February 13, 2009

VAGINA.


I can't stop saying it. Vagina. It's 5:15 and I am standing outside with the friends of mine I now refer to as "The Neighborhood," those who live in or around Courts or are here with enough frequency to count as residents. Passers-by note my appearance. My hair is big, my lips and nails are red, by eyes are wide. I am preparing for the evening's festivities. "Vagina," I politely greet them. One young guy stops and raises an eyebrow. "The Vagina Monologues!" I tell him, "Tonight, Guerry, 7 o'clock!"


Slightly shaky in the black dress I borrowed from one Kelly O'Mara who had purchased the same dress only days before at a trunk show, I approach a well-lit microphone and open with the 2009 Spotlight Monologue addressing femicide, specifically femicide occurring in the DRC. I want to well up as I read sobering numbers-- 300,000 women and girls have been raped and tortured during the struggle for tin and coltan, a material used in cell phones and play stations. I relay one story of a 16 year-old in Goma who was raped by 50 men. I hear the sound of my hard swallow echo throughout Guerry Auditorium.

"Femicide is the global warming of women," I hear myself saying. And I want to cry.


After my monologue, I sit in my place along the row of black-clad women, all of us with red folders in our laps. It feels good to be here. Really good.