Cameroonian Girls Whose BR*ASTS Were Ironed By Mothers Tell Their Stories

Cameroonian women and girls whose chests were ironed with hard and heated objects by ther mothers in a traditional practice tell their heartbreaking stories.

WARNING: The following materials contain explicit content!
brea$t ironing is the pounding and ma$$aging of a pubescent girl’s BR*ASTS, using hot tools, to try to make them stop developing or to disappear. It is typically carried out by family members who are trying to protect the girl from $exual hara$$ment and r*pe. They hope it will aslo prevent early pregnancy that would tarnish the family name, or to allow the girl to pursue education rather than be forced into early marriage.
It is mostly practiced in parts of Cameroon, where boys and men may think that girls whose BR*ASTS have begun to grow are ready for $ex. The most widely used implement for brea$t ironing is a wooden pestle normally used for pounding tubers. Other tools used include leaves, bananas, coconut shells, grinding stones, ladles, spatulas, and hammers heated over coals.

Cindy, 14 years old; and a wooden spatula that has been used for brea$t ironing. Photo credit: Gildas Paré

“Every morning, before going to school, my mom makes me lift up my top so she can make sure I haven’t taken my bandage off. It’s been two years now and she still checks it on a daily basis. It’s humiliating. I’d like her to stop. When I grow up, I want to be a lawyer or play piano. I hope that wearing this bandage will help me to continue my education.” – Cindy, 14 years old.

Jeannette, 28 years old. Photo credit: Gildas Paré

“Having BR*ASTS was shameful. My grandmother noticed mine when I was 10. One night, she made me lie down on a bamboo bed by the fire. She pressed on me with a hot wooden spatula and tried to flatten them. Even now, I don’t want people to touch my chest.” – Jeannette, 28 years old.

Carole B., 28 years old; and berry pits are also used to flatten the brea$t Photo credit: Gildas Paré

“When my BR*ASTS started to grow, people in my house began to talk about it. Neighbors, my mom’s friends, our elders. So much talking! Even I started to feel ashamed because people were talking about it. Eventually, my mom decided to iron my BR*ASTS. ‘If we don’t iron them, it will attract men. And we know that men mean pregnancy,’ she said. We needed to kill those BR*ASTS, she claimed. She used hot rock on my right boob, then the left, then the right. This went on for weeks. I suppose she meant well. BR*ASTS are what makes a woman beautiful, though. Today, mine are flabby. They can’t even stand.” – Carole B., 28 years old.

Carole N., 28 years old. Photo credit: Gildas Paré

“They tell you: ‘Don’t scream, it’s for your own good.’ I haven’t had the courage to talk about it to my children yet. Three days ago, my son asked me, ‘Mommy, why do you have small BR*ASTS?’ I told him that I didn’t know. I also have a six-year-old daughter. But I’m not ready to talk about it. I would have loved to breastfeed a future president.”– Carole N., 28 years old.