The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Girls!

Episode Date: October 18, 2022

This week, an episode in honor of the International Day of the Girl Child, observed October 11. Stories from across continents and across generations -- about the challenges, the adventures, and the joys of girlhood. Hosted and produced by The Moth's Executive Producer, Sarah Austin Jenness. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media. Hosted by: Sarah Austin Jenness 10-year-old Briony Chappell and her father search for each other after being separated on a ski trip.  Dia's mother surprises her in a moment of need.  Primah Kwagala recounts the night her father brought home a second wife. Masooma Ranalvi decides to break her silence. Eve Engel hopes to get her first kiss. Juliette Holmes and her mother go shopping in 1940s segregated Georgia. 

Attention Houston! You have listened to our podcast and our radio hour, but did you know the Moth has live storytelling events at Wearhouse Live? The Moth has opened Mike's storytelling competitions called Story Slams that are open to anyone with a five-minute story to share on the night's theme. Upcoming themes include love hurts, stakes, clean, and pride. GoodLamoth.org forward slash Houston to experience a live show near you. That's theMoth.org forward slash Houston. From Pierix, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin-Geness. We've produced lots of women's episodes over the years, but this hour is all about girlhood. In 2011, the

United Nations created the International Day of the Girl Child to recognize girls' rights and to focus the world's attention on the unique challenges girls face. Today we have stories from Nepal, Uganda, India, London and the US that dive into the hearts and minds of little girls and some lessons and traditions that some little girls have grown up with. These stories are all told by women about events that happened when they were young, some joyous, some harrowing, all memorable and life-changing. We begin this episode with a 10-year-old Londoner on her first-ever trip to the US, perched on a ski slope in Colorado, just where I would not have wanted to be, but that's just me. I like to swim when I was little, and I'll tell you a little bit more about that later.

Brian E. Chapel told the story with us at a Grand Slam in London. Here's Brian. When I was growing up, I went skiing every year with my dad. And when I was 10, we went to America, which obviously is very exciting for a 10-year-old. Mae'n gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r

gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r ddod yn ymdod yn ymdodn gwaith yw'ndyst yn ymwchyd. A'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwyd, a'n ymwyd, a'n ymwyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n ymwchyd, a'n gweithio'r gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn gweithio yn a gyd yn fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i'n fwy ymwyr i gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith yn gwaith. Mae'r gwaith.

Mae'r gwaith. Mae'r gwaith. Mae'r gwaith. Mae'r gwaith. And burst and tears and she's like, oh, obviously, while this is all happening, my dad has had the same experience. I'm not in the village that he's in. So he's like, oh, she'll be in the other village, I'll get on the shuttle bus. And in an amazing comedy of errors, we've crossed by this. And so he's now in the other village that I was originally in thinking, oh my god, I've

lost her. And where is she? o'r gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod.

Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwybod. Mae'n gwybod i'n gwaith, mae'r gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i'n gwaith i' i'n half an hour of work. And so I'm like sitting in the front seat of this four by four. I've got my skis in the back. I've got my sprite. I've got my sonnies. It's sunny. I'm like, this is America.

And I get to the top. Get to the chalet and the chalet host. They welcome me in. And then I'm like, my god, you're so small, but you're so smart. And obviously in this time, they've called my dad, who is out of his mind in panic. He's in the Mountain Rangers office, the piece of clothes for the day, they're like, sir, she is not on the mountain.

We've sent the dogs up, they cannot find her. My dad is like in full panic mode thinking, I've lost my child. Like, what am I going to do now? Obviously, he gets a call from the chalet her as being like, Mae'r ddod yn fwy panig sydd ymwchynio'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy'r ddod yn fwy' I'm the talk of the dinner, my god, thank you. And my dad was obviously freaking out. He was like, I'm going to have to go home, tell my wife that I've lost you. You're going to end up as one of those children on the side of a milk bottle. This is America.

And you know, in hindsight, this story really is only funny because I'm OK. There's nothing quite ruining a holiday, like losing the person that you're with. And then the next day, we went to the local electronic store and we bought walkie-talkies. It's like 10, I'm like this is sick. But for the rest of the holiday we communicate like spies. And I think, well, maybe I should just get lost more often.

That was Briany Chappell. Briany is still living in London where she works as the head of social and video at Kiss FM. Briany still skis and is grateful to have skied so much as a little girl. At this point when she flies down the slopes, it's all muscle memory. To see photos of Briany and her dad on holiday from the time of the story, go to themoth.org. ["Moth.org"] Our next storyteller is Dia. I can't give her last name for reasons of her safety.

