Since three randomised trials in 2005 and 2006 demonstrated that circumcision could reduce the risk of HIV infection among men by up to 60 percent, international NGOs, donors and even some African governments have been channelling resources into creating a demand for medical male circumcision, and increasing the capacity of hospitals and clinics to meet it.
Meanwhile, some public health experts have complained that making traditional circumcisions safer has received considerably less attention or funding.

Limpopo has had legislation in place governing the conduct of the province's more than 200 initiation schools since 1996, but the cultural taboos that prevent initiates from talking about their experiences, and the involvement of local officials in running the schools has made the law difficult to enforce.

In 2007 five boys died while attending initiation schools in the province, and the same number died during this year's initiation season, from June to July.

A number of sources IRIN/PlusNews spoke to said it was common for boys much younger than Steve to be tricked or coerced into entering an initiation school without the knowledge or permission of the adult responsible for them.

"The ones who attend this year, by next year they're taking the other ones because the school owners promise them money," said Eddy Hlongwini, chairperson of a local association of traditional healers. "They tell them it's a nice place, that they're eating nice [food], and once they're there they have no chance to run away."

Khosi Vusani Netshimbupfe, chairperson of an initiation school task team overseen by the province's House of Traditional Leaders, explained that in terms of the legislation, boys must be over 12 and have permission from their parents to enter the schools. A medical professional must also certify them fit to undergo the procedure and to spend a month at a remote mountain camp in the middle of winter, wearing nothing more than a blanket.

Some boys sneak into the schools without either, Netshimbupfe admitted. "If they're caught before they see what is going on there, they can be turned away. But the problem is if they've gone in and they've seen something; according to custom after you've seen the secret you can't be turned away."

When Promise Mhangwana, 9, ran away from his grandmother's home to join his 12-year-old uncle at an initiation school, no one stopped him from entering the camp. By the time he returned home, he was walking with difficulty, but refused to show his grandmother where he had been cut. Finally, he allowed a nurse at a local clinic to dress the infected wound.

"We have these kind of children every winter," the nurse, who asked not to be named, told IRIN/PlusNews. "For now, there are about eight coming for regular dressings, but most of them won't allow a woman to see that area, so when they come home they don't tell the mothers there's a problem."

The regulations stipulate that initiation schools charge no more than R350 (US$48), but some schools charge more than twice that amount. Increasingly, families prefer to send their sons to hospitals to be circumcised for the considerably lower fee of R150 (US$21), but this does not protect the boys from being ridiculed by their peers.
"They laugh at them, they side-line them, especially leading up to the [initiation] season," said the nurse. "My nephew used to go and stay in town with my daughter to avoid it, but this year he went [to the school]; he said he was tired of hiding."

Morris* sent his three sons to the hospital to be circumcised. "I didn't want them to go to the mountain, it's not safe," he said. He was particularly keen to protect his youngest son, Lucky*, 15, who suffers from asthma.

But Lucky was lured to a school last month by some boys who promised him a party with food and drink. Morris had to raise R650 (US$89) from relatives to pay the school fee and his son returned sick. "It was cold, and he can't stay in the cold," he said.

Lack of oversight

Local police are reluctant to get involved in what they describe as a "traditional issue". "You must talk to the chiefs," Ngoveni Khazamula, Tzaneen's police commissioner told IRIN/PlusNews. "This is not a matter for the police."

Traditional surgeons have to be registered with the department of health after undergoing training, but permits for initiation schools to operate legally are issued by local chiefs.

Some chiefs "take it to be a business", said a local headman, who declined to be named. "I tell my people not to go to initiation schools; I think it's a waste of time. In our tradition there are good things and bad things, and in my place I discard the bad things," he said.
Local traditional healer Eddy Hlongwini said having a permit and registered surgeons did not guarantee that a school would prioritise the safety of initiates. "Some are registered but I don't think it means anything; in the past year many accidents have happened," he said. "Once they have permission, they might run six schools in one year, which means they can't look after all the boys."

Netshimbupfe admitted, "It does happen that some people who run these things see it as a money-making scheme," but disputed the idea that cracking down on illegal initiation schools was a matter only for the chiefs. "If somebody goes against the regulations they can be fined in a court of law," he pointed out.

Khazamula said his station had not received any complaints about initiation schools, but one of the families interviewed by IRIN/PlusNews said they had asked the police to help them retrieve their child from a school.

"We phoned the police to ask us to help go get him from the mountain, but they said they were afraid to go," said the boy's grandmother.

*Not their real names

IRIN 

African female initiation ceremonies are rites of passage for girls entering womanhood, and are usually a public announcement of the girl's eligibility for marriage.

Nearly every culture in the world ritualizes the important milestones throughout life. Birth, marriage and death are typically marked by special ceremonies. The final passage from childhood to adulthood also figures prominently among various ethnic groups worldwide. Hispanic cultures have quincineras for their daughters. Jews hold Bar Mitzvahs and Bat Mitzvahs for their children. And in America we celebrate with Sweet Sixteen parties.

