Despite their exhaustion after a long day of French and Arabic lessons, all members of the student troupe have shown up for rehearsal on this Tuesday afternoon. The scene unfolding before our eyes diverts our minds from the clothing sticking to our bodies and the neverending thirst that this 109º F weather provokes.

A young Nigerien woman glares at her wideeyed fiancé. "I hear you've been playing around. We can't get married until we've both tested negative for HIV," says the young woman.

"What?" The young man pauses, stunned. His surprise quickly turns to anger: "I'm not taking the test," he says. "I'm not sick."

"Then we are not getting married," says his fiancée.

The man relents, grudgingly: "But they're not going to find anything, you'll see," he says.

The drama continues. The couple goes to the hospital to test for HIV. The woman is HIV-negative, but her husband-to-be tests positive. The young woman says to him: "Thank God I insisted that we get tested before marriage. If I had trusted you, AIDS would have ruined my life and our child's life."

I find it hard to believe that the strong, confident young actress in the scene is the same girl who hid her face in shame when I asked her a question during an HIV/AIDS lesson that I taught in her class only a week earlier. At this moment she is transformed, showing no hesitation as she firmly asserts her right to protect herself against disease.

Traditionally, Nigerien women do not have ownership over their bodies. Once married, the woman becomes her husband's property. According to Nigerien tradition, which is the norm in rural settings, the wife's role confines her to the house, where she pounds the millet, cooks the meals, washes the clothes, raises the children, and serves her husband's sexual needs. Her husband, however, is free to roam, to seek out additional wives or girlfriends as he pleases.

Despite their subordinate role, women are not powerless to defend their bodies against AIDS. By understanding how HIV is transmitted, Nigerien women can take steps to prevent infection. Like the female character in the scene, they can demand HIV testing prior to marriage. In the likelihood that her husband engages in extra-marital relations, a wife can pressure him to wear condoms.

Using theatre containing HIV/AIDS-related messages is useful for educating men as well as women. These types of performances reach a target audience of young Nigerien men, the majority of whom travel periodically to countries like Nigeria, the Ivory Coast, and Ghana in search of work. In these coastal countries, the HIV infection rate is significantly higher than that of Niger, a landlocked nation. Separated from their wives for months, even years at a time, they may contract HIV in these countries and then bring it back to their wives.

I hardly imagined a theatrical performance of this kind could be possible in Kiota, the town where I live. At first, I was hesitant to initiate a campaign on such a socially taboo subject like HIV/AIDS. Kiota is considered a "holy" town, as it is home to a leading Muslim caliph. While conversing with an influential woman in the caliph's family, she uttered the last words I expected to hear: "Can you please teach our community about AIDS?" Thanks to this woman's openness and concern for the wellbeing of her community, I feel that I am truly helping people, especially the young women of my town.

Moreover, the timing of this HIV/AIDS campaign is critical because Kiota's young women will soon be tested. On April 21st, the Muslim holiday of Maloud will attract thousands of people to the town. People from the town tell me that businessmen from all over West Africa will arrive in their 4x4's, seducing Kiota's poor young women with money and beautiful fabrics in exchange for sex. I can sleep soundly knowing that I have armed these young women with the knowledge to protect themselves. When these aggressive men flash wads of bills in front of these young students, perhaps the girls' minds will flash back to the scene they witnessed, and they will have the courage to refuse.