millions: Waris Dirie's book DESERT FLOWER, which recounts her incredible . Waris Dirie's books made female genital mutilation a worldwide issue. Due to . FLOWER. RUNNING AWAY. The Extraordinary Journey of a Desert Nomad. WARIS DIRIE and Cathleen Miller .. books, and Halwu's big; beautiful television . Desert Flower. Home · Desert Flower Author: Dirie Waris was uploaded by our users and we assume good faith they have the permission to share this book.
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Waris Dirie leads a double life -- by day, she is an international supermodel and Desert Flower To read e-books on the BookShout App, download it on. Read Desert Flower by Waris Dirie, Cathleen Miller for free with a 30 day free trial . Read unlimited* books and audiobooks on the web, iPad, iPhone and Android. SaveSave Desert Flower For Later. Create a List. Download. Ratings. Flower, PDF ePub Mobi Desert Flower, Downloading PDF Desert Flower, Book PDF Desert Flower, Read online Desert Flower, Desert Flower Waris Dirie pdf.
Preview Unable to display preview. Download preview PDF. References Annan, K. Commencement address: Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Google Scholar Bunch, C. Worden ed. New York: Seven Stories Press.
Google Scholar Dirie, W. Desert flower: The extraordinary journey of a desert nomad. New York: William Morrow Paperbacks. Google Scholar hooks, b. Yearning: Race, gender, and cultural politics.
Google Scholar Khalife, N. Lasting wounds: Female genital mutilation. Google Scholar Kristof, N. Half the sky: Turning oppression into opportunity for women worldwide. New York: Alfred A.
Google Scholar Mohanty, C. Slowly the reality of my circumstances came to me. What am I going to do? I got up and continued to run; for days I managed to keep it up. All I know is that for me, there was no time; there was only hunger, thirst, fear, pain. When the evening grew too dark to see, I would stop and rest.
At midday, when the sun was at its hottest, I would sit under a tree and take a siesta. It was during one of these siestas that I fell asleep and the lion woke me.
By this point I no longer cared about my freedom; I simply wanted to go back home to Mama. What I wanted more than food or water was my mother. I was so weak that I could barely move, and my feet were so cracked and sore that each step was agony. By the time the lion sat in front of me licking his lips in hunger, I had given up. I welcomed his quick kill as a way out of my misery. But the lion looked at the bones jutting out of my skin, my sunken cheeks and bulging eyes, and walked away.
Or if God had interceded on my behalf.
He had another plan in store for me, so I called out for his guidance: Take me—direct me. Holding on to the tree to steady myself, I rose to my feet and called out for his help. I began to walk again, and within a few minutes came to a grazing area with camels everywhere.
I spotted the animal carrying the most fresh milk, and ran to it. I nursed, sucking the milk like a baby.
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The herdsman spotted me and yelled out, Get out of there, you little bitch! But I was desperate, and kept right on sucking, draining the milk as fast as my mouth could take it. The herdsman ran at me, yelling, loud and mean. The milk would all be gone. He chased after me, and managed to lash me with the whip a couple of times before I outran him.
But I was faster than he was, and left him behind me, standing in the sand, cursing in the afternoon sun. Now I had fuel in me; I was energized. So I kept running and running until I came to a village.
I had never been in a place like this before; it had buildings, and streets made from hard-packed dirt. I walked down the middle of the street, just assuming this was the spot for me to walk. As I strolled through town, gawking at the strange setting, my head swiveled in every direction. A woman passed by me, looked me up and down, then called out: You are so stupid.
Where do you think you are? To some of the other villagers walking down the street, she cried, Oh, my goodness. Look at her feet! She pointed at my feet, cracked and caked with bloody scabs.
Oh, my God. She must be a stupid little country girl. She knew. This woman yelled out to me, Little girl, if you want to live, get off the street.
Get off the road! She waved me to the side, then laughed. I knew everybody heard, and I was so embarrassed. Pretty soon, along came a truck. And I had to jump out of the way. I turned around to face the traffic, and as the cars and trucks headed toward me, I stuck out my hand. So I just stood in the road with my hand stuck out to try and get someone to stop.
