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What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
Every year, thousands of women test positive for HPV, a virus that can lead to cervical cancer if left untreated. For Lauretta*, a 26-year-old Nigerian woman living in the UK, a routine Pap smear didn’t just detect the virus early; it reminded her that information and openness can make all the difference.
This story is part of BellaNaija’s #StopHPVForHer Campaign to raise awareness on HPV and cervical cancer.
(*Name changed for privacy)
How did you first find out you had HPV?
It was during a routine Pap smear. I’d booked it because the NHS keeps reminding you once you’re due, and honestly, I only went because I had time that week.
The test itself? I was so anxious. The location was nice, a really good clinic environment, but I’d overthought everything. I’d read so many stories online about Pap smears, some really good, some really bad, so I didn’t know what to expect.
When I saw the speculum, I just thought, “That is supposed to go inside me? Okay, this is going to be painful.” The healthcare professional was very nice, very respectful, as gentle as she could be. But I was so tense. We had to try about three times because I kept tensing up and she had to keep telling me to relax. I just wanted it over with. The faster, the better.
A few weeks later, I got a letter saying I’d tested positive for HPV. For about 30 seconds, I panicked. My brain immediately went: “Oh my God, cancer.”
Then I remembered everything I’d read before — that HPV isn’t permanent, that most people who get it don’t even know because their immune systems clear it. I also remembered that a friend of mine had it years before, and she was perfectly fine. I literally said to myself, “Calm down, you’re fine.”
I think the panic only lasted that short because I’d done my research years ago when Pap smears first became a conversation in Nigeria. I took a picture of the letter and sent it straight to my two closest friends. No caption. Just the screenshot.
You already knew about Pap smears back then?
Yes. Around 2014 or 2015, it became a topic among Nigerian women. They even talked about doing it at my secondary school, but it never happened.
I remember going with my mum to a gynaecology appointment once; it was a family doctor, so they asked if they could speak to me too. My mum stepped out, and the doctor said he was thinking of doing a Pap smear, but only if I was sexually active.
I lied. I said no.
Though I was around 20 years old, I wasn’t ready to admit I was having sex, especially not to someone who could tell my parents. Even though my mum had left the room, if the doctor decided I needed the test, she’d know. I wasn’t prepared for that conversation. So even though I knew what HPV was, access and shame made it feel far away.
That fear stopped me. I wish it had been normalised earlier, like how it is now in the UK, where they just send you a letter and you go. No judgment, no interrogation.
What was it like hearing the result from your GP?
I called my GP as soon as I got the letter. Remember, I found out through a letter and not a physical appointment. My GP referred me to a nurse. She was the most carefree health worker I’ve ever met. She said, “It’s fine. Lots of people have it. You don’t even have to tell your partner; they probably already have it.”
At first, I thought she was being dismissive. I was sitting there thinking, “Wait, is this actually serious and you’re just not telling me?” But later, I realised she was normalising it. She explained that HPV is incredibly common, that many sexually active people get it at some point, and that the body usually clears it within two years. She told me to come back in a year for another test, and that’s when they’d check if it was still there or if there were any abnormal cells. Then, there might be a cause for worry.
That conversation really helped. I went from anxious to okay. There was no moral judgment, no shame, just information. My mum is a medical professional, so I also understood that sometimes healthcare workers see something so frequently that they don’t panic about it the way we do. That helped me trust what she was saying.
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Did you tell anyone else?
Yes, my friends. I’m an oversharer in general, and my close friends are the same. Like I said, I literally took a photo of the letter and sent it to them on WhatsApp.
One of them immediately reminded me that she’d had HPV before. She’d actually told me about it years ago when she found out, and she was fine now. That calmed me down even more. Then, not long after, another friend confided in me that she’d had it too. I remember thinking, “Wait, so everyone’s just walking around with this and we don’t talk about it?”
It made me realise how common it is, and how silence makes it scarier than it actually is. When you know people who’ve been through it, it doesn’t feel like a death sentence. Talking about it took the shame out of it.
How was the follow-up test?
Honestly, the waiting was worse than the test itself. At first, I was counting the months. Then, after a while, I actually completely forgot about it. The next year, the NHS sent another letter inviting me back, and that’s when the anxiety kicked in again.
