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Vagina is not a four letter word
Amanda Atwood
May 21, 2005

I was 25 before I bought my first "female sanitary product." It was more shyness than cost consciousness that held me back. Maybe the result of a conservative Catholic upbringing or who knows what else, but the prospect of buying sanitary pads, much less, gasp, tampons, filled me with dread and embarrassment. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of "those things" in my shopping basket. Much less on the check out counter, and then in my bag. In my adolescence I was spared the humiliation and used whatever my mother bought for her, myself and my sister. But when I moved out, I was left on my own to deal with sanitary ware, and was no where near bold enough to purchase it for myself. . And so, for the longest time, I resented my monthly period, approached it with bitter frustration and copiously wrapped reams of loo roll around my knickers.

I cannot recall what, exactly, inspired me to change this practise. Perhaps I got tired of washing out blood soaked underpants. And I did become a bit self conscious about the (to my ears) pronounced crinkling sound of wads of toilet paper stuffed down my front. And so, at the age of 25, I gritted my teeth, held my breath and bought my first box of tampons. I selected them furtively. Maximum absorbency for minimum cost. I buried them in my shopping basket underneath some biscuits and powdered milk and picked the longest check out queue because it was the only one with a female till operator. I lifted them out of the basket with the powdered milk and kept them hidden under there until the till operator had to swipe them. I furtively stuffed them in my bag, and to my amazement she didn’t bat an eye or say a word.

I took them home and found they’d changed since I’d first seen them in my youth—small, slim and applicator free. They were not nearly as intimidating as I’d convinced myself they must be. And, over the next few months, I became a discerning, confident purchaser of tampons. I had my favourite brands and types [Lilettes, multi pack, 6 "super" + 10 "regular"] but I was versatile enough to adjust to whatever kind was available at the time, commodity shortages being what they are in Zimbabwe.

A year or so later, I was advised about the revolution in sanitary pads—now found "with wings" that wrap around the edge of your panties much as my toilet roll constructs used to. So I gave them a try. And again, much to my amazement, no one stared at me untowardly as I stood in the "female ware" section of the super market, comparing prices, absorbability, size and quantity. And again, no one looked at me with suspicion when I paid for them, some bath soap and a box of tea. And no one arrested me for indecent public behaviour when I put them in my bag and left the shop.

And so I entered the world of sanitary ware purchases. It’s not to say I’m any less resentful of my period. I have never been interested in having children. Surely, I think to myself every month, someone should have consulted me regarding this basic fact before deciding that I would bleed profusely from the nether regions for 3-5 days every 3-5 weeks for some 20 or 30 odd years of my life. I mean, where is the logic in that? The justice? So, while I haven’t embraced menstruation as a "beautiful sign of my flourishing womanhood," or whatever they say in the books, I have at least come to terms with the hygiene side of things. And I can bargain shop for "pads and pons" with confidence and good humour.

So the other day I was at TM. I was after dishwashing liquid, Handy Andy, hand cream and beans. Somewhere between the dishsoap and the beans I spotted "the aisle." So, I figured, why not pick up a box of tampons. While I’m at it. Checking my items through the attendant paused with the box of tampons in his hand. Lucky this didn’t happen a year ago! I looked at the price on the box, and looked at the price he’d punched in and said something like "Yes, that’s right, your prices have gone up again."

And still he held them in his hand! He turned them over and started to read the box. And I started (just slightly) to lose my nerve. Maybe this was it. Maybe the zanu repressive police (zrp) had finally decided to legislate even sanitary ware. Maybe the new pope had issued some decree likening tampons with femindoms and the liberation of women had taken a 100 year backslide while I wasn’t looking. So, gathering myself, I asked what the problem was.

Cashier: "What are these?" Me: "They’re tampons Cashier: "What are they for?" Me: "They’re for women for when they’re having their monthly periods." Cashier: Stares blankly Me: "You know, when women bleed every month, when they menstruate, they stick them in their vaginas cuz it soaks up the blood from the inside." Cashier: Gulps uncomfortably and looks away.

Ha! I felt vindicated. Liberated. Free, easy and ready to take on the world. I just conquered my first cross-gender tampon conversation AND conducted a bit of civic awareness training at the same time. What a feeling.

Vagina Monologues was recently performed in Harare. Unfortunately, I was out of town for the performances and missed it. But the opportunities for public education abound. And who says performance art needs a license or approval from the Board of Censors.

Vagina is not a four letter word. Nor is menstruation. In fact, I might not even mind my period so much any more, if it means I can go and buy more tampons.

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