Nabuguzi. Kiwanuka
Nothing stresses me out about womanhood like the everyday simplicity of owning a uterus. Hear me out!
In Primary 5, our senior woman teacher called us and taught us about our bodies. She told us that we would start growing hairs in places we have been taught to hide and that we should not raise an alarm when it happens. I think it was the same session in which she told us about menstruation and that we should not laugh at anyone when it happens.
Life moved on. Our dormitory matron, who also doubled as the librarian, enjoyed having time with us. She got books from the library and she would read for us before we slept. It should not also be skipped that she was also using her time to indoctrinate us into some random religion – story for another day. She, too, emphasized the necessity of hygiene during our menstruation.
The most we ever learned about menstruation was how to use pads and hygiene.
My period started either a few days before I became 11 or a few days after.
One weekend, I saw our family friend through my dormitory window. She had come to visit her niece. I wanted to go to her but I couldn’t stand. My thighs hurt so bad and for some reason, when I’d try to touch them, it felt like the pain would quickly spread to my knees. I tried to get to her but I do not remember if I did. I also do not know why I never went to the sickbay. Life just moved on. I do not know if I had any more of such incidents when I was in primary school.
When I was 13, I noticed strange pangs in my lower belly. I was taken for an ultrasound scan and the doctors concluded I get painful ovulation. Nothing much was spoken about. We left it at that.
In senior 2, I noticed a classmate who would grow pale, thin and very sick during her periods. She vomited everything that got on her tongue, even water. No medication ever worked for her and I wonder if at all she ever got better. Even then, nothing really registered that periods can really be complex. We just branded it as a “her” thing and not any other person’s.
As I moved more classes up, there was pain in my body but I still didn’t think so much about it. I guess school and the childness in me, just never made me think so much of it.
Fast forward to campus. One evening, I was sure malaria had finally gotten me after 7 years of boasting that it never gets me. My knees hurt so bad. My body was sick. I was shaking. I got into bed with the resolution that I would seek medication the following day. I woke up and it was just aunt Flo’s visit. In fact I woke up okay.
Another fast forward to 2019, I ended up getting an injection from my former workplace because I couldn’t even make one step. The pain that started light at about 4:30 pm kept going a notch higher until I couldn’t even lie for the injection. I had stayed long in the office when everyone had left. At about 7 pm, I sent my finished work to my then boss and called to ask for a day off the following day. By then I was frustrated and almost in tears. There was shame and guilt but I just said “I’m not okay”. At least I never had to explain. I had already taken my medication at about 5:15 pm and what started as the normal normal pain turned into something that couldn’t let me breathe well.
I finally called mom, after I called my boss. The plan was to wait for the pain to reduce a bit so that I jump on the next boda and head home for an injection instead. Lucky for me, she was still in town so she decided to come straight to my office. Because she was coming and I was also done with work, I decided to clear my desk and have everything stacked away.
I stood yes but it felt like something smacked me out of standing up straight so I got to a certain angle which also didn’t allow me to get lower to sit. I couldn’t stand straight and neither could I sit back. I was stuck, in pain and alone.
Mom walked in about 8 pm. She asked me to lie on the couch for the injection but I couldn’t. I got the injection in the angle she found me in and at about 9:30 pm, we were able to go home.
Another fast forward to a few weeks ago. I saw Korra talk about how she was in so much pain but her dad made her a concoction that relieved the pain instantly. She said he had boiled bitter leaf (omululuuza), scent leaves (omujaaja) and lemons. I knew I had finally hacked the solution. I sent for them. It was my first time to see mululuuza but tell me why I almost walked naked in protest of the agony I faced the following day – for about 4 hours. The medication, too, had no effect. If Korra was advertising this as her father’s business, do you see how I was going to call her out?
Once in a while, when I’m aware of how close the next period is coming, I panic. I take as many deep breaths as I can. Sometimes I buy at least a bar of chocolate and some biscuits to indulge in when suffering comes. They seem to help – probably with the mood or distraction.
Periods are the only thing that have made me curse womanhood, and yet I’ll say it over and over again, that if I had to come back in my next life, I would still want to come back as a woman – but with the option of choosing to be one of those women who go over their periods like nothing is happening. I was even shocked that some have no idea that their fellow women suffer gravely during their periods.
This post was created with our nice and easy submission form. Create your post!
Written by
Lawyer. Founder, Director, CEO at Equate Foundation. Podcaster - Hash Time with Nabuguzi Kiwanuka. Drawer. Dance lover. Music lover. Risk-taker. Daily learner.
Did this story move you? Every gift goes directly to Nabuguzi. Kiwanuka — writers on Muwado earn from reader appreciation, not algorithms. Even $1 makes a difference.
Muwado weekly chart
Get Africa’s top 10 stories every Thursday
No account needed — just your email.
Want to follow Nabuguzi. Kiwanuka and get notified every time they publish?
Create a free Muwado account →