She tells us about her relationship with her alma, her mother. We met Dia in a Moth Global Community program that we taught in collaboration with UN Women Asia, with women who are living in Nepal and neighboring countries. The workshop was during the pandemic, so heads up, this recording is from the virtual world, and the audio has that lackluster zoom quality. But I promise you, Dia is full of life. Live from Kathmandu,, here's Dia.

I remember when I was around five years old, the sun was slowly waking up over the horizon, painting the horizon with both strokes of orange. And my beautiful alma in the fields of merigold, picking each bloom slowly and onto the doko, a bamboo basket. Then she plucked a little bright orange bloom and tucked it beneath my ear and called me Harlamri Thori, her beautiful daughter. And ever since I was a child, I knew that I was a girl.

So we moved from the village to the city and I started to go to school. I spent all my time with other girls from my class. I sat and ate lunch with other girls from my class. And I even went to the bathroom, the girls' bathroom, until one day, when I came out of the bathroom, my teacher was standing in front of the door. It slapped me across the face and yelled at me.

It is wrong for you as a boy to enter the girl's bathroom. I was crying when I unfolded the events to my alma back at home and asked her, am I really a boy? Am I not a girl? And I waited. But she didn't answer. Instead, in few days, we moved to a different part of the city, to a different school. And she told me, I had to act like a boy. So in the new school, I started spending all my time with other boys from my class. I sat down and ate lunch with other

boys in my class and I even went to the boys bathroom. But even after doing all these things, I didn't feel like a boy. I felt like a girl pretending to be a boy. And I felt like everyone could see right through the masquerade. As I grew older, my face became angular and sharp. I started growing beard. My soldiers broadened my chest flat, but even after all this evolving my heart, it was a for girl. And my mind was now in a tug of war. Do I go on pretending to be a feminine boy, because that's how the world sees me? Or do I tell everyone that I meet, hey stop,

I'm not a boy, I'm a girl stuck in a girl's, sorry, girl stuck in a boy's body. But there came a point where this was not viable. And that is when I found myself at the doctor stable begging him to diagnose me of gender dysphoria so I could start my hormone to placement therapy. After a few sessions, he told me to certify that I had gender dysphoria, he had to meet a family member. And that is the moment when I saw my hopes crumble to the floor. The floor is where I was looking when my alma sat

across the table from the doctor as he asked her questions after questions about my mannerism when I was growing up. About my moods when I was growing up. About my education. And then he asked her, do you know she identifies as a girl? You have to act like a boy. You have to act like a boy. You have to act like a boy.

Those were the words my mother told me when I was a child, playing in the back of my mind. But then I heard a different word. She said, I always knew that doctor. She's always been my daughter. And in that moment, in the small room, the claustrophobic walls began expanding into the beautiful field of audience where my alma was flucking Mary Gold. And I, her daughter, was helping her. Back at her house, in our kitchen table, I asked her what had changed from then to now

and she told me nothing had changed. She told me, I asked you to act like a boy when I was not there because I couldn't protect you from the world, but now you don't need any protecting. Now you can be you. And I couldn't help but smile in Euphoria as the aroma of the marigold flower filled the kitchen. The same kitchen which now housed a mother and her daughter.

That was Dia. These days Dia has been traveling for a research project, collecting biographies on queer youth migration for the UN's Leave No One Behind Strategy, which tries to reduce the inequalities undermining the potential of people all over the world. At the end of a story, Dia put a bright, beautiful, marigold behind her ear. After our break, two women, one from Eastern Uganda and one from Mumbai, share indelible memories

from when they were little girls. When the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin-Geness. This is an hour all about girlhood. If girls are supported when they're young, they have the potential to change the world. In many cases, girl children are treated differently than boys, but girls remember,

and these next two stories are about stark moments that changed the story tellers' lives and the lives of others. We first met Prima Kualgala in a moth global workshop when she was an Aspen new voices fellow. This story was recorded at the very end of the short workshop and told in front of an audience of an enthusiastic eight people. Her story takes place when Eastern Uganda. Here's Prima Kwa Gala. Thank you. So my name is Prima Kwa Gala. Prima means first in Latin,

and Kwa Gala is drawn from our traditions in Uganda. It means love. Directly translated it's first love. I am the first child of my parents. And I had a happy childhood. My parents loved me. Many times I tell people that I must be my parents' favorite. I used to walk out with my dad for outings.

