Mercedes Sayagues and her partner have some fun test-driving the female condom that has just become available in Southern Africa
Billed as women’s greatest liberator since birth control pills and the bikini, the female condom has been launched to rave reviews in Zimbabwe. We have been told that now women can control their sex lives and be spared some nasty side-effects of sex, such as HIV/Aids, other sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancies.
Hype removed, it boils down to this: women are being infected with HIV/Aids by men – be it their husbands, boyfriends or customers. For a variety of reasons (discomfort, laziness, cost, ideological resistance and others), their partners refuse to wear a condom.
The woman has no power to say no. But she might be able to negotiate a condom if she is the one who wears it.
Women with a bit more power in their sexual relationships may insist on having sex wearing a condom – or nothing.
So here it is: a transparent polyurethane sheath, marketed coyly as Care (for women and men who care), 12cm long and 5cm in diameter. It feels thicker and looks bigger than a male condom. In fact, it looks like a condom for a kudu or a donkey. Kruger Park officials keen on elephant contraception should take a look at it.
Like a male condom, one end of the sheath is closed, the other is open. Both ends have a flexible plastic ring. The closed end goes inside the vagina, up against the cervix. The muscles in the vagina hold it in place.
Covering the vagina, the female condom prevents the exchange of bodily fluids through the fragile vaginal mucosa, blocking the passage of the HIV virus, other sexually transmitted micro-organisms and sperm.
Since the Aids scare started in the early 1980s, women’s groups overseas pioneered the idea of a barrier method against Aids that women could control.
The female condom takes the diaphragm (a latex half-sphere inserted manually at the cervix to block sperm from entering the uterus) a step further – sort of attaching a plastic salami wrapper to it.
Considering that one out of three to four adults is infected with HIV/Aids in Zimbabwe; that roughly half of those are women; and that a large number of women are stuck in polygamous marriages or with promiscuous partners, it is not surprising that women’s groups in Zimbabwe were clamouring for the female condom.
When the government dilly-dallied its authorisation, they collected 10 000 signatures in support.
Then they lobbied successfully to bring the price down, with donor subsidies, from Z$20 (about US$2) to Z$3 (US$0,30) a pair, slightly more than male condoms.
A cheaper price does not translate into higher use of male condoms. Research in Zimbabwe shows that 44% of men use a condom with sex workers, 36% with girlfriends and only 24% with their wives. This suggests, says the study, the vulnerability of married women to HIV/Aids and the overall high rates of infection.
Articles in the Zimbabwean press have been waxing lyrical about this new female liberation. So in the interests of accurate reporting, I persuaded my fiance to try both female and male condoms.We defined five key areas and graded each from one to five (see chart).
Getting it
At Clicks, the condom is available at the tills. While queuing, I pick one up with a brochure stating that a free “lubricant” is provided. I ask for it. The cashier yells to a sales attendant to get one from the storeroom. By the time he returns, the cashiers, all young and male, are giggling irrepressibly and trying hard not to look at me.
I read the brochure while queuing. Next to me, a smartly dressed office worker in her mid-20s cranes her neck over my shoulder. I pass her the brochure. She studies the drawings. “Looks a bit complicated,” she sighs and hands it back. “Good luck.”
At QV and Medix pharmacies, the process is more discreet. Condom and cream are together at the register. The sales attendant packs it quickly and says softly: “If you need more information or advice, just drop by.”
Opening it
Pull out the condom – and get greasy fingers. Very greasy. Manufacturers could save on that free bottle of lubricant, because there is no need for it. The female condom is as well-lubricated as the gearbox in a brand new BMW.
It is so oiled with a flavourless, odourless waxy jelly that I have to get up to wipe my hands or risk leaving sticky fingerprints on my sheets and, heaven forbid, on my partner. Advice: keep paper tissues near during use.
And how does this go down in Africa with the many men who prefer dry sex and the many women who insert herbs in their vaginas to make them dryer?
Let’s read the instructions. How annoying: It’s such a small typeface, probaby in eight point, in italics, that I have to get up again to fetch my reading glasses. Believe me, I only use them for the microscopic numbers of the telephone directory, but this brochure is equally bad. It is cold in Harare. I am not pleased about all these trips from my cosy bed.
