Three kinds of animal: a menstruation tale.

 I am three kinds of animals when l menstruate.

The first one, is a cute small and fluffy puppy. It’s white, clean and so innocent that you just want to pick it up and cuddle and that’s how l feel too, l want to be picked up and cuddled like a cute puppy. And l don’t bite. I just sit at home, wrapped up in a warm blanket and look pretty. l call up men that l turned down and tell them I’m just checking up on them, when l know that my naughty brain just needs to hear a man speak. I love men a lot here, on the pavements l wave, wink my eye, giggle and miss a step or two for almost anything with a penis! I make an appearance to look pretty, enough to follow my younger brother to his hangout spots, so l too hangout with him and his friends. I mean, how dare he leave me home alone?

On other times, l am a crocodile. I’m sitting there minding my business in the sun but with my jaws wide open and ready to attack at the slightest inclination of an enemy approaching. This is the time l isolate myself from society and family a lot,because l find their presence provocative. I sit in a dark room quietly and avoid hearing any of my brothers speak. Here, I find the older one’s husky voice very irritating and l find anything the younger one says utterly exasperating. I feel like hitting them anytime they open their mouths to speak. In a professional setup, l sit in corners taking in everything everyone is saying and giving them ratchet responses in my head, intentionally taking my normal bluntness to a new level of rudeness. This new level is written in bold, l don’t give a care what you think, but l will tell you exactly what l think. This is also the me that does weird things like intentionally watching movies and music videos on mute and with no subtitles on. l love tolerating their silent version when l menstruate. They speak louder in their silence.

We move to my favourite, the itched off elephant. I’m not waiting for anyone to attack, l am taking the initiative upon myself and destroying anything in my path. This is the me that talks back to rowdy touts, that tells white old ladies how to drive their cars in the street and promises with intention to beat up grown man and boys. I intentionally and persistently look for fights, both verbal and physical because the hormones have done a good job in intoxicating me to believe l am some form of Bruce Lee. My small frame and the fact that l have no training in any fighting discipline should be a sufficient reminder of my weaknesses but by this time l would have disillusioned myself into thinking l am a well-trained Krav Maga disciple. Krav Maga being the deadliest fighting discipline in the world. Here, l spend most of my time online, because there are always so many ready fighting partners. This is the me that will go to a friend’s inbox and say the sky is green. I know the sky isn’t but at that time l am convinced it is and anyone who professes otherwise automatically becomes a worthy opponent.

 

My periods have always been either this dramatic or ultimately, excruciatingly painful. They used to be so painful that l would kick, scream, faint, and repeat this for a whole day until society diagnosed me with jeko or isilumo. The symptoms include stomach aches, weight loss, vomiting and pain that felt as if there were pins being accurately screwed into my stomach. The result was that l spent most of my teenage years wanting my womb removed. Which is why l find it very ridiculous however humorous in some cases,where television commercials have females who look and behave in sane ways when they are menstruating. In fact these superwomen are so energetic that they kick punching bags, run marathons and close deals all while menstruating. They look so put together with their flawless makeup, perfect hairand keen sense of fashion. When l menstruate, l dress and feel like a hobo with my oversized clothes and off balanced colours. l am constantly uncomfortable and over cautious because l have to check every chair, or seat and bed that l lay on for blood stains when l stand up. In public spaces l am constantly worried that someone will stop me and tell me there are drops of blood on my clothes.

Females on our television screens never menstruate, they don’t have any form of menstrual pain or moods but we are supposed to believe they are real women, that too of reproductive age. Of the numerous movies, series and soapies that l have watched there has only been one character who mentions anything to do with menstruation. Even if it is just one line, l appreciate that someone talks of changing a tampon otherwise we would never hear of it. This one time and when companies advertise pads is the only time that l have seen the media actually show that women menstruate. 

Literature has done a decent job in creating and telling womens stories, and governments have created women’s ministries, why is there such profound silence on menstruation? Could it be that in a generation that deems itself ‘woke’ or socially conscious, we still believe that menstruation is something women should be ashamed of?

While l hope that the chronicles of my menstruation journey have sufficiently entertained you, I hope that you can also realise from my own story that menstruation is more than just period poverty, physical and emotional distress are a part of the package as well. But don’t take my word for it, remember that in the 1920’s the Soviet Union legislated menstruation leave. We’re smarter than a despotic government of the 20th century, right?