On a recent visit to my grandmother’s rural home, I remarked to my uncle how sad it is that when I have children of my own, all of their grandparents will be city-dwelling creatures who won’t boast scenic views of misted mountain ranges, free-roaming cattle and grass-thatched rondawels.

“Ah, but you can’t be sure of that yet,” he quipped. “You could get married to a man whose parents live in the rural areas and who loves to go and see them often.”

I am not too sure whether the grimace I felt growing within, after that statement was made, actually seeped through my flesh and crept all the way up to my face. Marry a man whose parents live where and who loves to do what?!

Now, I know those types well – the urban dwellers whose lungs can’t take the smell of diesel and industrialisation for any protracted amount of time, and who must therefore drive off to the ‘roots’ (that’s Zimbabwean slang for one’s rural home) at any opportunity. Public holidays, Christmas, Easter, annual leave – name the calendar dates and these men are on their merry way.

I have absolutely no problem with this whatsoever. Showing love and appreciation for where you come from is a sign of humility and respect. So bravo to all of those who have embraced their heritage.

But please don’t expect me to be the first to be kitted out in faithful pursuit at the suggestion of each and every road trip to see my in-laws and their string of relatives.

Let’s go through the reasons why.

It isn’t just rural folk who want to see what mettle a mroora (daughter-in-law) is made of. But they make the greatest demands on you to find out whether you really were worth all those cows given away as your bride price.

They want to know if you can cook, clean and do every other wifely task they know of from their own mental handbooks.

And note, cooking here is not for some previously planned dinner party of eight guests who all get place names. In this instance, it’s more like cooking for the whole village – aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, brothers of aunts of great uncles and any other relation you can think of!

Oh, and I neglect to mention that this is cooking by fire.

In a drum.

With a big old log for you to stir the pap around with as it gurgles and threatens to erupt all over your face.

I laugh at the thought of my even attempting such feats of heroism.

Ah, and then there’s the small matter of plucking feathers from newly deceased chickens which, in their final moments, you watched coursing about the yard headless and bloody.

I have to pass on that one too because I have real issues with cooking or eating something that I have seen living.

Call me crazy, but I grow attached to livestock. I watch and learn their different characters and even give them names and nationalities. In fact, in just this last visit to my grandmother I reincarnated one of her hens as a moody painter called Pierrick cocking his head to and fro (in the previous life the hen was male!) and fixing his eyes on angular shapes and edgy colours.

So don’t think for one moment that I could ever partake of the cooking and eating of Pierrick and others of his kith and kin.

Fetching water from a well kilometres away and then balancing a full bucket over my head? And actually walking with it?

Pass again.

But my personal favourite is getting all of this done before the first cock crows and with the whispers behind my aching back about when exactly it is that I will show my fertility by falling pregnant.

Did I just chuckle out loud? I am not so sure because no one else is in the room.

The chuckle, whether audible or otherwise, is induced by the fact that I am involved in a well-documented unshakeable romance with my pillows. So much so is sleep the glory of my life that I have since forfeited the spectacle of picturesque sunrises for it.

I will forfeit a whole lot more, even at the risk of being called a salad. In Zimbabwe, people who are considered to be ‘raw’ in a cultural sense, are derisively referred to as salads – no particular type of salad, just anything that’s made up of raw ingredients.

Oh, and who really understands the idea of getting married and enjoying your spouse’s company for a few years before birthing a brood of noisy rugrats? Just you wait more than a year and listen as everyone speculates that you are barren and that you need that special healing that the pastor who lives on a distant mountain top gives.

I am in no way making light of rural life. Rural communities have their own systems, proud rituals and traditions. And these are what keep them functional.

But I am at an age where I can be honest with myself.

I will never be a size 10. I will not be a fashion designer when I grow up. And I will not be the typical traditional wife.

My way of life is a fusion of things – an acculturation of different ways and beliefs about how I feel that I can most benefit the various structures within society, including family.

I am not a domestic goddess. I can be competent at house work, but nothing more. And whoever I marry, if I marry, has to understand that.

So no eyes gawking at me and vetting my competencies, thank you! The rustic life wasn’t made for some.

