Tebogo Mokgadi.
Image: Supplied
On 16 February 2026, something shifted. Quietly at first, then all at once. Professor Deon Visser, Head of Chemistry at the University of the Free State, revealed findings that unsettled what millions of South African women had long accepted without question. After years of research, his team discovered that common menstrual products - sanitary pads and pantyliners - contained endocrine-disrupting chemicals.
Hormone-altering substances. Invisible intruders in items trusted to protect. By the next day, the news had spread. Fear travelled faster than understanding. Conversations sparked in homes, classrooms, and clinic queues. Some women began calling for a shift to reusable alternatives. Others were left with something heavier than fear: helplessness. Because awareness, without access, changes nothing. What happens to the woman who cannot afford alternatives? What happens to her daughter, already navigating the fragile terrain between childhood and adulthood, now forced to question whether the very thing meant to protect her may instead harm her?
The danger hidden in routine
The study examined pads from 16 brands and pantyliners from eight. Across these products, three groups of endocrine-disrupting chemicals were found: phthalates, bisphenols, and parabens. Substances linked to hormonal imbalance, fertility complications, endometriosis, and increased cancer risk. Bisphenols were found in every single pad tested. Phthalates too. Parabens followed closely behind. The consistency of their presence makes one thing clear—this was not an anomaly. It was a pattern. Professor Visser explained that contamination likely occurs during manufacturing, through adhesives, packaging, or production processes. And while a single use may not trigger immediate harm, repeated exposure across years builds a quieter, cumulative risk.
This is what makes it dangerous. Not panic. But normalcy. Because menstrual products are not used once. They are used monthly. Yearly. For decades. And for most women, disposable pads remain the only realistic option.
The Girl caught between biology and circumstance.
For a schoolgirl, menstruation already arrives with disruption. Now it arrives with doubt. Breadline Africa reports that one in three South African girls misses school due to lack of menstrual products. Absenteeism, in this context, is not about unwillingness. It is about limitation. About systems failing bodies.
Now imagine adding another layer to that absence—not the lack of pads, but the fear of using them. Sixteen-year-old Boikanyo, a Grade 9 learner, spoke quietly about what this news meant for her. “It’s scary to hear that these pads might have cancer-causing chemicals,” she said. “But reusable pads are expensive. My mom already struggles to buy the ones we share. I don’t know what we’ll do.”
Her voice carried something heavier than fear. It carried resignation. In households dependent on social grants, even the cheapest disposable pads are stretched between mothers and daughters. Reusable alternatives, while safer in theory, demand upfront costs many families simply cannot absorb. Safety, in this case, becomes conditional on affordability. The infrastructure contradiction. Even when reusable products are accessible, the environment does not always support them. Many schools lack adequate sanitation facilities. Privacy is limited. Clean water is not guaranteed. Safe storage is rarely considered. A reusable pad requires dignity to function safely. Without that dignity, it becomes another risk.
UNICEF reports that only one in eight schools in sub-Saharan Africa provides menstrual products. This statistic reveals more than scarcity. It reveals neglect. Because menstruation is predictable. Its absence from institutional planning is not accidental. It is systemic. And it is girls who absorb the consequences. They miss class. Fall behind. Lose confidence. Not because they lack intelligence, but because their biology exists in spaces that refuse to accommodate it.
When protection becomes uncertainty
In 2016, Michelle Obama spoke about menstruation as a barrier to girls’ education. Her words acknowledged a reality many already lived: education is not interrupted by menstruation itself, but by the conditions surrounding it. Professor Visser recommends reusable cloth pads as the safest option. Scientifically, the recommendation holds weight. Socially, economically, it exposes a gap. Because the solution assumes access. It assumes infrastructure. It assumes affordability. Assumptions many South African families cannot afford. So the girl is left in suspension. Between risk and absence. Between exposure and exclusion. She must choose between protecting her health and protecting her education. Neither choice should exist. The quiet cost we refuse to measure.
We often speak about education as the foundation of the future. We encourage attendance. Discipline. Commitment. But we rarely examine the silent forces pulling girls away from classrooms. A schoolbag is considered essential. Stationery is considered essential. Yet menstrual health—something equally fundamental—remains treated as secondary. Until now, the harm was understood as discomfort, inconvenience, absence.
Now, it may also be exposure. And the heaviest burden does not fall on those who can afford alternatives. It falls on those who cannot. On girls already negotiating inequality before they fully understand it. Because when protection becomes uncertainty, attendance becomes negotiable. And when attendance becomes negotiable, so does the future.
*Mokgadi is an Activator of the 2025 cohort. Activate! is a youth development programme aimed at connecting young leaders to share ideas and be empowered to become change drivers in their communities.