The Day I Was Asked for a Condom

Written by Joni Roberts

Traveler, storyteller, and public health advocate

It was one of my many clinic days — the kind that start early with the hum of conversation, the shuffling of plastic chairs, and the smell of dust and Dettol mingling in the air. We’d been at it all morning: seeing patients, checking charts, and listening to stories that were sometimes hard, sometimes hopeful.

As the sun dipped lower, signaling it was time to wrap up, we began packing the vehicle. I sat in the front passenger seat while others loaded the trunk and chatted behind me. That’s when a man walked toward the vehicle and greeted me.

“Madzuka bwanji?” he said with a smile. I smiled back. “Dazuka bwino, kaya inu?”(How did you wake? / I woke well, and you?) — the Malawian morning greeting, much like saying Good morning, how are you?

He paused for a moment, looking a bit shy but resolute.“Mungandipatse makondomu?” he asked.(Can you give me condoms?)

For a split second, I blinked — caught between surprise and curiosity. My colleagues quickly stepped in, guiding him (and a woman who’d been at the clinic earlier) inside to get what they needed.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly to myself. Of all people to ask — me? Normally, I would have had condoms on hand. Occupational hazard, I suppose. Years of working as a sexual health researcher and educator taught me to always be prepared. But not that day. The bag of condoms sat untouched back at my apartment — proof that old habits die hard.

My colleagues teased as they discovered a new layer of “Dr. Joni.” But internally, I was reflecting: Why me?

Was it because I stood out — my clothes, my accent, my energy just a little different from my Malawian colleagues? Did he assume I was in charge? Or was it something simpler — that I was simply the first person he reached in a crowd of busy health workers?

As a qualitative researcher, my mind couldn’t help but spin with interpretations. There’s so much embedded in those small interactions — perception, trust, comfort, even power dynamics. What was it about me that made him feel comfortable enough to ask?

Still, I found myself smiling about it for days. Of all the questions to be asked, I was oddly honored that he asked me — the sex educator — for condoms.

Because sometimes, that’s what this work is about: those tiny, human moments that bridge the gap between theory and life. Between being the outsider and being trusted. Between research and reality.

Later, at lunch with the other half of the team, I shared the incident. The project manager, who had been at a neighboring clinic, laughed and said that two women had asked him for condoms that same day. So perhaps it wasn’t about me after all — maybe it was just the day for condoms.

Either way, I was glad people were asking and getting what they needed.

And in that dusty clinic in Chishwi, I was reminded once again that connection — no matter how small or unexpected — is always at the heart of public health.

Until the next wander, the next story, the next unexpected ask. 🌍