Pann Chandy gave her first sexual education lesson when she was still at school as a volunteer youth social worker with the Reproductive Health Association of Cambodia (RHAC). She had no qualms about standing up in front of her classmates to discuss culturally taboo topics when she was just a teenager. Now aged 25 and in possession of a Bachelor degree in midwifery, Chandy has been employed by RHAC for less than a year, working as part of the organisation’s health outreach team. The job is demanding: she is tasked with regularly visiting four karaoke parlours, eight garment factories and 20 villages in Phnom Penh, with plans to expand to two universities imminently. Travelling for hours A round trip to some communities can take two hours or more on her motorcycle, travelling alone into areas that are not always easily accessible. “Sometimes I have the clinic staff with me, but rarely,” Chandy says. “I promote the health services provided by Reproductive Health Association of Cambodia as well. If they are interested in going to a clinic, I give them a referral,” she says. One of the factories on her regular roster is Propitious garment factory in Takhmao, a small city south of Phnom Penh. Chandy spends two days a month at the factory, where she speaks to groups of women or has one-on-one discussions about sensitive topics. Passionate about the job “Just yesterday during the outreach service, a woman asked me why she didn’t get her period after having an abortion. She wanted to know what was wrong,” she says. “It’s common for women to use unsafe abortion methods. Mainly they take medicine from a pharmacy, and the pharmacy doesn’t give them any advice on how to use it. Often they go to cheap, unlicensed clinics near the factories for medical abortions.” Chandy is passionate about her job at Reproductive Health Association of Cambodia, and dreams about one day setting up her own pharmacy where she could provide comprehensive advice to clients. “There are a lot of unlicensed pharmacists in this country,” she says, many of which prescribe the counterfeit medicines that have inundated the market. “I think I may have the capacity to become a licensed one."

After three years of marriage, Cambodian garment worker Sineang had started to wonder why she hadn’t yet become pregnant. Still in her early 20s, she and her husband wanted to have a baby and were not using contraception. In late 2011 or early 2012, Sineang visited a Reproductive Health Association of Cambodia clinic to seek treatment after she noticed some vaginal discharge. During the appointment, her doctor asked her more details about her sexual and reproductive health history: the issue of infertility soon came up. “I had been wanting to have a child for three years, since I was married,” she says. “I felt down about myself, but my husband gave me encouragement and told me it was okay that I was not pregnant yet.” During the initial examination, Sineang says, she was tested for cervical cancer as well as other reproductive health issues that can interfere with pregnancy. RHAC staff prescribed medication to treat her fertility problems, which she continued taking until they confirmed she was pregnant. “At first, I wasn’t really convinced that there was any relation between the discharge and not having a baby, but later I started to think that there was a connection,” she says. Throughout the whole period, Sineang went to RHAC each month – switching from infertility treatment to prenatal care – until she gave birth to a baby girl in 2013. “I was very happy when my daughter was born,” she says. “She’s healthy.” At the time, RHAC offered a discount to garment workers, which Sineang says was a big help. It’s no longer on offer, but she is an enthusiastic supporter of a plan RHAC is hoping to implement soon – a partnership with the National Social Security Fund that would allow them to visit RHAC clinics for free through the fund. “It would be really great if they could, because having a baby is expensive,” she says. “The clinic at RHAC has better service than the public hospitals. When I had my first baby, I wanted to have good service, because I had this problem with discharge [in the past].” Sineang, who is originally from Kandal province and works at Dewhirst garment factory in Phnom Penh, said she was pleased to see RHAC midwives doing regular outreach sessions at the factory. “It’s good for women to know more about these issues,” she says. And not only that, but Sineang is also an active ambassador for RHAC, spreading the word about the NGO’s services to friends and colleagues who have also struggled to have a baby. “I referred a friend to RHAC after she saw that I finally got pregnant. Now my friend, who didn’t have a baby, has two children,” she says. “I also referred another colleague who is having the same problem, and she is going to go on Sunday.”

