“Somehow, we get around it . . .” / Nuzhat Shahzadi

by Nuzhat Shahzadi

Ukraine is still standing.

My friends Yuriy and Katya are still able to write to me from Ukraine as fierce fighting is going on in its streets, towns, villages, mountains and waters. As of now, they have managed to move close to the Hungarian border amidst air raids and explosions––away from home, on the move for weeks.

This brought back many memories . . .

I arrived in Trincomalee (2006) to support the office with the IDP population displaced due to the Muthur offensive––a result of escalation of conflict between the Sri Lankan army and Tamil Tigers (LTTE). When the shelling began, bombs exploded, everyone fled––children, unaccompanied minors, women, men, young and old, sick and able-bodied people. The estimated number was between 30,000-40,000. Most IDPs were housed at temporary shelters/camps set up by the UN and other development partners.

We collaborated with all actors––sister-UN agencies, NGOs, the government, though their reaction was lukewarm. The IDPs were of Tamil race, mostly Muslims. As UNICEF staff, our role was to monitor the safety of IDPs ensuring their access to basic services–– health, water, sanitation and hygiene (WASH). We established schools in shelters to give children a sense of normality, child friendly spaces to prevent abuse of children in addition to carpet immunization. Each of us had a cluster of shelters to monitor. The host community was hostile and wanted to drive away the IDPs who were getting attention and assistance. We had several meetings with community leaders and bought peace by agreeing to provide learning materials to the children of the host community as well.

We stayed in a local hotel. Most nights, we couldn’t sleep due to the sounds of shelling. Some nights the hotel shook as multi-barrel guns roared and RPGs fell, close by.

Every day fresh groups arrived. Every day we faced new problems . . . portable plastic toilets were placed in some camps but were rarely used by women and girls. They felt shy to enter the toilets as there was no privacy. I realized––discussed it with the camp management and partitions made of bamboo chips were installed covering the entrance.

Philippe was the head of the WASH section. He involved me to develop communication strategies, and of course, for gender perspectives in WASH work, I guessed. We worked well but in Trincomalee he got into arguments with me. I understood––the sounds of guns at night and the sufferings of IDPs were taxing!

With an interpreter (local staff), I started a vulnerability assessment of adolescent girls, with special focus on unaccompanied girls. We discussed many things. They drew my attention to a very private matter–– most camp managers were men, in charge of distribution of supplies including sanitary pads that the girls needed in plenty, for 5-7 days. They felt ashamed to ask for it from a male manager. I called for a meeting of partners urgently, to discuss this issue. I was the gender focal point from UNICEF.

Some of the camps immediately hired at least one female manager or stationed female NGO staff in the camps. I discussed further with the IDP women in various camps and discovered that they were unfamiliar with the commercially produced sanitary pads with adhesives that were supplied in the shelters. They didn’t wear underpants and so the pads were useless. They were practicing unhygienic ways to deal with their menstruation. The women told me what they wanted.

We used to have weekly phone-meetings with Colombo management. I brought up the women’s problem . . . I know some were uncomfortable while some others smothered their chuckles but they were interested in a solution. I requested the supply section to send over a good number of pieces of cotton cloth, (18”X18”), and strings (separately) as the women demanded. I was told my zeal for menstruation hygiene in the camps earned me a nick name in UNICEF- Colombo–– “Ms Sanitary Pad (!)”

DD was with me in Trincomalee––she teased me no end. I was teased for a long time by others as well.

Years later, I was rewarded . . .

In 2019, “Period. End of Sentence” won an Oscar in the Best Documentary Short category. The film talks about the stigma of menstruation in India. Kindly click  to view it:

. . . in my adolescence, I was an IDP with my family (1971). We fled from Lahore Cantonment, west-Pakistan without my dad and came to Dhaka (August), occupied by the west-Pakistani military. In December, India’s air force launched “dogfights” in support of the Bengalee freedom fighters and nationals. With minimum belongings we escaped the bombings, ended up at our grand parents’ village homestead. My two older sisters had tougher luck––they were shipped to live with a farmer’s family further away to be safe from west Pakistani soldiers who had launched rape as a weapon of war. Almost four years later, my entire family was reunited.

. . . Interestingly, . . . “somehow, we get around it . . .” war, death and destruction and violence, the plight of families. War continues ravaging in Tigray . . . South Sudan, Yemen, Syria, Afghanistan . . .

Read more articles by Nuzhat