Breast ironing: a harmful practice that spans generations

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The cocks crowed, signifying morning was nigh.

Hope shuddered as she thought of what awaited her.

Her developing breasts throbbed with excruciating pain, worsened hours ago when her mama had pounded them with hot stones.

She’d cried and pled as mama pounded and auntie held her, but it was useless.

They said they were doing it for her, they didn’t want the men to desire her, but Hope felt none of their love.

All she felt was the pain.

And she saw the scars she knew would never leave.

She heard...

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