He visited me so many times even when I moved into boarding school. Even when I go to university, I walked with my dad. I was weird because everyone wanted to be independent of the university, but I came with my dad. Growing up, my dad was really nice to us. He would come back by 5 p.m. to tell us stories, read us about our culture and traditions. Even when we went to some of the best schools in Uganda, Hela, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratak, hiratakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakak And we park up all our Sunday best clothes, all of our food, and just go out there to celebrate with our grandparents, aunties and uncles and everyone else.

So it's a really good time because as a child you're looking forward to playing and learning new games and sharing what you learned from the school year and your report cards. You know, get all of these uplows from everyone. Kutakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakak Iaid i'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an gara'an'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a Kutakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakak Kami takutatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatatakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakakak about, I think, a little after 9 p.m. my dad and his army of brothers, he had lots of them because my grandfather had about six wives as well, so there were very many brothers. They came towards our home. We, their new wife, I think they were escorting him to Asher in his wife into the home. And when they approached the front door, my dad pounded the door. Open the door! He started screaming.

My mom was quiet. Knowing the dead of the night everyone is quiet. And I was wondering what's going to happen. Open that door, he kept screaming. No sound. So his brothers joined in screaming. Nel'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'a'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u'u' was dark and my mom was tough and the bad cop in the home. If I did anything, I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me. And I didn't know what was happening to my dad. So I was just stuck and confused between the door and my parents exchanging of course. Well, my dad had the shout at me from outside and alongside his brothers they bust into the door and broke it open and got in.

And they had a very bitter exchange and as looking, my dad had his brothers with him, and they were of course cheering him, and my mom was just crying. And I remember clearly, my dad telling my mom that this is my home, I can do what I want. If you do not want to stay, park your bugs and leave. And my mom kept saying, I contributed to this wealth.

I contributed to the construction of this house, what becomes of me. And he said, you can take the roof and leave. I was in shock. I had never seen my dad hungry. I had never seen my dad express so much frustration and anger. And the next day we packed our bugs and left. Helaid i'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na'na kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko, kategoriko having been entitled and the main note. So I have devoted my work and career towards supporting men to get women to access justice in our community. Thank you.

That was Prima Kogawa. Prima now lives in Kampala, Uganda, and she still works as a lawyer helping other women in her community. I recently gave her a call to talk more. Last year your father died, and I'm so sorry to hear that, but that he named you air, and that seems like a dramatic turnaround from the events in the first scene of your story. I was shocked. My mother was shocked because she believed here, but don't ask. My dad was such a pitch-jack. I didn't think you would do anything like that. I knew my dad loved me, but for someone who left us to go find a son, to come back and name his daughter as heir, he was almost impossible to believe because we had never spoken about this, but through this very final act in life, a list was able to call us back into his family.

I feel very proud of him even in his passing, for being able to do family. I feel very proud of him even in his passing for being able to do that. Well, I know Prima that you are a role model for many little girls and that you already have shown many little girls how to grow up in a different way and and be like you. Do you think about that? Yes, I do. I do think about that. I know so many girls in my community that look up to me, they come to me and say that to me all the time. My life, my story has been more like my superpower. Yeah, so I do look at myself as a role model and hold myself to account each day, to open space and support another woman working the same journey as I am.

To see photos of Prima Quagala related to this story, visit themof.org. Masuma Ranalvi tells her next story. She's also from a Moth Global Workshop, this one focused on women and girls. And a word of caution, this is about the cultural silence around the traditional practice of female genital cutting, also known as cutna in India. Here's Masuma Ranalvi, live at the moth.

Good morning, everybody. I was born in the city of Mumbai, which was the earlier known as Bombay. It is one of the most populous and one of the most vibrant and modern cities of India. I was part of a very, very loving, warm affectionate family. My grandmother used to come from her village to Bombay during the summer vacations. One summer she'd come home and she said, let's take you for an outing. I was very excited because going out with grandmother who was an extrovert was good fun. You know, it meant I'd get chocolates and candies and so my mother dressed me in my best dress and out I went

with grandmother bouncing along with her. We went into this area where a large part of my community stays, it's like a area where we stay and she took me into this dark, falling a part, decrept building. We entered the building, we climbed up the first floor and she knocked at a door. I'm wondering where we are going, this is going to be a fun outing, but where are we? A normal lady opens the door and gets into the room. In our community we sit down, so we remove the shoes out, and there are rugs and carpets on the floor.