I was more anxious this time than the first, not about the physical test, but because I already knew I’d had HPV. I was just desperate to find out if it was still there. The nurse who did it was the same person from the year before, which was nice. She was kind and patient, kept telling me it would only take a few days to get the results back.
Those few days felt like forever. When the results came back clear, I cried from relief. I sent another photo to my friends, the same group chat. We were all celebrating like I’d passed an exam.
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Looking back, what stands out most to you about the whole experience?
That information really is power. The only reason I didn’t spiral that first day was that I already knew what HPV was. I’d read about it years before, even about how you can get it from oral sex, not just vaginal sex. That awareness made me realise early on that it was something I could be at risk for.
If I hadn’t read about it before, I’d probably have gone down a dark rabbit hole. I keep thinking about how much fear comes from ignorance, especially in Nigeria, where sex education is so tied to morality.
If we talked about HPV the way we talk about malaria or typhoid, people would test earlier, vaccinate earlier, and save themselves a lot of stress. The numbers don’t lie; HPV is the most common sexually transmitted infection. In 9 out of 10 people, it goes away on its own within two years. But we act like it’s rare or shameful, and that silence is literally killing women.
If you could tell your younger self something, what would it be?
To take the vaccine.
Back in secondary school, I was in SS3, and it was mentioned briefly, but it sounded like something for “other people.” Nobody emphasised it. My parents didn’t know enough to insist, even though my mum works in healthcare. If I’d understood how important it was, I’d have pushed harder for it.
Now I tell all my younger cousins to go get vaccinated. I even told one of my aunties to vaccinate her 11-year-old daughter. The vaccine was introduced in Nigeria in October 2023, and it’s free now for girls aged 9 to 14 at government facilities. Nigeria vaccinated 7.7 million girls in the first phase, the largest single round of HPV vaccination in the African region. That’s huge.
If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have avoided a year of stress and anxiety.
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What’s one thing you want Nigerian parents to know?
The vaccine works best before exposure, which is why it’s given to girls aged 9 to 14.. The vaccine is now given as a single dose, which makes it even easier. I think parents need to separate morality from medicine.
Also, don’t shame your daughters for wanting Pap smears later in life. Create space for those conversations. My own experience taught me that shame delays care. If I’d felt safe enough to tell that family doctor the truth when I was 21 or 22, maybe I’d have caught it earlier. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent a year wondering if I was going to be okay.
How do you feel now when you think about HPV?
Calm. Informed. Grateful.
It’s not something that defines me. It’s something that happened, I learned from it, and I moved on.
But I do wish we’d normalise these conversations more, between friends, at hospitals, even online. If I hadn’t talked to my friends, I might have felt a little dirty or alone. Instead, I felt seen.
HPV isn’t a death sentence. It’s common. And being open about it could literally save someone else’s life.
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Ladies, have you done your Pap smear and tested for HPV?
If you’re a woman over 25 years of age, this is your reminder that early detection saves lives.
What is HPV?
Human Papillomavirus (HPV) is one of the most common viral infections in the world, spread primarily through intimate skin-to-skin contact. While many types of HPV clear on their own without causing harm, some high-risk strains can linger and lead to cervical cancer. In fact, 95% of cervical cancer cases globally are linked to HPV.
The good news? HPV-related cancers are largely preventable through vaccination and regular screening.
What is a Pap Smear?
A Pap smear (also called a Pap test) is a screening procedure that examines cells from your cervix — the lower part of the uterus that connects to the vagina — to detect precancerous or cancerous cells. With timely screening and early detection, cervical cancer is both preventable and curable.
The test is quick (usually 1-2 minutes), done during a pelvic exam, and involves a healthcare provider using a small brush or spatula to collect cells from your cervix. The sample is then sent to a lab for analysis.
Get Vaccinated
The HPV vaccine is free for girls aged 9 at government health facilities across Nigeria.
According to the WHO, cervical cancer is the second most common cancer among women in Nigeria, and an estimated 12,000 women are diagnosed annually. Early detection through regular screening can prevent this, keeping more women and girls alive.
Next Read: What It Takes to Get Girls Vaccinated Against HPV in Lagos
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