And for this narration of my reservations, call me a salad if you want. In fact, call me a Waldorf salad. At least I can munch away at bits of apples and nuts while you chew over my audacity.

Bon appetite!

Pina colada and berry flavoured vaginal lubricant.

Green apple-scented condoms.

These are just but a few of the enticements featured at the Condom Project stall at this year’s  18th International AIDS Conference, which opened on Sunday. The organisation, which is part of the larger Condomise Campaign, boasts a stall with an array of colourful condoms, genital lubricants and other aids which the general public are free to sample and taste.

But amid the kaleidoscope colours of sensuality and allure, the female condom still looks unappealing in its white, pink and blue packaging.

As Joy Lynn Alegarres, the Director of Global Operations for the Condom Project, explains, the FC2 female condom, the only condom currently approved for  global use, is undergoing a rebranding (through partners such as UNFPA)and will soon reflect the identity of the various countries where women use it.

“In Bali, the packaging is now pink with a flower on it,” explains Alegarres.

As Maya Gokul of South Africa observes, the female condom is available in over 120 countries of the world and has passed tests of approval from the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the World Health Organization (WHO).

And it can be sexy.

“Since the inner ring is detachable, it is exciting for guys,” adds Gokul. “When the penis bumps against that inner ring it is very sensual.”

She also added that a male partner can use the inner ring to arouse the woman through playing with her clitoris prior to putting the condom on.

And as Nienke Blauw of the Netherlands demonstrated, there are newer models of the female condom that may soon be on the market that can add to the variety for the female condom.  One condom, which is called the cupid and is being developed in India, has a sponge instead of an inner ring which is meant to gave a different sensual experience to the user. Another is cone-shaped and has a tampon-like tip which expands to fit into the inner vaginal lining upon contact with moisture. Unlike other female condoms, it does not use lubricant as it makes use of the woman’s fluids to eventually open up after insertion.

But while innovation around the female condom is increasing, barriers still exist.

“In Zambia, female condoms are going for a (United States) dollar for a pack of two,” explained Carol Nyirenda of the Coalition of Zambian Women Living with HIV.

Prices of female condoms remain much higher than those of male condoms, which means that many women cannot afford to buy the only HIV prevention device that they can control themselves.

Currently, Zambia’s activists are in the process of lobbying the Ministry of Trade and Industry to review and formulate policy for the regulation of the quality of privately imported male and female condoms by 2011.

Also, Nyirenda stressed the importance of educating those who use the condom to do so correctly and consistently, and also to challenge cultural norms that increase women’s vulnerability to HIV transmission, such as marital rape.

“There is need to work on cultural norms which promote the subordination of women, especially in terms of sex, notes Tabona Shoko,the Director of Zimbabwe’s National Network of People Living with HIV and AIDS (ZNNP+), who is an advocate for the female condom. “We need to create leeway for women to negotiate for safer sex.”

Interestingly, Annie Michelle Salla of Cameroon shared that in her country, male military officials had actually requested that rather than train them to use the male condom effectively, they requested that condom promoters train their wives to use the female condom.

The reason?

The men felt that it was important for their spouses to be able to protect themselves since they admitted that they were not responsible enough to do so.

Roli Mahajan, a journalist from India also feels strongly that the female condom should become more widely available and affordable. But when asked how it could be improved, she admitted to never having used it.

Veanne Turczynski from Germany has also never used the female condom but is sceptical about the product. “I cannot imagine that it’s practical to use because it’s hard to handle,” she noted. “It’s so much more complicated than the male condom.”

But with an HIV epidemic that still affects far more woman than men, the female condom remains a tool well worth investing in – for the sake of women’s health.

As a gender and HIV activist, getting the opportunity to attend the 26th UNAIDS Programme Coordinating Board (PCB) meeting in Geneva, Switzerland, as a female youth observer was very important for me.

Coming from Zimbabwe where HIV infection leans more towards women than men, I am always aware of the need for women and girl’s empowerment against oppressive gender norms if my nation is to ever overcome the epidemic which still stands towering above us at over 14% prevalence.

Prior to the two-day PCB meeting, and as part of the programme, I attended a thematic session on integrating sexual and reproductive health (SRH) and HIV services.