“After the earthquake, there were so many problems. So many homes were destroyed. People are still living in temporary homes because they’re unable to rebuild their homes.” Pasang Tamang lives in Gatlang, high up in the mountains of northern Nepal, 15 kilometres from the Tibetan border. It is a sublimely beautiful village of traditional three-storied houses and Buddhist shrines resting on the slopes of a mountain and thronged by lush potato fields. The 2000 or so people living here are ethnic Tamang, a people of strong cultural traditions, who live across across Nepal but particularly in the lands bordering Tibet. The earthquake of 25 April had a devastating impact on Gatlang. Most of the traditional houses in the heart of the village were damaged or destroyed, and people were forced to move into small shacks of corrugated iron and plastic, where many still live. “Seven people died and three were injured and then later died,” says Pasang. These numbers might seems small compared to some casualty numbers in Nepal, but in a tightknit village like Gatlang, the impact was felt keenly. Hundreds of people were forced into tents. “People suffered badly from the cold,” Pasang says. “Some people caught pneumonia.” At 2240 metres above sea level, nighttime temperatures in Gatlang can plunge.  Pregnant women fared particularly badly: “They were unable to access nutritious food or find a warm place. They really suffered.” Pasang herself was badly injured. “During the earthquake, I was asleep in the house because I was ill,” she says. “When I felt the earthquake, I ran out of the house and while I was running I got injured, and my mouth was damaged.” Help was at hand . “After the earthquake, there were so many organisations that came to help, including FPAN,” Pasang says. As well as setting up health camps and providing a range of health care, “they provided family planning devices to people who were in need.” Hundreds of families still live in the corrugated iron and plastic sheds that were erected as a replacement for tents. The government has been slow to distribute funds, and the villagers say that any money they have received falls far short of the cost of rebuilding their old stone homes. Pasang’s house stands empty. “We will not be able to return home because the house is cracked and if there was another earthquake, it would be completely destroyed,” she says. Since the earthquake, she has begun working as a volunteer for FPAN. Her role involves travelling around villages in the area, raising awareness about different contraceptive methods and family planning. Volunteers like Pasang perform a crucial function in a region where literacy levels and a strongly patriarchal culture mean that women marry young and have to get consent from their husbands before using contraception. In this remote community, direct contact with a volunteer who can offer advice and guidance orally, and talk to women about their broader health needs, is absolutely vital.

The April 2015 earthquake in Nepal brought death and devastation to thousands of people – from which many are still recovering. But there was one positive outcome: after the earthquake, thousands of young people came forward to support those affected as volunteers. For Rita Tukanbanjar, a twenty-two-year-old nurse from Bhaktapur in the Kathmandu Valley, the earthquake was an eye-opening ordeal: it gave her first-hand experience of the different ways that natural disasters can affect people, particularly women and girls. “After the earthquake, FPAN was organising menstrual hygiene classes for affected people, and I took part in these,” she says. The earthquake severely affected people’s access to healthcare, but women and girls were particularly vulnerable: living in tents can make menstrual hygiene difficult, and most aid agencies tend to neglect these needs and forget to factor them into relief efforts. “After the earthquake, lots of people were living in tents, as most of the houses had collapsed,” Rita says. “During that time, the girls, especially, were facing a lot of problems maintaining their menstrual hygiene. All the shops and services for menstrual hygiene were closed.” This makes FPAN’s work even more vital. The organisation stepped into the breach and organised classes on menstrual hygiene and taught women and girls how to make sanitary pads from scratch. This was not only useful during the earthquake, but provided valuable knowledge for women and girls to use in normal life too, Rita says: “From that time on wards, women are still making their own sanitary pads.” In an impoverished country like Nepal, many women and girls can simply not afford to buy sanitary pads and tampons. Nepal is one of the poorest countries in the world with gross domestic product per capita of just $691 in 2014. In this largely patriarchal culture, the needs of women often come low down in a family’s priorities. “This is very important work and very useful,” Rita says. The women and girls also learned about how to protect themselves from sexual violence, which saw a surge in the weeks after the earthquake, with men preying on people living in tents and temporary shacks. Rita and her family lived in a tent for 20 days. “There was always the fear of getting abused,” she says. Eventually they managed to return home to live in the ruins of their house: “one part was undamaged so we covered it with a tent and managed to sleep there, on the ground floor.” Seeing the suffering the earthquake had caused, and the work FPAN and other organisations were doing to alleviate it, cemented Rita’s decision to begin volunteering. “After the earthquake, when things got back to normal, I joined FPAN.” She also completed her nursing degree, which had been interrupted by the disaster. “Since joining FPAN, I have been very busy creating awareness about sexual rights and all kinds of things, and running Friday sexual education classes in schools,” Rita says. “And since I have a nursing background, people often come to me with problems, and I give them suggestions and share my knowledge with them.” She also hopes to become a staff nurse for FPAN. “If that opportunity comes my way, then I would definitely love to do it,” she says.

