The Condom as a Cultural Barometer

During my first week at Hollins College, the exclusively women's institution where I learned to love grits, sweet tea, and the Dave Matthews band, we gathered in a place called the "Rat" down a spiral staircase and under the dining hall on campus. The surroundings were dark and cave like, a place you could imagine actual rats living. We were somewhat euphoric, though, not unlike Girl Scouts their first night away at summer camp. I remember looking around at all the unknown, round faces full of wonder and mischief thinking I was involved in something clandestine and priveledged. That's what a women's college does, you know, makes you privvy to secrets and puffed up with confidence.

Someone had gathered us all there together (although I don't remember who exactly) to talk to us about keeping safe in the wild and bustling metropolis of Roanoke, Virginia and most importantly, how to properly put on a condom.

At the time, it seemed perfectly intelligent to get a bunch of 18-year old young women together during their first week of college to show them how to correctly unroll, stretch and shimmy a condom on to a cucumber. It was the first time I had ever touched a condom, although I certainly didn't admit it that night down in the Rat. Despite this being unchartered territory for me, I stomped my way to the front of the group to take my turn at the cucumber. I felt encouraged as I stood in front of my classmates and struggled awkwardly with all that lube and latex.

It was an empowering event because I believed that I was being taught something that could potentially save my life and at the very least, save me a whole lot of heartache down the road when I was ready for intimacy.



Ten years later, I'm supervising 40 community health educators and every once in a while I get the outright pleasure of doing a little community outreach myself. Recently, I planned and executed (with quite a bit of help) a 4 day HIV/AIDS workshop designed to teach local community health workers, doctors, teachers and youth about the epidemic and most importantly how to prevent it. This how I got to thinking about condoms and how they were introduced in to my life.

So a few weeks back I was training some co-workers of mine about proper condom use and essentially, how to train others about it. We used fun, participatory activities in order to disminish embarassment and discomfort among the participants. My co-workers, all of them female, Salvadoran and mothers, squirmed and squealed and giggled with all their might as a means to deter me from making them touch condoms.

El Salvador is a predominantly Catholic country, that is evidenced by its name in itself. El Salvador= The Savior. Like as in Jesus. Had you come to El Salvador without knowing what the literal translation is, I venture to say you would have figured out the Catholic part pretty quickly. In the middle of the city there is a huge round about with a statue smack dab in the middle of Jesus with his hands outstretched standing on top of the world. You'd think that the Savior thing alone could explain my co-workers' reaction to the activity I was leading.

A lo contrario.

There's this horrible social and cultural plague in El Salvador called pena. Pena means shame or embarassment. It literally holds women prisoner and requires that they toe the status quo instead of thinking critically about themselves, their lives and their reproductive health. Pena is a menace. I hate it. Its so entrenched that it afflicts my very intelligent and educated co workers.

The point of the activity was to blow up the condoms, make them in to some sort of super hero using tissue paper and permanent markers and then come up with a slogan about condom use that plays off the "condom superhero" they made. The activity requires team work, creativity and of course manipulating and touching condoms. It allows participants to familiarize themselves with them in a fun, non-threatening way. So what why all the grade school antics from my co-workers?

Yaneth had previously worked for an NGO teaching reproductive health in rural communities. She's one of the best facilitators I've ever seen and is normally a very competent and confident woman. She's married, has a child and therefore you would think should be immune from the pena plague and the threat of being thought of as cheap or promiscuous. No such luck. She was still afraid of what the other women would say if she appeared too dextrous with those silly little socks of latex.






I was disappointed watching them shrug and play stupid and toss the little silvery packets on the ground instead of confidently tearing them open and blowing up the condoms as I had instructed.

Then I remembered that night down in the bowels of the dining hall at Hollins. What was it that made me unafraid and unashamed to talk about a taboo topic and for the very first time slide that stinky tube of latex on a cucumber?

I believe what was missing from my almost-failed attempt at teaching a little HIV prevention to this group of co-workers was a comfortable, judgement free enviornment and the feeling that they were learning something that could potentially save their lives.



Renewed, I scooped up the unopened and abandoned packages off the floor and asked everyone to sit down. In my classic "Bri" pose (hands on hips, jaw tight, and volume turned way up), I firmly said:

"Look ladies. Nearly 80% of all new HIV infections come from heterosexual sexual contact. 60% of those new cases are women and it is estimated that 70% of men in a 'committed' relationship cheat. That means YOU are at risk. Now stand up, bust out those condoms and learn how to roll one on."

Quickly they stood up and got to work, tearing open those shiny packets and blowing up the rum, coconut and mint scented condoms like party balloons. They laughed and helped eachother out- I could see the embarassment and shame dissapate. Those were the prettiest condom superheros I've ever seen.

That afternoon on the drive back to the city, I scrolled through my iPod to the "Hollins Mix" Marie had given me at our class reunion last summer. Jupiter Coyote, Vertical Horizon and of course Dave Matthews played as I passed by the Chichontepeque volcano and the watermelon vendors on the side of the highway. I decided that teaching consistent, correct condom use was difficult no matter the cultural context. I began to think about how that life, my Hollins life, had prepared me for this one. This, the life set to cumbia/merengue/salsa where condoms come in tropical flavors and if even for an hour or two I can make pena disappear and help other women be brave enough to love themselves...and shimmy a condom on to a cucumber.