By Nicholas Kristof
Each year, I select a university student to join me on my win-a-trip mission, designed to bring attention to crucial issues. The 2024 recipient is Trisha Mukherjee, a recent graduate from Columbia University and aspiring journalist — I now pass the remainder of the column to her.
By Trisha Mukherjee
PAMPLEMOUSSES, Mauritius — As a teenager, Jossy Nation gathered water from a nearby river at dawn to clean the worn rags she employed as sanitary pads, then left them to dry in a concealed area.
However, during the rainy season in her isolated Nigerian village, the fabric remained damp, causing Nation, now 30, to feel overwhelmed with anxiety. “I feel sick,” she recalled, distressed at the thought of running out of usable rags. “At times, I have to resort to using one rag for an entire day.”
Determined to focus on her education, Nation forced herself to attend school, even though some of her peers chose to stay home during their periods. In class, she often squirmed in her seat, fearing that blood might stain her clothing and lead to embarrassment.
For millions of girls in Africa and Asia today, menstruation results in missed school days. Often, due to the unavailability of menstrual products, these girls could lose up to a week of schooling each month.
Pad accessibility poses a significant issue for families, who may find them too pricey, hard to get, or too much of a taboo to prioritize above other necessities. Even in the U.S., where 20 states regard pads and tampons as nonessential luxury goods, a study revealed that nearly 25% of teenage girls face challenges affording menstrual products.
In numerous developing nations, girls use rags, mattress remnants, or newspapers as makeshift solutions for menstruation. These substitutes can lead to infections and frequently leak. Stigmatized by menstruation, girls frequently opt for skipping school instead of risking visible stains on their clothing while in public.
“I’m not leaving my house for school if I know there’s a 99.9% chance I’m going to stain myself,” remarked Goitseone Maikano, a recent university graduate from Botswana. In my conversations with numerous girls across East Africa about menstruation, they all echoed similar feelings.
In the lively Mukuru district of Nairobi, Kenya, Celestine Wanza, 18, once used to tear a piece off her mattress to create a pad, a common practice in Kenya.
Wanza is articulate, clever, and quick to speak up when her classmates hesitate — the type of student any teacher would treasure. For years, she remained at home during her menstrual period. However, one day she needed to attend school for an exam. Blood leaked through the fabric and onto her clothes, prompting her to rush home.
That experience led Wanza to resolve that she had reached her limit. By inquiring around, she discovered Huru International, a nonprofit that offers free kits containing six durable, washable pads, along with underwear, guidance, and a storage bag that prevents odors for times when water is scarce.
She stated that receiving her Huru kit transformed her life. When I asked her whether she still skipped school because of her period — even just one day a month — she confidently shook her head no.
Some research suggests that distributing pads, alongside menstrual health education, has led to improved school attendance. A study conducted in Uganda found a 17% increase in girls’ school attendance. Additional studies in countries such as Kenya, Uganda, and India indicate that these measures have lowered dropout rates and enhanced learning outcomes.
However, distributing pads alone is not a comprehensive solution. Instead, it may prove effective when paired with education, better toilet access, pain relief, destigmatization, and easy disposal methods; UNICEF estimates that around two-thirds of schools worldwide lack trash bins for used pads.
Further comprehensive research is essential to determine the most effective approaches.
Each girl I spoke to expressed that pads represent a matter of dignity. When period poverty is ignored, they feel marginalized as well. “It’s not a matter of choice,” stated Mitchelle Monda, a student in Nairobi. “It’s essential.”
In the rural regions of southern Madagascar, I encountered a spirited 16-year-old named Vola Liamarinee Florence, who aspires to become a midwife to assist women in her community.
Vola, however, revealed that she feels she’s lagging in her studies since she misses approximately four days every month. Her mother purchases pads in the nearest town whenever it’s financially feasible. Yet, those flimsy disposable pads, which Vola washes and reuses up to three times, often leak.
If she could obtain a miraculous set of leakproof pads, Vola said she could chase her dream. “I could go to school without any worries,” she remarked.
When I met Nation, she was engaged in a fast-paced tech job in Mauritius. She not only succeeded in staying in school but also graduated as the valedictorian of her class.
Now residing near stores filled with pad options, Nation constantly thinks about access to menstrual products. “Since I couldn’t access them before, I now regard them as a critical component of my life,” she shared. “I prioritize them even before food.”
Nation frequently sends funds for pads to her three younger sisters. In a suitcase filled with her most treasured mementos — her first plane ticket, old photos — she keeps a rag she once washed and hung to dry by the river, hoping it would last her through a school day.
Every day, over 300 million individuals experience menstruation. Yet while many of us might unconsciously grab a pad, take an Advil and proceed to school or work, millions of girls lack that option. Until we acknowledge this issue seriously, they will continue to be overlooked.
Applications for my 2025 win-a-trip contest are currently open. Undergraduates and graduate students from any U.S. university are eligible; the selected winner will travel with me on an all-expenses-paid reporting trip to spotlight neglected topics. The winner may, like Mukherjee, have the opportunity to write for The New York Times. More details about applying can be found at nytimes.com/winatrip.
Reach out to Kristof at Facebook.com/Kristof, Twitter.com/NickKristof or by mail at The New York Times, 620 Eighth Ave., New York, NY 10018.