Quite honestly, I had never really thought of the intricacies of linking Sexual Reproductive Health (SRH) and HIV services, although I had always known about the importance of providing HIV testing and treatment services within antenatal care for pregnant women and girls.

At the thematic session, however, I learnt just how far back we are falling on this.

As Gottfried Hirnschall of the World Health Organization (WHO) shared, HIV is currently contributing to 19.2% of global maternal deaths in the 15-44 year age group. And TB is contributing a further 6.4%.

Imagine that.

TB and HIV – both manageable diseases, when early detection and treatment are available – are accounting for a quarter of the deaths of all pregnant women in the world.

And with southern Africa, my region of the world, being the area most affected by HIV, that means that even more women here are dying needlessly. National HIV statistics from all over the region consistently show that HIV prevalence among pregnant women who attend antenatal clinics is usually much higher than overall national figures.

It was therefore heartening to hear about some of the good work being done in the region to begin to address the urgent need for stronger integration of services.

Dudu Simelane of the Family Life Association of Swaziland gave a perspective from her country of the successes and opportunities for integration.

Her organisation is working with various development partners to provide youth-friendly SRH and HIV services that integrate interventions such as screening for STIs and TB, HIV tests, pap smears for cervical cancer, pre-and post abortion care, male circumcision, ART and the promotion of condoms for dual protection (that is, using condoms not only to prevent contracting HIV but also to prevent unwanted pregnancies).

What’s good about such sites is that they provide a broad range of services under one roof.   And ultimately, this cuts down on a woman’s use of usually scarce resources such as money and time. So instead of spending two amounts of bus fare to first get to an HIV testing centre and then to the STI clinic where she’s been referred, a woman only spends one amount to get all the services she needs. This also saves her time for travel, which is also often a very practical barrier to a woman being able to access services.

But perhaps even more importantly, such integration helps to reduce stigma. As a visitor to one of the Swazi sites noted, “It’s not like other clinics where I have to go to the ART wing. I go to the same dispensary as everyone else to get my medicine.”

That sort of set-up does a world of good to fight stigma and discrimination. I have heard ghastly stories in Zimbabwe about how people who visit the opportunistic infections clinics of hospitals are set apart from other people receiving services and labeled imi vanhu veHIV (you people with HIV).  Such treatment has serious influence on whether a person will continue to come to collect their medicine every month and can actually lead them to stop taking drugs completely, thereby building up drug resistances and damaging the immune system.

If you think stigma doesn’t kill, think again.

As Sofia Gruskin of the Harvard School of Public Health reminded us, one of the main obstacles to integration is stigma and discrimination. And sadly, this is usually perpetuated by the very workers in the health sector. Gruskin cited examples of the prejudice of healthcare workers in many parts of the world who refuse to offer contraceptives and STI services to unmarried women (who in the eyes of the workers should not be having sex in the first place). And on the flip side of the coin, there are health workers who will not give a married woman contraceptives in the belief that she should be having as many children as possible.

In its most extreme manifestation, stigma and discrimination has seen healthcare workers sterilisng HIV positive women, after childbirth, to ensure that they do not have the option to have any more children.

Also, what’s been found at the sites in Swaziland is that there has been increased male involvement through the provision of male circumcision (MC) as an entry point. Studies have already shown that MC has high efficacy rates of around 60% when it comes to HIV prevention (if practised with correct and consistent condom use) and providing it in such a setting seems like a good way of ensuring that men don’t shy away from being seen with their partners at sites which they would ordinarily think of as places for women.

Morolake Odetoyinbo of Nigeria’s Positive Action for Treatment Access pointed out how culture and socialisation leads to the detachment of men from SRH issues by always teaching girls about SRH and not doing the same for boys.  In many African cultures, it is acknowledged that a woman’s virginity is the greatest prize that she can ever give a man. And also, it is commonly emphasised that her role within sexual intercourse is solely to please her man. To this effect, women in some Zimbabwean cultures are instructed to pull on their vaginal labia from an early age so that these lips protrude. Apparently, this has an effect on sensation and stimulation for a man during sex.

But nothing is without its challenges. As Simelane pointed out, healthcare providers can become overwhelmed by demand for the integrated services, seeing more patients than usual. Also, there tends to be increased client waiting time due to provision of HIV counselling and testing which is a time-consuming process.