We go inside the inner room, a curtain is drawn, and we sit down on the floor. And then grandmother asks me to lie down. And I don't know what's happening at that point in time. I'm very, very scared. And she kind of gently nudges me, pushes me down on the carpet. I lie down, she's holding me, she's actually pinning me down, holding my shoulders and my hands. And the other lady at the other end is holding my legs. She removes my panty. And it's all happened very quickly. I've

started to cry, I'm sobbing. And this woman, she takes some instrument, whether it's a blade or a knife. And she cuts a part of me from down there. I don't know what it is, but it's a sharp piercing pain. I even do not have it in me to shout or to scream, but I'm sobbing and I'm crying. Everything else is a blur. I only know from that point I somehow get home. And the first thing I do when I get home is I just hug my mom and I cry and I cry.

And I'm angry why did my mother send me out with my grandmother? And I'm crying and my mother holds me tight. And she says it's going to be okay. I don't know anything about what has happened to me. The memory of that day has been locked in a box. All the trauma, all the whatever I went through, and it's been kept away. I have never, ever revisited that.

I have never told anybody about that. Till 40 years have passed. It's 2015 now. I have a 20-year-old daughter. I have not cut her. I have shielded her. She's studying design in Bangalore, which is another city in India. She's come for vacations.

And there is a spate of articles in the newspaper about this practice in our community. She is read about it. She doesn't know much about it. And she doesn't know that her cousins and her peers also have been subject to it because she hasn't been. No, nor have I ever talked to her about it. I want to tell her about this.

I have never spoken to anybody about it. I'm extremely awkward about it. One afternoon I sit her down and start the conversation. She senses where it's going and she also doesn't want to be heard. So she's also feeling very squeamish about it and I start, you know, when I was seven. And she says, Mom, no, I don't worry, hear it. And it's her squeamishness in hearing my story and my awkwardness in telling her the story. It was like it came together.

The moment passed, and then she asked me a question, why do we still do it? It was a general question. It was a question directed to, you know, the community as such, but it pierced me like an arrow. At that moment, I felt ashamed. I felt inadequate and I felt complicit in my silence. I felt that I was perpetuating a dark-dirty secret by my silence.

And it was at that moment in my heart I knew that I had to speak out and I had to break the silence. And that's what I wanted to do. But the biggest block or the biggest hurdle before me was my ignorance. I didn't know anything about this. I did not even know the word clitoris. I really did not. Leave alone, know what the clitoris does and anything about it. So my journey into learning about this started. And then one day I sat, I opened my laptop, I opened a page, I started writing. I wrote about all those suppressed, repressed emotions, trauma, feelings, all that anger,

pent up frustrations, put it down in a blog. I eventually got that blog published and that was the beginning of my journey into activism. And today I'm here to say that I'm very happy that I spoke out. Thank you. Massuma Ranalvi lives in Mumbai, India. She's now an instructor with the Moths Global workshops and the founder of We Speak Out, the organization which is committed to ending female genital mutilation in India. I recently spoke with Massuma all about this. What happened after you told your story? What kind of changes did you make in your life? After I got back to India, I was kind of on a high.

I had created this beautiful story and I had the courage to say it out loud. After that moment, I did not hesitate in telling my story to people. And I started telling my story very proudly, very strongly, and as a result of which, it kind of helped me reach out to so many others, because I started a movement, in a sense my story started a movement, was called, we speak started a movement was called We Speak Out. And there are a lot of women who connected with me at a deeply emotional and a deeply personal level because this was survivors of MGM who themselves had gone through what I had gone through, who themselves locked up in this whole conspiracy of silence and my voice kind of gave them this

trend to speak. I did not have the courage to speak for 40 years but now that I am awake my eyes are open and I have the power I have to do something to stop this from happening to other young girls. To see photos of Masuma Ranalvi, her sisters and her daughter, and Missouma at the UN engaging in her advocacy work, visit theMoth.org. Next up, one girl lives through her first kiss, another lives through a moment in US history, when the Moth Radio Hour continues. hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange, PRX.org. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX.