“When I was about to give birth, we called for an ambulance or a vehicle to help but even after five hours of calling, no vehicle arrived,” recalls 32-year-old Mona Shrestha. “The birth was difficult. For five hours I had to suffer from delivery complications.” Mona’s story is a familiar one for women in rural Nepal. Like thousands of women across the country, she lives in a small, remote village, at the end of a winding, potholed road. There are no permanent medical facilities or staff based in the village of Bakultar: medical camps occasionally arrive to dispense services, but they are few and far between. Life here is tough. The main livelihood is farming: both men and women toil in the fields during the day, and in the mornings and evenings, women take care of their children and carry out household chores. The nearest birthing centre is an hour’s drive away. Few families can afford to rent a seat in a car, and so are forced to do the journey on foot. For pregnant women walking in the searing heat, this journey can be arduous, even life-threatening. “Fifteen years ago, there was a woman who helped women give birth here, but she’s no longer here,” Mona says. “It’s difficult for women.” Giving birth without medical help can cause severe problems for women and babies, and even death. Infant mortality remains a major problem in Nepal, and maternal mortality is one of the leading causes of death among women. Only 36% of births are attended by a doctor, nurse or midwife.  A traumatic birth can cause long-term physical, psychological, social and economic problems from which women might never recover. Access to contraception and other family planning services, too, involves walking miles to the nearest health clinic. Mona says she used to use the contraceptive injection, but now uses an intrauterine device. Like many villages in Nepal, Bakultar is awash with myths and gossip about the side-effects of contraception. “There are so many side effects to these devices – I’ve heard the coil can cause cancer,” Mona says. “This is why we want to have permanent family planning like sterilisation, for both men and women.” These complaints heard frequently in villages like Bakultar. As well as access to facilities and contraception, people here desperately need access to education on contraception and sexual health and reproductive rights. Misinformation as well as a lack of information are both major problems. “It would be really helpful to have family planning services nearby,” says Mona. Stories Read more stories from Nepal Ask for universal access to contraception!

The Safe Abortion Action Fund (SAAF) which is hosted by IPPF was set up in 2006 in order to support grass-roots organisations to increase access to safe abortion. One such organisation which received support under the last round of funding is called Lady Mermaid's Bureau. I am Pretty Lynn, aged 25. I am a sex worker but I went to university. I graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Tourism in 2013. But now, during the day I’m sleeping and during the night I’m working. That is how my day goes every day. I got into sex work through friends. Okay it is not good but I am earning.  I tried to get a job when I graduated. I have been applying since I graduated in 2013. I’m still applying but I’m not getting anywhere. You know to get jobs in Uganda; you have to know someone there and no one knows me there. To be a sex worker is like a curse. People look at you like, I don’t know, as someone that has no use in society. People look at you in a bad way. They even don’t consider why you are selling. They just see you as the worst thing that can happen in the society. So it is not comfortable, it is really hard but we try and survive. The fact sex working is illegal means you have to hide yourself when you are selling so that police cannot take you. And then you get diseases, men don’t want to pay. When the police come and take us, sometimes they even use us and don’t pay. So it is really hard. They want a free service. Like if they come and take you and pay that would be fair. But they say it is illegal to sell yourself. But they still use you yet they are saying it is illegal. You can’t report the police because there is no evidence.  Abortion and unwanted pregnancies are really common because men don’t want to use condoms and female condoms are really rare and they are expensive. Though at times we get female condoms from Lady Marmaid’s Bureau (LMB) because there are so many of us they can’t keep on giving you them all the time. At times when we get pregnant we use local methods. You can go and use local herbs but it is not safe. One time I used local herbs and I was successful. Then the other time I used Omo washing powder and tea leaves but it was really hard for me. I almost died. I had a friend who died last year from this. But the good thing is that LMB taught us about safe abortion. I have had a safe abortion too. There are some tabs they are called Miso (misoprostol). It costs about fifty thousand shillings (£10 pounds or $20.) It is a lot of money. But if I’m working and I know I’m pregnant, I can say, "this week I’m working for my safe abortion". So if I’m working for twenty thousand, by the end of the week I will have the money. It is expensive compared to Omo at five hundred shillings but that is risky. So if I say I will work this whole week for Miso (misoprostol) it is better. But I'm working and I'm not eating. A project like this one from Lady Mermaid's can help young girls and women. But to take us from sex work, it would really be hard. They would not have enough money to cater for all of us. So what they have to do is to teach us how to protect ourselves, how to defend ourselves. Safe abortion yes. They will just have to sensitise us more about our lives, protection, female condoms and all that. I don't have a boyfriend but maybe when I get money and leave this job I will. But for now, no man would like a woman who sells. No man will bear the wife selling herself. And that will happen only if I get funds, settle somewhere else and become responsible woman. I don’t want this job. I don’t want to be in this business of sex work all the time. I want be married, with my children happily, not selling myself. Stories Read more stories about the amazing success of SAAF in Uganda