Uhuru Means Freedom Mimi Muir

Uhuru Means Freedom

Text and Photographs by Mimi Muir

eriods? Tampons? No water? What does any of this have to do with school?

Actually, did you know that not all girls can go to school when they are having their periods? Can you imagine the impact on society if girls were less educated just because they had to miss school for one week a month, almost every year?

When I was 15, I learned about an American woman who decided to make a difference in the lives of girls impacted by this very problem. Laura Ponte Chauvin, founder of Her Best Foot Forward, researched and figured out a way to train other women to manufacture 100% biodegradable sanitary pads from tree pulp. Distributing the pads to school girls in Tanzania allowed many to manage menstruation in safety and dignity, increase confidence, and remove barriers to success.

The pads were named UhuruPads, “uhuru” meaning “freedom” in Swahili, for a reason. emembering Laura from her college days at Vanderbilt University, early in 2018, my mother showed me some Facebook posts about the project, and I reached out immediately. Laura responded that if I were able to raise funds to support at least 300 students for a year then I could join her that summer. Remarkably, after drafting a

fundraising page with the Uhuru story and sending it out to my community, it took off! Within a week, I exceeded the goal.

Did you know that it only costs approximately $12 to provide one girl with confidence-building health and hygiene information, undergarments, and a year’s worth of UhuruPads? fter seeing my success and the positive support of my community, Laura opened the trip to 5 other students. The project gained steam quickly. Her college chose her for a philanthropy award and invited her to speak at graduation, Tori Burch (the designer!) recognized her with a community activist award, and even Nelson Mandela’s foundation enlisted her help! Presented with a unique opportunity to speak to both Democratic and Republican officials on Capitol Hill, I worked with her to advocate for our project, and it received both political and financial support. The money was used to purchase an additional machine in the single machine workshop where the pads are made. UhuruPads are made in a small facility by local women, resulting in a critical product and desperately needed jobs. efore we left, we were scheduled to participate in training, which helped us learn how to present the educational materials effectively. The delegation was divided into teams, and we were to canvas schools across the country. I met with hundreds of school girls at a time, visited six schools, and taught them about health, hygiene, and safety. nitially, I had no expectations traveling to a new place, across the world, with a

dramatically different culture, and alongside strangers. I saw it as a journey. The trip was rapidly planned, and I rushed to get a passport and all my required vaccines, including one for yellow fever, weeks before I left. With little knowledge of what to prepare for, I loaded up on candy from CVS to hand to children, Afterbite for mosquitoes and packed L.L. Bean multipurpose shirts and a bunch of long cotton pants (before this my closet was filled with Catholic school uniforms and lacrosse and yoga work out clothes). Before I knew it, it was time to leave. I jumped on a train from DC to meet the group.

Little did I know, the only “thing” needed in Tanzania is openness, a big heart, and a warm smile. reeted by our Tanzanian hosts, Jane and John, who were found by chance on one of those online renta-home travel sites, I immediately felt comfort and immense hospitality in a foreign place. Jane greeted us with a warm meal of fresh bananas from her garden, bread from the market nearby, and spiced chicken. I was prepared to eat like a bird during my stay, but instead, with much gratitude, went to bed every night with a well-fed and full stomach. Each day, we woke up to the sound of monkeys outside the window and packed into a rusty white van to visit schools. Each van ride, I took the opportunity to look out the window and appreciate my surroundings: non-existent traffic rules, zebra crossings, homemade jewelry, vibrant clothes, women balancing water buckets on their heads, children herding sheep, and simply beautiful nature.

hile each school I went to was different—its location, uniform, gender make-up, leadership, and standards— each had something in common, which was thankfulness. For most of the students, I was the first American person they had ever seen. Boundaries quickly dissolved, as children touched my hair, felt my skin, and stared into my blue eyes. Rather than a sense of isolation, I felt a secure belonging and love. My name, “Mimi,” translates to “you” in Swahili, so you can only imagine the instant laughter and sound of giggles when I introduced myself. The girls adored making fun of us and imitating the way we spoke and acted, something I found hilarious, and it instantly created a connection.

The girls we met were fascinated with our presentation and asked insightful questions: What do girls in America use? How is their experience different? Does this mean I should have a baby now? What was your experience like? Do you ever feel at a disadvantage to males because of this? They always remained respectfully attentive. fter the education portion, teaching basic skills, providing information, and, for the first time, telling them that what they were experiencing was a “normal and part of being a woman,” we passed out a years supply of products to each girl and undergarments. As we did, the girls’ eyes lit up with joy, and they raced to the front of the line. In a few instances, girls tried to go back in line and grab more supplies. Something I take for granted made these girls shout, “This is the happiest