In Africa, initiation ceremonies are rooted in deep, conservative traditions. For African females, ceremonies marking their entry into the realm of adults are also a public announcement to the community that she is ready to be married. African life revolves around the family and therefore female African initiation ceremonies tend to focus heavily on the preparation of young girls to be good wives and excellent mothers.

Young girls from the Krobo ethnic group, which is dispersed across Ghana, perform the Dipo ceremony. The official ceremony lasts about five days, but pre-ritual preparation requires three weeks. The mother of a young girl selects a ‘ritual mother’ for her daughter. Like a favored aunt, the ritual mother prepares the young girl for her future role as a wife and mother. The young girl learns the art of cooking and household management (a skill she’s been performing beside her own mother since she could walk), music, dance and beautification. The girl is encouraged to leave behind her jaunty, carefree childhood ways and adopt the stature of a woman full of dignity and grace.

The ritual mother will also school the young girl in the art of seduction. The ability to please a man in every way is an art taken seriously by Krobo women. A special string of beads may be worn loosely about her hips as a visual gift to her husband. This focus of seduction, however, does not necessarily lead to a high-rate of promiscuity. Any woman who lets a man other than her husband view her hip beads could be considered unfaithful.

Once the young girl has completed her three-week ‘finishing school’, she is ready for the Dipo ceremony. Although the goal of the ceremony is to celebrate a young girl’s new maturity, it is also a forum for attracting a husband. To afford the best possible selection, the girl will travel with her female mentor to nearby villages to perform the ceremony. She takes with her all the glass beads owned by her family. Glass beads represent wealth among the Krobo and the more beaded necklaces, bracelets and other adornments she wears, the more attractive she will be. Traditionally the girls would perform the ceremony wearing nothing but their glass beads, but today all girls wear a loincloth. The five-day ceremony consists of dancing, eating and merriment. Serious negotiations also take place as local boys and men begin to inquire after a girl’s family. As Carol Beckwith stated in her book titled African Ceremonies, Krobo women are regarded throughout the continent as making the most suitable wives.

A similar dance takes place further south in Swaziland. Every year during the months of August and September, every eligible maiden from the Kingdom of Swaziland attends the Reed Dance, locally known as the Umhlanga. This eight-day ceremony marks the beginning of adulthood for Swazi girls, and also announces to Kingdom that they are ready for marriage. The ceremony, which is restricted to unmarried and childless girls, starts when the girls arrive at the royal home of the mother of the King of Swaziland. To protect the girls on their journey, reputable men from their home villages accompany them to the dance. Once they arrived at the royal compound, the girls are separated into younger and older age groups.

Within their groups they march to the nearby reed beds with long knives, cutting ten to twenty reeds a piece. Using plaited wild grass, they tie up the bundle of reeds and head back to the royal village by nightfall. The next day the reeds are presented to the King’s mother as a sign of respect. For the next several days, the girls perform a series of songs and dances, in hopes of attracting the eye of a suitor. On the seventh day of the ceremony the King arrives to watch the girls dance. If he so desires, he will choose one girl from the crowd to be his wife. The King orders several cattle to be slaughtered from which everyone shares in the feast. On the eight day, the ceremony is complete and the girls return to their villages ready for marriage.

Some women initiation ceremonies are slowly disappearing. In Nigeria, young girls would be cloistered for weeks in an effort to learn the nuances of being a good wife. During this time, the girl would be fattened so as to add several dimensions to her frame. Many ethnic groups in Africa find heavy women attractive. Their corpulence provides a public statement of a man’s wealth in that his wife has plenty of food and servants to do her bidding. Although a heavy frame is still admired among the Nigerian, and several girls will take great pains to increase their weight, the ritual fattening ceremony rarely takes place.

Another ritual that is fading, to the approval of many women’s rights groups, is that of female circumcision. This practice is still quite common among the Masaai and Himba people of southern Africa. As in most African societies, a young girl is considered an adult once she is eligible to marry. For the Masaai and Himba, a young girl will not be suitable for marriage unless she undergoes the circumcision ceremony. Usually the ceremony is attended by the females of the girl’s family. In a private room in their home or out in the countryside, an elderly matron cuts out the girl’s clitoris with a razor blade. The procedure is also called female genital mutilation and has been condemned worldwide for its potential danger to young girls. African tribes still practicing female circumcision insist that the ceremony enforces chastity among females and is central to the initiation rights of girls entering adulthood. Supporters also cite that circumcision ceremonies continue to exist among males with little condemnation from human rights organizations. Himba males, for example, are forced to undergo a painful circumcision. They are absolutely forbidden to cry out in pain for fear of shaming their family, whereas females are encouraged to release their pain vocally.

Female African initiation ceremonies, much like their male counterparts, provide instructions to females on what society will expect of them as adults. Having imitated their mothers from birth, most girls are already fully aware of what will be expected of them as women. The ceremony, however, is the public expression of this expectation by the society – a positive form of peer pressure. In most cultures, the initiation ceremony is something a young girl eagerly looks forward to, prepares for, and honorably takes part in. In essence, the ceremony is the ultimate expression of her flowering womanhood.