I'm Sarah Austin-Geness. In this show, we've been hearing women's stories and the things they learn as little girls. The top of the hour, I mentioned that I like to swim. My mother used to tell this one particular story about me over and over. When I was five, she walked me into the YMCA for me to start swimming lessons. And by the time she was back at the car, there I was next to her wanting to go home. I said, I'm quitting. Someone splashed me. And my

mother said, you are walking right back in there and you are learning to swim. You're going to get splashed, but you will come out a swimmer. And I did. In a year later, mom and I were walking on the beach in Huntington Long Island. And we saw a bunch of older girls about to start a swim race to a dock far out in the bay. I walked right up to the organizer, a total stranger, and I asked if I could swim with the big girls in the race. She said, sure, but these girls are much older than you, and I said, all right, and my mother watched as I got right in and swam to the far dock and back. I placed last, but I did it, and I remember feeling so bold and proud of myself.

They gave me a little swimmer's trophy, a trophy I still have on my desk, 30 years later. My mom is not here to tell her point of view, but I can hear her spirit laughing. And yes, you can see pictures of little me and the swimming trophy at the moth.org. Eve Angle tells her next story. She's a graduate of the Moths Education Program.

Here's Eve Angle live at the moth in Beacon High School. So here I was like any good young Jew on my first teen trip to Israel. And I was so excited because every second of this trip was planned. The itinerary was beautiful. And I love that because I'm this compulsive daydreamer, this neurotic over planner, and I think and think about things in my head a lot and how I want them to be. So this really excited me. But the one thing I didn't plan on was meeting a guy

on this trip. And it was hilarious because what happened was, as I met this guy, Danny. And we would sit next to each other on bus rides and entertain each other with really bad That's what she said jokes, you know really mature and We did that and we bonded but the one thing we didn't do was kiss because The thing was is that it was going to be my first kiss and I wanted it to be perfect

and I didn't know how it was going to be perfect but I knew it had to be and I knew the one way it wasn't going to be was if I kissed him first. He had to be the one to do it. So this brings us to the end of the trip, and the trip started in Israel, and then it ended in this Christian retreat center in New Jersey of all places. And it was my birthday. It was my birthday, and it was the best day. They threw me a surprise party, and it was just so amazing. And I kept thinking to myself, the only thing that could make this day better is if I had my perfect first kiss. So you know, I keep waiting to see if he'll do it.

And then we get to after this bomb fire at night and he says, hey, you want to go for a walk? And I'm like, okay. And so... Then he brings us to this gazebo. And I see this gazebo, and I know what happens in gazebo. So I was so excited. So I sat down and I keep like,

we have this like awkward silence, and I keep waiting for him to just kiss me But he keeps looking at his watch and I'm like okay You know we're on not on the same page maybe but I couldn't even be bothered because I was having such a good day I was wearing this white dress that made me feel really pretty and The gazebo had like twinkly lights over it, which was really romantic. And it was that kind of cool summer night where you could just smell it.

And I was so happy. And then finally, he looks up from his watch. He kisses me. He pulls back, shows me his watch, he kisses me. He pulls back, shows me his watch, and it reads 11.59 and 59 seconds. And he says, happy birthday. And I was like, oh, because I was like, I see your romantic gesture. Like I see what you did there.

But the thing was, is that this kiss was so underwhelming? I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't know what I did wrong. And I was kind of freaking out. I was having this out-of-body experience. And it was midnight, so we had to go back to our cabin. So he dropped me off at my cabin. And he kisses me good night.

And I just walk up the stairs. And I'm crying because it was my first kiss. And something didn't go right. It didn't feel perfect. And so I go to my counselor's room and I'm crying and I just tell her everything and I say how was my first kiss and something was wrong and I don't know what I did wrong. And she goes, honey, first kisses are supposed to be awkward. First, everything's are supposed to be awkward.

And, well, that just blew my mind. That I could think and think and plan. And things weren't gonna come out how the way that they were in my head. And that was such a liberating feeling. And the great thing was that the next time that I kissed someone, it was so unplanned. It was on a Monday night, and I had to rush home

to do a math project, and I was on a subway platform, and I kissed him first, and I swear it lasted like this long. But it was perfect. Thank you. Eve Engle is a preschool teacher living in Brooklyn and the very counselor who gave her the advice in her story is now a colleague of Eves. Juliet Holmes tells our final story in this hour about a memorable lesson she learned when she was six growing up in Savannah. She told this at a grand slam in New York City, where WNYC is a media partner of the Moth. Here's Juliet Holmes.