For such service integration to be successful, there is need for a range of competencies, including capacity building as well as the fostering of strong partnerships with national and international organisations that may be able to provide staff on secondment or funds towards integration.

And a word of warning.

Integration doesn’t necessarily mean cost saving. In order to be effective, it requires a lot of investment and patience. It takes time to change perceptions and attitudes. Donors need to be aware of this and should not expect radical results within a short amount of time.

And you can’t put all expectations of success on the donor’s shoulders either.

A comprehensive country response to SRH and HIV integration will require the cooperation of civil society, government and the private sector with overall leadership and coordination by the national AIDS authority. National HIV plans will need to be better linked with national SRH plans. Funding streams will need to stop supporting vertical structures.

So how can all of this work in the real world?

The most important thing is for healthcare workers to stop moralising and stigmatising patients. Rigorous training and monitoring is required. Journalists and the media should be mobilised to write articles on the matter so that the general public can know when they are receiving sub-standard services.  A healthcare worker’s role is to provide quality service – and not an opinion.

Secondly, I believe that current upscale of MC in Africa provides an immense opportunity for SRH and HIV integration.  Rather than set up stand alone MC sites that drain resources in terms of infrastructural development and staff recruitment, let’s look at integrating them into pre-existing sites. Also, when we finally develop an effective HIV-preventing microbicide, this must be accessible in terms of cost, as well as available as part of a holistic range of sexual and reproductive health services. In other words, I should be able to get my microbicides at my local clinic, and not at some high-tech lab.

And let’s make sure that everyone who needs to get HIV services can do so. Antenatal care coverage in Africa is still too low. In fact, some women still don’t know about it. Let’s take the information and the services to the people and build the capacity of community-based initiatives.

But most importantly, let’s remember that sexual and reproductive health rights are human rights. No, they aren’t a passing fad or the latest NGO buzz. When implemented, they represent human lives saved and money well spent.

So there’s this thing that we Africans do that is a little bit funny, but also actually quite a serious issue.

Let me set the secenario for you by introducing you to the imaginary Mr. Y and his wife, Mrs. Y who will help me illustrate my point.

The Ys are a family who earn enough money from their combined salaries just to get by each month, as well as take care of their three young children. Mr. Y works with an NGO where his pay is lukewarm, and Mrs. Y is a nurse in a public hospital. Her pay is definitely cold.

So you would think that the Ys try by all means to live within their means right?

Far from it!

Rather, they rent out a house in some  plush suburb (though they are three months behind on paying up and the landlord is threatening to take them to court) and their children go to that private school up the rolling highlands where the red-hot fees ensure that Mr. Y can never save enough money to fix that dent on the bonnet of his car.

Speaking of his car, Mr. Y drives a C Class Benz – black in colour, tinted windows with reams gleaming that seem to make time slow down with each revolution of the fine specimen’s tyres.

Oh, and doesn’t Mrs. Y just love to drive that Benz to church on Sundays and ‘humbly’ remind Jehovah’s children how blessed in the blood of Jesus  she is to be in possession of this stunning vehicle.

If only they knew that it wasn’t actually her car, or even her husband’s. Nope. The car belongs to Mr. Y’s brother who’s fled to the UK and entrusted the keys to his most prized possession to Mr. Y. whose old tired jalopy is now hidden from public view, locked up in the car shed.

So you get the picture, right?

This is a story about a family that on first appearance seems to have it all going on BUT is actually living a horrible lie.

What for?

Esteem in the eyes of society, of course. Hey, you gotta show that you’ve done something right with your life and the Ys are just trying to ‘keep up with the Moyos’.

I remember an American friend visiting Zimbabwe once asking me a very interesting question.

“Why do so many African families have this fixation with flat screen TVs and leather sofas ?!”

She just couldn’t get why everyone either had those two items, or was saving up towards them.

It got me thinking.

Why is that so many people own terribly expensive phones, and yet can’t even afford to load air time onto the things every month? Why is it that every woman worth her salt in society owns a microwave or washing machine and often never actually uses them?

Like I said before, it’s all about APPEARANCES. When purchased for all the wrong and misguided reasons, these things become status symbols that people use to say, “I’ve made it, unlike you!”

