Sorry, No Cervix, No Survey

But what about the men? What about us? We are important also! He was about the fifth Somali man who had interrupted us with the same question.

I paused as I tilted my head to the side and studied him thoughtfully from the rickety stool I sat on, my brow furrowed. Tall and lean, loose black curls on his head his skin nearly golden brown.

Do you have a uterus?

A what?

A uterus. A womb. Have you given birth to any children?

He laughed and shook his head. What was this crazy mzungu all about anyway talking only to women and not to men?

Surveying Somali women has been a challenge for us all along. Not only are we limited by our abysmal Somali language skills, but they are a relatively closed community. As refugees living in a poor neighborhood, they are as suspicious of Ugandans as Ugandans are of them and speak no Luganda. Unlike Ugandans, who approach with friendly greetings, Somalis have a direct, blunt approach. What is happening here? Who are you?

We had occasionally struggled through some surveys in Kiswahili, as a few of them have learned a bit along the way. A survival skill on their tragic pilgrimage across East Africa. But today we hunkered down at a fruit stand, owned by a Somali woman we had interviewed last week, who invited us back. At first, things were a bit rough. What?!? All I get is a piece of soap? Give me another one! But slowly women gathered, curious as to what was going on. All covered in various colours of flowing veils, a circle of cloth framing their faces, others with only their eyes visible. Rarely you catch a glimpse of an ankle, or a toe through a worn through sock.

We had a young Somali woman helping to translate. Her English was good and she reported being an avid BBC World News fan. As a diaperless 14 month-old crawled around a huge basket of papayas under the fruit stand and with flies buzzing around, we heard the now familiar stories. Married at 14 years old. Of course they had never had sex with anyone but their husband, they indignantly reassured us.

You don’t understand, we are Somali women! No boyfriends, only our husbands. We are clean down there! If not… She made a gesture with her finger across her neck. Doreen asked, but what about the men?

Ech, the men, they do what they want. Who knows about the men, you cannot control them! What I did know, is that the men found it was miserably unfair that we only wanted to talk to the women.

The women were confused by some questions. Yes, of course I go to the hospital when I am sick, yes, I am Somali, I must go. Always statements with pride in who they are. But the idea of going for screening, of checking something when you had no symptoms, no pain, no bleeding. No. You go when you are sick. Silly mzungu with the crazy questions.

A cheeky Oxfam gender adviser (my sister) I know added her two bits, "as a gender adviser, i would like to advise you about the issue of gender equality. I am concerned that your research is not addressing the issue in a balanced fashion and seem to prioritize one gender over the other. Concerning to say the least, especially in this day and age."