I grew up in Savannah, Georgia. In the doers to restaurants, movie theaters, bathrooms, water fountains, had Jim Crow signs, barring, colored people. In Savannah, this particular year, it was a very, very hot spring. And my mama told us on a Saturday morning that we were going to go shopping at Sears Roll Buck. We were so excited, my sister and me. We went, we got dressed and my mother would always say to us, girls, you know how to act. She never used the word behave. Yes, Mama, we know how to act. Yes, Mama, we know how to act. And the next thing I want you to do is to drink a glass of water,

go to the bathroom, flush the toilet, and wash your hands. My sister, who was older, she was so annoyed, but of course she didn't let my mama hear it. What is it that we always have to drink a glass of water, go to the bathroom, flush the toilet, and wash our hands. By me being younger and going to be like my sister, I would say, mm-hmm, but we didn't let mama hear us, okay? So mama got her pocketbook, we were all dressed. She locked the door, put that pocketbook under her arm, and off we went to get on the bus.

We walked to the bus stop. My mama paid the fare. We got on and we went straight to the back of the bus, the assigned seats. My sister sat with my mama. I wanted to sit by myself so I could look out the window. Oh, I was just so happy looking out of the window at all of the sites.

The bus stopped later and one of my classmates got on, and she sat right next to me. What's she gonna sit next to me for? I was like, I wanna look out the window, I don't wanna talk to her. So she was talking, and I was looking, mm-hmm. Well, Juliet, I'll see you in school, mind it. Okay, bye.

Good, you're... Yeah. I was like that when I was a little girl, yeah, right. Okay. So the bus went on and my mother rang the bell We got off the bus and walked across to street to see his road Park Seas was a big store block long with three stories Big store everybody was excited

About see his robot My mama went in we went into the store we walked straight to the back of the store, got on the elevator, that mind you, the elevators weren't segregated, first come first serve. My mama mashed the button, got off in the women's department, and she started to shop. Women's Department and she started to shop. Looking, pushing, looking, looking, and my sister, the drama queen. Huh! What's the matter?

I am so thirsty. I am too. I'm, too. Mama. Mama. Mama. Yes? I'm thirsty. And Mama gave her a look that we know the look.

Mm-hmm. And she kept right on looking, looking. So I said, Huh? Mama. Mama. And she kept right on, looking, looking. So I said, uh, mama, mama, there's the sign, says, Colet water. Colet, oh, mama, I want some of that Colet water. Because I know must be rainbows, red and blue and green. Oh, mama, and my mama looked at us.

And she said, she didn't say anything. She walked over to the fountains. One was white, white water, call it water. And she stood and she said, Betty Ann, drink from the white fountain. Oh mama's nice and cool, whoa, tasty. Now drink from the collette fountain.

Oh mama, it's nice and cool. Now I'm looking for all these colors to come out, but no colors. Juliette, you drank from the white fountain. Oh, mama's nice and cool, not drank from the colored fountain. Mama, but it tastes the same. She said, yes, it tastes the same because it comes out the same pipes. Well mama, why did they have those signs?

That's the law. Well, who made the law? She said, that is how it is. Now, I don't think my mama bought anything. We walked across the street, got on the bus, and she paid the fare, and we sat on the very last seat on the bus, and she sat and she hugged both of her two little colored girls and as I look back on that day and see us a real

box I wonder my mama put her life on the line for her two little colored girls because she could have been arrested, put in jail beaten. But that is how it was in Savannah, Georgia in 1947. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That was Juliet Holmes. Juliet is in her 80s now and she's lived in New York for many years, but she says her heart will never leave the low country of Savannah where she was born and raised. When I called to tell her this story was going to air, she cried.

She said, my mother took her life into her hands to teach us the truth. She was ahead of her time. I didn't realize we lived in the segregated world because my mom always told me I could be anything I wanted. Juliet has two granddaughters, one named Savannah, and she says, I teach them lessons just like my mother taught me. To see a photo of Juliet, her sister Betty Ann, and their mother, all shopping in Savannah in the 1940s, go to themalf.org.

That's it for this episode of The Malf Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. Music Music Music This episode of The Malf Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns, and Sarah Austin Janess, Catherine Burns, and Sarah Austin Janess, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show, along with Meg Bowls

and Jennifer Hickson. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. Additional Moss Global Community Program Coaching by Candy and Twiga and Larry Rosen. The rest of the Moss Leadership Team includes Sarah Haberman, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klucce, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowsky, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Kaza. The Moss would like to thank the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and UN Women for their support of the Moss Global Community Program.

Most stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers, our theme music is by the Drift, other music in this hour from Blue Dot Sessions, Regina Carter, and Strawberry Girls. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Mothraady Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX for more about our podcast for information on pitching us your own story and everything else go to our website, TheMoth.org.