Such reasoning reflects an innate fear of inadequacy that many of us have. You must have a legacy, you must show up all those people who said you wouldn’t amount to much, you must have something to show for all that suffering you endured growing up in some rural area reading for your exams by candlelight.

It’s really sad that in African cultures, we tend to gauge success by trivial things like possessions. And it’s sad too that so many young people strive for that ideal with such singular purpose that they lose sight of the real dreams for their lives.

Who cares what the neighbours think? They will talk regardless of what you do, or don’t do; own or don’t own. A life lived on behalf of the perceptions of others about you is not your life, especially if you really don’t like leather sofas anyway!

When I tell people that I am saving up to travel somewhere distant and exotic, they tend to look at me quizzically, as though I have lost my marbles.

“But why don’t you rather buy something sensible – say furniture or a car or a plot of land? Travel is surely not that important!”

More often than not, I am met with such responses when I start talking about my longed-for road trips through west Africa or some unexplored part of Asia.

It would seem to me that we as Zimbabweans, and Africans I dare say, don’t place much significance on becoming global citizens who know their world better.

Rather, when we travel, we’d prefer it to be on someone else’s tab – a workshop or conference where one spends the whole time in a hotel and then takes snaps around anything that bears the visited country’s name and proudly announces to all their Facebook friends, “Ndanga ndiriko! I was there!”

I will admit that once upon a time, I used to be like that. Back then, I figured that having a stamp in my passport that proved I had been to a place gave me authority to speak about it as though I had been born and bred there, even if I had only taken a few paces around some touristy places.

But then over time, I have come to realise that travel is more than just the physical act. There is such a wealth of learning – about people’s cultures and ways – waiting for you if you just take up the challenge.

I think that such experiences can be more valuable than buying things. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely important to invest in property . But there are things that travelling teaches you about yourself, about humanity and the sameness of us all amid our differences in geography, language, race and religion.

And also when I talk about travel, please don’t start pointing that accusatory finger at me and telling me that travel is for rich people.

Some of the best travel expeditions I have had have been on a shoestring budget and loads of adrenaline. Last year, a few friends and I bundled into a bus to Victoria Falls and stayed at a $5-a-night ‘lodge’ and had the most amazing time (eating baked beans and dry bread for breakfast and lunch, I might add!) interacting with the locals and just taking in the beauty of the majestic smoke that thunders.

And what about an even cheaper trail? How’s about a weekend exploring a part of your own city that you’ve never really paid attention to? Mbare, with all its history has a great atmosphere of life and living. Makokoba township, with its lively arts scene, is another place worth a visit.

I know there’s people living in their leafy suburban homes who would never dream of going on such tours fearing being seen ‘kughetto’. But those places we tend to look down upon harbour some of the most amazing experiences and people.

My favourite memory of visiting the Vic Falls last year was going to a bar in Chinotimba township where the music was far too loud for my ears and the half-drunk male revelers kept buying drinks for the designated ‘queen bee’ who stood in a corner gently tapping to the beat, making the jelly in her backside quiver to the men’s delight and unending attention. But each time one of them came up to her, she would shoo them away and say that she would only consider the guy’s advances on one condition – that he buy her some bottles of the beer she was plying herself with. Turns out she didn’t like any of the men anyway and used their interests to get herself sloshed! She left, very much alone, and very much unbalanced.

What a sight, and all on a working Wednesday night!

Here’s to travel and all the hilarious and mind-opening experiences that it brings.

And so next time I tell you my heart’s in Accra, please understand the itch in my blood to go to that legendary land. One day, just one day, my body will follow!

When I was a little girl of just four, I remember the family maid calling me to the spare bedroom to play a game with her. The game, she explained, would entail her lying down on the spring base single bed  and me jumping over her stomach.

Initially, I had concerns that such a game would cause her pain. But, in the way that only four-year olds can be convinced, she reassured me that the game would not hurt her at all and that it would instead be a good workout for her belly.

Somewhere in my mind, I can still hear the sound of those springs squealing as I jumped away to my heart’s content.

Recounting the new game to my mother that evening however,  put an end to it immediately.  It also put an abrupt end to Sisi Anna’s job.

