A Little Latex

Set the Scene:World Aids Day was on December 1st and we were in Ghana on that day. With only a rough idea of what workshops we had planned it was difficult to plan what supplies we might need. Part of Ghana’s public health philosophy includes encouraging the use of safe sex and condoms.

Cut to: Me stuffing almost 1500 condoms in my backpack. Yep. Close to 10 lbs of rubbers.

My little sister is always one for an awkward situation. She loves a challenge. So when I asked her to check out McGill Health Services to see if they had any idea how I could buy condoms in bulk, she was game. Apparently the staff The Shag Shop didn’t even bat a lash when she asked how many $200 would buy her. Turns out condoms in bulk are cheap. Really cheap. 11 cents each cheap.

The story didn’t stop there. With a flurry of facebook jokes, tongue in cheek warnings and new nicknames, my friends laughed and weren’t entirely surprised that I had decided to give up luggage space and risk questioning at customs in the name of safe sex promotion. Why carry condoms to Ghana? Well there are many reasons. Condoms are available in Ghana, they can be easily purchased in most areas. The problem is that they are quite costly (imagine the same prices we pay in Canada when you only make $1-3 a day) and it can be embarrassing to purchase them at a small village shop. Another reason for bringing them is that giving them out can help reduce the stigma and can help normalize their use. Small clinics and NGOs rarely have the opportunity to have such a large quantity on hand during outreach programs so our donation could help them reinforce their teaching. A more personal reason for me was that during my last trip to Ghana, I heard stories of catholic institutions burning donated condoms due to restrictions imposed by their religion. It baffles me that a little latex could cause such drama.

Condoms are giggle worthy. I’ll give you that. But 1500 condoms is a comedy sketch waiting to happen. In our sketch, the punchline was smuggling them into a catholic mission hospital car complete with fully-habited reverend sister (like triple word score!) and past the Jesus statue to hide them in our house on the hospital compound. Tell her they are cookies for the kids if she asks, said the pharmacist. No need, she would never suspect good little girls like us. A series of coded phone calls and friend-of-a-friend meetings later and we found an organization who was willing to help us distribute our said wares.
So one fine afternoon, the director of the NGO, Mr.S phoned my friend, who phoned the pharmacist, who called me into his office. I was about to head in to watch a surgery but I knew that this hushed request was the call I had been waiting for. So I made an excuse, slipped out of my scrubs and headed to the pharmacy. A few formal greetings and handshakes later and I invited these new friends back to the house to collect the “things”.
Walking towards the house, the plot thickened as we bumped into the reverend sister along the path. She looked me up and down but thankfully didn’t question why I was holding my breath or what I was up to. Four years after first setting foot at the hospital, she had learned that I was prone to wandering in the company of those I shouldn’t be (aka young men- shock horror). Thanks goodness, because I am a terrible liar. A few more formal greetings and we quickly walked towards the house. Mr.S sent his assistant to get the car because we couldn’t risk bumping into her again with the large duffel bag. We loaded the goods into the car at the back gate and they drove up the ominously named Mortuary Road.
The story ends a few weeks later as we headed to a small village on outreach. We watched the kids’ faces as the public health nurse showed picture after picture of STIs and various infected body parts. We stiffled laughter at the collective gasps. We took note of which images left the audience silent. Then we watched the condoms disappear.

As we settled in the van to leave, exhausted from a full day, a man knocked on the window and asked one of the staff members something in Ewe, the local language. As I looked up, I could see a young man standing about 10 paces behind him. As I watched one of the counselors give the older man a handful of condoms, the young man grinned sheepishly. I burst out laughing as he accepted the condoms. That moment was worth every joke made about carrying 1500 condoms into Ghana.

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