Mama, how are babies made? — The taboo around sexual health in Pakistan
As a young pre-teen growing up in a posh suburb of Karachi, Pakistan I was exposed to a mixed, or better put, a confused culture. On one hand, the values of a conservative society made sexual education taboo to talk about. On the other co-ed English medium private schools, like mine, idolised the more liberal writings of western authors and culture.
“Miss Tahira, how are babies made?” I asked. “We will talk about that another day,” she would reply — that day never came. I would go home and ask my parents; the usual reply would be “God sends them down”. How was I meant to know why I was suddenly growing a moustache or what ‘girl problems’ were referring to? This topic has been taboo for generations, or more so, never spoken about since the inception of society in Pakistan.
One might wonder how culture can affect health and well-being, in my case, it was one of the primary influences in my community. In science class, the last chapter on sexual health and education had been removed from our textbooks, despite being one of the more ‘liberal’ schools in the country. As an inquisitive teenager, I was bound to resort to the internet to find my answers, an eleven-year-old surfing the internet about puberty and sex would lead to content beyond the realms of education, leading me to believe unfounded theories and stereotypes.
At home, the housekeeper, Sana, was only thirty-five and already had seven children, barely having the financial means for raising one, yet would tell me about how her husband wanted more. The more I grew up, the more I realised birth control was a concept alien to most. Those who dared to buy condoms in a store would be handed them in a brown paper bag, as were sanitary pads. I assumed those in my community that belonged to a lower socio-economic class had so many children because they could help lend a hand at home physically and financially. Reflecting on this it seems it was a combination of a lack of awareness of forms of birth control and family planning, both of which in my eighteen years of living in Pakistan, I never heard of or discussed.
Every other morning I would read headlines regarding instances of sexual abuse and violence, with the perpetrators sparing none, not even the dead. I would think to myself, what made them like this? I was never taught about consent, and despite having a privileged education, one can only imagine how unfamiliar this concept is to the remaining demographic.
These instances brought me to not only study Medicine but pursue a career in Public Health. The simple lack of awareness around sexual health has created a plethora of social problems which need to be targeted at the root. I have been fortunate enough to come to the UK to study medicine and gain other perspectives, had I not branched out I would still have had a very narrow view towards sexual health and education.
Studying public health will help me build on my skills in delivering and creating health policies for a wider population, one of which would be to de-stigmatise sexual education in Pakistan. Sexual awareness needs to target the youth and their parents, this problem spans all generations. I believe this would start a much-needed conversation targeting a range of social problems including family planning, sexual violence and misogyny. Health and well-being for me go beyond illness and exercise, it covers all aspects of a person’s life; from their work and education to their perception and mindset.