A car careened past and nearly chopped my hand off, so I jerked it in. I thrust my hand out again, but this time not quite as far, moved a little farther to the side of the road, and kept walking. I looked into the faces of the people driving past me in their cars, silently praying for one of them to stop and help me. Eventually a truck stopped. I am not proud of what happened next—but it happened, so what can I say, but to tell the truth?
To this day, whenever I think of that truck stopping, I wish I had trusted my instincts and not gotten in. The truck was hauling a load of stones for construction; they were jagged and the size of softballs. In front were two men; the driver opened the door and said in Somali, Hop on, darling. I felt helpless, sick with fear. When he smiled, his teeth showed red, tobacco red.
Female Genital Mutilation: A Pedagogical Tool to Explore Global Violence against Women
The driver told me to climb in the back. This brought me some relief, the thought of being away from the two men. I climbed into the truck bed and sat down in one corner, trying to make myself comfortable on the pile of rocks. It was dark now, and cool on the desert; as the truck started moving I was cold and lay down out of the wind. The next thing I knew, the man riding with the driver was next to me, kneeling on the stones. He was in his forties, and ugly, ugly.
He was so ugly, his hair was leaving him; he was going bald. His teeth were chipped and some were missing; the remaining ones were stained a nasty red with the khat, but still he grinned at me, proudly displaying them.
No matter how long I live, I will never forget his face leering at me. He was also fat, as I learned when he took his pants down. His erect penis bobbed at me as he grabbed my legs and tried to force them apart. Oh, please, please, no, I begged. I wrapped my skinny legs around each other like pretzels and locked them shut. He grappled with me and tried to force them apart. I let out a shrill scream that the air carried away as the truck sped into the night.
We struggled, with all his weight on top of me, the rough stones cutting into my back. He hauled back his hand and slapped me again, this time harder. With the second slap I knew I had to think of some other tactic; he was too strong for me to fight.
This man obviously knew what he was doing. Unlike me, he was experienced, no doubt raping many women; I was simply about to become the next one. I deeply, deeply wanted to kill him, but I had no weapon. So I pretended to want him. I said sweetly, "Okay, okay. But first let me pee-pee.
I went to the opposite corner of the truck and pretended to squat and pee in the darkness. This bought me a few minutes to think of what to do next. By the time I finished my little charade, I had formed my plan. I picked up the largest stone I could find and, holding it in my hand, went back and lay down beside him.
He climbed on top of me and I squeezed the stone in my hand. With all my strength I brought it up to the side of his head and hit him squarely in the temple. I hit him once and saw him go dizzy. I hit him again and saw him go down. Like a warrior, I suddenly had tremendous strength. As he lay there I hit him again and saw the blood flowing out of his ear. His friend who was driving the truck saw all this happening from inside the cab. He started yelling, What the fuck is going on back there?
Waris Dirie,: Desert Flower
I knew it was over for me if he caught me. As the truck slowed down, I crawled to the back of the bed, and poised on the rocks, I jumped to the ground like a cat. Then I ran for my life. The truck driver was an old man; he jumped out of the cab and screamed in a raspy voice, You killed my friend!
Come back! You killed him! He chased me through the scrubby bushes for a short distance, then gave up. Or so I thought. The driver went back, crawled inside his truck, fired it up, and started driving through the desert after me.
Desert flower waris dirie essay
The twin headlight beams illuminated the ground around me; I heard the roar of the truck behind me. I was running as fast as I could, but of course the truck was gaining on me.
I zigzagged and circled back through the darkness. I ran through the desert like a hunted animal; I ran through desert, then jungle, then desert again, with no idea of where I was. The sun came up and I continued to run. Finally I came upon another road.New York: William Morrow Paperbacks. Even though I was sick with fear at the thought of what might happen, I decided to hitchhike again, because I knew I needed to get as far away as possible from the truck driver and his friend.
Penniless and speaking little English, she became a janitor in McDonalds where she was famously discovered by a fashion photographer. While my father and the rest of the family were still sleeping, my mother woke me and said, Go now.
Desert Flower is a recollection of such gentle beauty that "rags to riches" seems hardly appropriate.
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