I first fell in love with the word vagina at an early stage in life, at a time where saying it out loud would have been a grave abomination; so, I whispered it, to myself and to the air every chance I got. My earliest memory of hearing the word was in my primary six, during a reproductive health science class. It was this sort of shy word, or shameful if you will. Being kids, we were a little uncomfortable about the teacher naming our private parts; parts we owned, out loudly. Every time he said Penis, the girls would give the boys scornful looks and a few giggles would be heard while the boys sat rigidly embarrassed as silent as stones. The same would happen when he said vagina; only the laughs were louder and the embarrassment was hotter. It was clear there was more shame and “vulgarity” attached to the word vagina than Penis, it was the unspoken place. Our Science teacher, I remember him only as Mr.Otim, sensing the tensions chose to tell us to stand up and repeat the two words over and over again until none of us was snickering, giggling or uncomfortable. So, there we were, a class of 11-year olds obediently, screaming; “vagina, penis, vagina, penis, vagina” hilarious, right? After a few dozen times, we finally had it, probably merely exhausted by the repetition, no one was laughing any more, we were saying the words like programmed robots. Eureka! down we sat and the class continued.
In the sea of students was me, on the second row from the front, I was always a lover of new words, English was my favorite subject, I kept hearing the word, feeling it roll off my tongue like a rice ball at lunch, “vagina”, I kept whispering, the word sounded so foreign yet so familiar. Because till that day, I don’t think I’d ever been conscious about my vagina or its existence, it was there I knew but never really noticed, it had no real identity, a name, it was only Susu or some other weird term. I was enchanted by the word, I wished I’d discovered the word. In simple terms I was possessed by the word vagina. After that science lesson though, I never got a chance to confidently use the word till later on in life. In primary of course, saying the right name for your private parts or basically just talking about them was vulgar and would attract some sort of punishment because how dare you correctly name your body organs? So basically, I think I got out of primary without ever saying the word again. Starting secondary school at a strict catholic mixed school did not offer much opportunity either, it was still a vulgar term, vagina. Although by starting my period, my vagina had now taken on a firmer presence, it was THERE, kicking my ass every month. So I reserved my love for vagina a little longer, though I’d often say it in small gatherings with fellow girls yet what I really wanted to do was scream the word, put everyone in a line, arms akimbo and make them say the word, feel the word, until they all fell in love just like I had. I didn’t understand what it was that kept compelling me to just defy the silence and say the word but it was pressing really hard.
Then the universe decided to set me on what I think was the right course in life at the moment, going to an only girls’ school, I don’t think I’d ever been around that many vagina owners all my life, there was one at every turn, and I was ecstatic to be in a place so full of girls of all kinds, a place with rules for us. It felt like I’d gone to Venus (you know they keep saying it is the planet for women, probably because it starts with V like vagina) this was my Venus, my own little bubble, I could finally be, breathe and live like a girl, with no edit. For the first time, I was extremely comfortable in my femininity, we talked about periods, it was sort of sacred when our periods synced with a friend’s. I was free. I didn’t have to hide my cramps, I didn’t have to sit in a class surrounded by boys unaware and other girls hiding too. To bite my lip, dig my nails into my wrists and sometimes break pencils to stop myself from crying. In mixed school I found, though unspoken, a certain stigma for menstruation, we didn’t talk about it much, its like it happened but it didn’t; almost like a conspiracy theory. But in an all girls school, talk about our bodies thrived, we shared our horrible period stories and remedies we’d tried and somehow, that made them better. It made the pain a little bearable, because we weren’t hiding it, it was ours and we unanimously agreed periods were horrible and loudly wished them on the opposite sex.
Funnily, although, I was the greatest vagina advocate, I’d never seen a live one except in the black and white biological drawings. I’d never looked at mine or someone else’s, in fact I only remembered I had one every month, when I was cramping and it felt like it was tearing. It was to me like, Peter Pan’s wonderland, wonderfully described but I’d never been. I was a hypocrite. Back then no one had told me to look down there and I had not read any books to that effect either. So, even if I talked about it, I was kind of scared to look, it didn’t seem right, I didn’t know what to expect and it felt obscene to even think of spreading my legs and looking.
Now that am a little older, I’ve read some great books by great women and gotten at least one infection, I can say I understand my love for my anatomy a little better and the great importance of looking every once in a while. Would you know your face was peeling or that you had a rush if you didn’t look in the mirror? We notice the difference on our faces almost as immediately as they start because our faces are literally always in the mirror or any reflective surface or our friends would tell us. But our most intimate parts go through changes too and we never even notice, a change in discharge or a little reddening on the labia to signal a growing infection, but we won’t know till its too late because we don’t look often enough or at all. Every girl must at least every week or in extreme a month, take a mirror, spread your legs and take a long hard look at your vulva, look at it seriously, at first of course with confusion, then concern on whether its normal and then understanding and compassion. Look at it for medical reasons, to understand it but most importantly because its yours and it is a very vital part, that needs a lot of love and care.
Side note; I didn’t know, what I confidently referred to as a vagina most of my time growing up was actually called a vulva till I read Vagina Re-education by Lynn Enright. So, on top of seeing what’s down there, take time and read a little on the subject of female bodies. Read other women’s stories, some you’ll find enraging, hilarious, freeing but mostly you’ll find them relatable because the ignorance of women about their own bodies is universal and quite frankly sad. Like faces, all vulvas look different, in color, size and all so while you look or reeducate yourself, don’t compare or fret about your labia being longer, shorter or your vulva looking slightly different from the mainstream portrayal. It is your own vulva, sculpted specifically for you so love it. Let’s carry on the knowledge so that our daughters will enter a more informed and lead better vagina lives.
Spread and Look Ladies!
If you know me, now you understand why I use the word alot😂 if you don’t know me, well now you know I love to say Vagina and why!
MIDNIGHT BOTHER 