A few months later, we heard that Anna had given birth to a healthy baby girl, thereby bringing unspeakable shame to her family who had already cast her off as a moral felon.

Her crime?

Anna was unmarried and the father of her child, who was apparently the married gardener from a few houses away, was refusing to take responsibility.

I am still filled with abhorrence at the thought of the role that Anna had wished me to play as her abortionist.

But with the passage of the years, I have grown to appreciate what levels of  desperation and despair must have led her to approach a clueless little child to assist her in finding a way out of her predicament.

Make no mistake; I don’t condone the measures that she took, especially since they involved an innocent party, myself. Rather, I am more open to understanding why she took such recourse.

Abortion is a topic that leaves a sour taste on many people’s tongues.

Walk the streets of Harare in Zimbabwe and you will come across many metallic placards featuring messages against the act, even citing biblical scripture about the detestability of murder in God’s eyes.

But just as we moralise and rationalise on end about whether or not sex work represents deviant behaviour, and whether or not it should be decriminalised, we go down the same torturous path when it comes to the abortion debate.

And the simple truth – as with sex work – is that regardless of the discourse and debates that take place, abortions continue to happen, whether sanctioned by the state, or deemed illegal.

Every day, young women all over Africa are having abortions.

According to research released by the Guttmacher Insitute last year, 5.6 million abortions were carried out in Africa in 2003. Only 100 000 of these were performed under safe conditions – that is, by individuals with the necessary skills, and in an environment that conformed to minimum medical standards.

And with only three African countries (Cape Verde, South Africa and Tunisia) giving unrestricted legal access to abortion to women, it would be safe to assume gross underreporting when it comes to figures pertaining to rates of abortion on the continent.

I’ll give a practical example of why I believe this is so.

Some years ago, when I was in university and living in a hostel, one of my hostel mates had an unsafe abortion. She told no one about it until she was forced to. Having  bled continuously for three weeks and in the process having exhausted her supply of sanitary ware at a time when this was a scarce commodity in Zimbabwe, she was forced to confide in a few of us that she needed help.

It’s not that we couldn’t tell that she was unwell. She had stopped interacting with anyone and when she surfaced in the communal bathrooms she looked wan and weak.

But finally, she decided to break her silence and share that she’d visited an old woman who’d given her a tablet to take for her ‘condition’. This tablet, my hostel mate, confided, made her uterus burn with acid pain and soon, she began to bleed.

She bled for all of a month and prohibited us from telling the matrons or even seeking medical assistance for her. All we could do was supply her with iron tablets, cotton wool and pads and eventually even mutton cloth to help her cope with the bleeding.

And that abortion, as well as many others, was not ever officially registered.

Why, you might ask, would women go to such desperate lengths to have an abortion?

For many young women, the cultural stigma of being an unwed mother is so strong that they feel they have to go to any length to avoid bringing shame and disgrace to their families in this way. A few years ago, a family friend committed suicide because her boyfriend had disowned the five-month-old foetus burgeoning within her womb. In her note to her parents she stated that it would be better that she died than bring humiliation to their Christian name.

Inherent in this cultural stigma is often the desertion of the partner or male responsible for the pregnancy, thus relegating the woman to position of a single mother.

And let’s not also forget that sometimes, a pregnancy is unexpected and unwanted and that the woman decides that she is simply not prepared for motherhood.

I doubt that this is ever an easy decision, but it is surely made more difficult not only by the lack of access to services such as hygienic abortions and counselling, but also by patriarchal hegemony that still prescribes the roles of women in society (ie. if you are unmarried you have no right to know anything about sex, let alone have a child).

Also, I am sure that the social perception of contraceptives, particularly condoms( which research has shown diminish in levels of usage as a relationship grows) plays a large role in the frequency of unprotected sexual acts, thereby putting women at risk of unplanned pregnancy as well as a host of other sexual infections.

Culture is the cohesive glue that binds communities together, but for many women, it is the hangman’s noose on which their freedoms are choked.

As I write, I wonder whatever became of Anna and her daughter; whether she grew to accept the child that separated her from her family; or whether her family ever took her back into their fold.

It is indeed a tragedy that so many women have to sacrifice one thing or the other for the sake of saving face in society.

For us, freedom and parity are still but utopian concepts.