The language: neutral to the point of meaningless, pleasantly vague and reassuring – like asking your dentist if it is going to hurt – and written at a level that requires a college education to understand. “(For insertion;) squeeze the inner ring between your thumb, index and middle-fingers; (during sex): if you feel the outer ring being pushed into the vagina, stop and pull the outer ring back to the original position. Make sure the outer ring remains flat against your outer vaginal area.”
One glaring omission: when advising that the condom is not reusable, the brochure does not explain why. Spelling out the reasons would be a more efficient way of conveying the message, appealing to intelligence and rationality among users.
The drawings are a bit confusing (but then, so is female anatomy). It’s one square inch, very small for such convoluted details. I wonder how women with little formal schooling read it. I hope there are simpler versions in Shona, Ndebele and other vernacular languages, with larger typeface and drawings.
Throughout the text, the female condom is presented as a contraceptive first, a barrier against Aids later. This is to convince the man to use the sheath when he argues that by proposing the condom, she is, or has been, or plans to be unfaithful; that she believes that he is unfaithful (truly an amazing suspicion); or that she has Aids (surely not from him).
Attention, green eco-warriors: the brochure does not say if the female condom is biodegradable, dolphin-safe and without artificial flavoring. It does say never to flush it down the toilet or the pipes may become blocked.
Putting it in
Being a diaphragm user, I have no problem in inserting the sheath way up. Women who are not used to inserting tampons or diaphragms will have to practice a lot or be taught by family planning and health workers.
Or they risk what happened to a friend of mine. As she voluptuously approached the bed, the whole thing fell on the floor. The upper plastic ring, being loose, dropped like a penny. She had not inserted the condom deep enough.
A big surprise: the outer ring is supposed to fit outside your vagina, not discreetly tucked inside, like a diaphragm. So you are walking around with a plastic bag inside your vagina and part of it protrudes from you. Very awkward. Not uncomfortable, but not pleasant nor aesthetic. And nobody is going to try oral or manual sex with that on, unless you are a grease freak and your idea of a cool drink is a glass of extra virgin olive oil.
It is not discreet, not something you slip on while partner blinks. Get up from bed, go squat in bathroom, then return. And don’t take too long (five minutes was my average) or, while you fumble with it, your partner may fall asleep.
Using it
Penetration can only be easy with all that oily stuff. But at the next stage – big handicap. The thing makes a squeaky noise! Like rubbing supermarket plastic bags together. I can’t stop giggling.
Then, another major drawback. We decide to change position – and the condom slips out with my partner and stays on him. Now I really can’t stop laughing. I am in hysterics. He looks puzzled.
I put on my glasses and read the instructions: this will not happen if woman pulls the outer ring against her body when partner withdraws. I guess we have to practice the technique. Or learn not to change position half-way.
Feeling it
If it weren’t for the squeaky noise and the dangling outer ring, it is OK – as condoms come. It adheres completely to the walls of the vagina, allowing some degree of body heat to pass through it and free movement of the penis.
My partner is happy not to have a tight sheath around his penis, but complains that natural warmth and lubrication are sadly absent.
Summing it up
Good for straightforward sex, fast sex, commercial sex, drunk sex, tired sex, boring sex. Good for quickies and what was called in Clockwork Orange the “old-in-and-out”.
Good for sex workers (“Men are so drunk they don’t notice I am wearing one in the dark,” said one in the acceptability study). Although there could be a temptation to save a bit of money by re-using one condom for several customers.
That would make it a breeding ground for all kinds of diseases – for the customer, that is.
Good for women in polygamous relationships, unfaithful relationships, male-dominated relationships. In short, good for women with few choices but to have sex and endure it, not enjoy it.
There are a lot of women out there in powerless or unequal relationships, risking their lives having unprotected sex. The female condom can help them.
All things considered, I prefer my method of protection: mutual consensual monogamy. But not many women have this option.
So the bottom line is: better to have a squeaky noise than Aids. And let us all pray together for an Aids vaccine before the end of the century.
CHART – BUT THE NUMBERS DID NOT COME OUT, SO PPLEASE REFER TO PAGE FIVE OF FAX.