African masks are unique to each tribe and their shape and accessories have special meanings for the different cultures.

Masks have been used by the world's diverse cultures for centuries. The ancient Greek actors used masks for special theatrical representations. Eighteenth century Europeans frequented masked balls where the masks were elaborately decorated with beads and feathers. The Chinese still use masks in their traditional dances.

African cultures have perhaps the richest mask traditions. In African societies masks are used for funeral ceremonies and harvest dances. They figure prominently in the right of passages for young men, and have become a source of pride in modern-day celebrations. Masks are unique to each specific African society and their shape and accessories have special meanings for the different cultures.

One of the most abundant types of masks among African cultures is the animal representation. Animal masks connect people with the spirit world that traditional African beliefs say inhabit the forests and open savannas. The Bwa and Nuna people of Burkina Faso call on the spirits to ward off destruction. Crocodiles, hawks and buffalo are the most frequently carved animal masks. Masked dances are held on market day, during initiations and at funerals to honor the spirits and evoke their blessings. The Nuna hawk mask carvers used an animal-like snout to distinguish it from the hawk mask of the nearby Bwa, who use a distinctly rounded mouth. The wings of both are carved with geometric patterns to represent moral principles. The zigzag lines refer to the often-difficult path of their ancestors. The checkerboard patterns show the forces of polar opposites such as light and dark, knowledge and ignorance, and men and women.

The Dogon of Mali also rely on animal masks for many of their ceremonies. The Dogon have complex religious beliefs that manifest in three cults: Awa - the cult of the dead, Binu - the cult of spirit communication, and Lebe - the cult of earth. There are nearly seventy-eight different types of masks associated with the cults. Most of the ceremonies are highly secret, but non-Dogons are most often introduced to the dance of the antelope mask. The mask is a rough rectangle box with several horns protruding from the top. For the Dogon, who are expert agriculturists, the antelope is the symbol of the hardworking farmer. Dancers wearing the masks hit the ground with sticks to represent the characteristic pawing of an antelope, but also the hoeing motion of the Dogon farmers.

The Bamana people of Mali also have a rich agricultural tradition. The Bamana believe that the antelope taught man how to farm. The intricately carved Bamana antelope headdresses are worn for special inauguration ceremonies. The horns represent the sprouting of grain. The antelope mask continues to hold a prominent place in Malian society. Many government agricultural societies use the mask as their logo.

Masks are also carved to represent a culture's ideal of feminine beauty. Female masks of the Punu of Gabon have highly arched eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes and a narrow chin. The raised strip running from both sides of the nose to the ears represents ornamental jewelry. The mask is topped by a dark black hairstyle, but the face of the mask is white to represent the whiteness and beauty of the spirit world. Despite being a 'female' mask, only men will wear it while performing a dance on high stilts.

For the Baga people of Guinea, the beauty of a woman is captured in her breasts and facial scars. Baga carved female masks can be as large as a Roman nobleman's marble bust. Usually carved of wood, the masks have elongated, flat breasts symbolizing many years of childbirth. Scratches across the cheeks mimic the facial scars coveted by Baga women. Many masks even replicate the tightly woven hair braids popular in most African cultures. Similar to the Punu of Gabon, the Baga 'female' masks are reserved for men only. In fact, Baga men compete openly for the right to wear the female masks in special ceremonies.

The best representation of female beauty is the famous Idia's Mask from Benin. This mask is believed to have been commissioned by a king of Benin in memory of his mother. The ivory carvings depict the realistic deep-set eyes, full lips and wide forehead of the women of Benin. The king would have worn the mask on his hip during special ceremonies to honor his dead mother.

African masks are also made for moral lessons. Most African societies have no extensive written culture and masked dances serve to teach people right from wrong. The Senefou people of the Ivory Coast carve masks with eyes half-shut and lines drawn near the mouth to represent tranquility. Such masks are used to portray the virtues of self-control and patience. The Temne of Sierra Leone use masks with small eyes and mouths to represent humility and humbleness. Bulging foreheads carved with designs symbolize wisdom.

In Gabon, certain masks can enforce obedience on those in power. Such masks have strong chins and mouths to represent sternness. Eyebrows arch down to form the nose, depicting a strong individual. Other masks have exaggerated long faces and broad foreheads to represent the soberness of one's duty that comes with power.
War masks are also popular among African tribes. The Grebo of the Ivory Coast carve war masks with small, round eyes to represent alterness and anger. The sharp straight nose depicts an unwillingness to retreat. A block under the nose represents the teeth, which are bared in aggression.

Although African masks are sold in most African (and American) markets, these masks are only replicas of the original masks used in African societies. Most African masks are passed down from one generation to the next, and masks that have truly been used in African ceremonies are almost never found on the open market. Most Africans are still economically tied to the land, and modern religions have not replaced traditional masked dances for harvest blessings. For those Africans who no longer participate in village life, the masks are still used in public ceremonies - a proud reminder of their African heritage.