By Sar Terver
In the crowded Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) camps of North Central Nigeria, women, and especially adolescent girls, brace themselves for a monthly ordeal.
Each month, many of them struggle to manage their menstrual flow without access to sanitary products, privacy, or adequate education on menstrual health — a silent challenge that deepens their hardship in displacement.
For some of these girls, adolescence began inside the camps, where overcrowding, limited healthcare, and poor sanitation make menstrual health especially difficult to manage.
With little or no education on safe menstrual practices, many rely on improvised materials that put them at risk of infections and reinforce the stigma around menstruation.
This is not merely a matter of discomfort. Studies show that about 76 percent of menstruating girls in under-resourced areas resort to unhygienic alternatives such as cloth rags, tissue paper, or cotton wool because pads are financially out of reach.
When these makeshift materials are not properly washed, sun-dried, or stored, they become breeding grounds for urinary and genital tract infections, including bacterial vaginosis and candidiasis.
Among displaced populations, the risks escalate. A scoping review of refugee and IDP settings in Africa found that women often have no access to menstrual products, turning instead to scraps of clothing or paper.
Water, sanitation, and hygiene (WASH) facilities are inadequate, and menstrual health education is virtually absent. Without privacy, safe disposal options, or reliable washing facilities, women endure silent suffering.
The situation in North Central Nigeria mirrors these findings. At Tse-Yandev and Ichwa camps in Benue State, where conflict has uprooted families, women commonly rely on rags to manage menstruation.
HumAngle Media, estimated that women in just one of these camps would need about ₦13 million each month to afford sanitary products — a figure that highlights the scale of unmet need.
While donations of sanitary pads have offered temporary relief, the root causes — poverty, stigma, and lack of education — remain unresolved.
A social worker at the Makurdi International Market temporary IDP camp, who preferred anonymity, confirmed that menstrual hygiene receives little attention in their programs.
“Though we may not have had any strong ground on the aspect of sanitary hygiene in particular, we discuss their general hygiene.
“Our awareness and intervention is based on antenatal hygiene, food hygiene, safe waste disposal, and birth registration. Nothing particular about menstruation”, she disclosed.
She also acknowledged the widespread use of rags among displaced women. “They are still practicing the use of rags to my own understanding. It’s obvious they can’t afford to purchase menstrual pads due to its rise in cost, not just as IDPs but also because of their unawareness,” she said.
Health professionals confirm the dangers. Retired Nurse Grace Achodo of the Federal Medical Centre, Makurdi, explained: “Reusing cloth, especially without proper sterilization and in damp conditions, predisposes women to severe genital irritations and recurrent infections.”
Dr. Sandra Kon, a lecturer at the School of Nursing and Midwifery, Makurdi, added: “In rural and camp settings, lack of water, sunlight, and private drying enhances microbial growth on reused cloths, leading to RTIs and sometimes systemic infections.”
Nurse Blessing James in Calabar also corroborates: “Even when communities try to wash cloths, the absence of soap and clean water forces them to rinse poorly — or worse, wear damp cloths, which is a recipe for infection.”
These concerns show a wider crisis known as “period poverty,” widely defined as the lack of access to menstrual products, education, and sanitation. Its consequences extend beyond physical health.
They are include psychological stigma and disruptions to education, as girls miss school or drop out entirely. Moreso, the absence of privacy, inadequate WASH facilities, and cultural shaming deepen the problem in the camps.
The reality is the same beyond Benue. In Plateau State, survivors of violent attacks now live in camps such as Daffo, Hurti, and Gwande, where overcrowding and poor sanitation depict the same menstrual health struggles. The women in those camps don’t even think of pads, they only think of survival.
In Kogi State, seasonal flooding has forced thousands into 42 makeshift camps across nine local governments.
Yet the pattern remains familiar: little to no access to menstrual products, no private washing facilities, and no targeted education for adolescent girls.
Across these states, the thread is consistent: whether displaced by conflict or disaster, women and girls are left to navigate their periods in silence, with dignity and health compromised by the absence of menstrual health education and support.
Despite the severity of these challenges, menstrual health rarely features in IDP support programs across North Central Nigeria.
General hygiene initiatives — covering nutrition, antenatal care, or waste disposal — take priority, while menstrual education remains almost invisible.
The silence surrounding menstruation, both cultural and structural, reinforces neglect and worsens the suffering of women and girls.
Still, there are signs of progress. Advocacy groups such as the Centre for Health Ethics Law and Development (CHELD) have begun running menstrual health workshops in some camps.
Women are trained to produce reusable pads and distributing them while engaging communities to challenge taboos. These interventions offer dignity and sustainable change, though their reach is still limited.
At the intersection of conflict, poverty, and gendered silence, the cost of neglect is profound. Infected rags, missed school days, and unspoken shame are the scars left when menstrual health is ignored.
As North Central Nigeria works toward peace and resilience, menstrual hygiene must be recognized not as a privilege, but as a right central to health, education, and equity.
