I became my mother’s caregiver when I was just four years old.

My mother was from Opuwo, in the Kunene region of Namibia. When I was four, she became very ill. In our area, people strongly believed in witchcraft. They thought her sickness was caused by something supernatural, something that hospitals and doctors could not fix. She was stuck in bed for weeks, and she grew weaker every day.

One day, one of my mother’s nephews came to our village for a funeral. He saw how sick she was and knew she needed more than just medicine from a doctor. He suggested to my grandfather that he take my mother to live with him so she could get traditional treatment. My grandfather agreed, and the nephew said he would come back for her later.

Even after starting the traditional treatments, my mother’s health did not get better. On her good days, when she felt a little stronger, she would wash her clothes or give me a bath—things no one else would do for me. But those good days were rare.

The Journey to Find Help

One day, my mother decided we had to leave. She was very weak, but she took me with her to hitchhike to another village. This was where her own mother was from, and it was closer to the main road to Outjo, which made it easier to find a ride. We had no money, so we relied on the kindness of people we did not know.

We stayed in that village for a few days, waiting for a free ride. I remember one very hard day when my mother was so dizzy she could not stand. She asked me to cook porridge, a huge task for a four-year-old. As I struggled with the pot over the fire, an ostrich suddenly appeared and tried to eat our food. I was so scared that I ran into the house. When I looked back, the pot had tipped over, spilling our only meal. I cried from hunger and frustration.

Our luck changed when we were waiting near some stores. A woman who knew my mother came over and gave her N$10, which was a lot of money for us at the time. While they were talking, a car stopped.
The woman knew the driver and asked if he could give us a ride, explaining that we had no money. To
our surprise, he said yes.

Midnight in a Strange Town

The driver took us past Outjo all the way to Okakarara, the town nearest to where my mother’s nephew lived. We arrived at one in the morning with no place to sleep. The kind driver let us sleep in an old canopy outside his house. It was not much, but it kept us safe.

Early the next morning, we waited for the man to wake up. When he did, he asked my mother what we planned to do. She told him she was looking for her nephew who worked in the town. The man helped us find him, and soon my mother’s nephew came to take us to his home. At his house, we met another woman from my mother’s village. She was also there for traditional treatment for an illness. When she saw that my mother was much sicker than she was, this kind woman

washed our clothes and blankets and gave me a bath. I had not had one in days. She also cooked food for us. Our last meal had been breakfast the day before. Hunger was a constant part of our lives. Whenever I told my mother I was hungry, she would tell me, “Drink water” We accepted this without complaining.

The price of help

After three days, my mother’s nephew called the relative we were supposed to stay with, and that man came to get us. That was when our real struggle began. I now see it as a kind of modern slavery.

Even though my mother was sick, she was expected to do all the housework: laundry, cleaning, and cooking for her nephew and his family. The nephew did take her to a doctor and paid for her treatment, but in return, my mother had to work for him for free, with no end in sight.

The doctor found that my mother could not eat maize meal, the main food in our region. She could only have pasta, rice, meat, or milk. But the nephew said he would not regularly buy these more expensive foods. If there was no milk, she just did not eat. When there was milk, she would pour all of it into my porridge, leaving nothing for herself.

As my mother grew sicker from the hard work and lack of good food, I had to do even more. By the time I was six, I was washing her clothes and cooking for both of us.

School and Separation

When I turned seven, it was time for me to start school. My mother and I were sent to Okakarara to stay with her nephew’s son, who was the principal of the primary school I would attend.

Because my mother could not read or write, the only work she could find was as a domestic worker. She needed money for my school fees, so she took a job cleaning houses and looking after the children for one of my teachers. Her first full paycheck all went toward my education.

To earn more money and pay for the small outside room we lived in – which had only a toilet and no bathroom – my mother took on extra jobs. I helped by raking yards, and she washed clothes on weekends while working her main job during the week. We did all this just to have one meal a day and a roof over our heads. I slept on the floor of our little room and often got sick with the flu during the cold winters.

A Friend’s Kindness

I had a friend whose mother was also a teacher at my school. One day after school, she came home with me. When she saw how we lived, she told her mother. Her mother came to talk to me and asked if I would like to stay with their family on school days and come back to my mother on weekends. My mother agreed, hoping I would have a proper bed and regular meals. This only lasted for a month before the owner of our room became unhappy with the arrangement, and I had to go back to sleeping on the floor.

There were other small hurts, too. The principal, my mother’s nephew’s son, drove to school every morning with his wife and their two children. But he always left me behind. I had to take the bus to the very school where he was in charge. Even as a child, I wondered why he would not give me a ride, but I knew not to ask an adult such a question. This was our routine until the school year ended.

The Final Separation

During the December holidays, my mother’s nephew bought a farm and planned to move there in January. When the time came, they moved to the farm, and my mother went with them to continue her unpaid work. But there was no place for me there.

That is how I ended up being sent to boarding school, separated from the mother I had cared for since I was four years old.

To read Jasana’s emotional and inspiring story about her experiences at boarding school, click on the following link:

Growing Up In A Boarding School By Jasana Uandia

By: Jasana

Instagram: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

Facebook: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

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My name is Joy. I am a Nigerian woman, the second of five children. My family lived in the city and came from a lower-class. While my parents and siblings stayed in the city, I was raised by my grandmother in the village.

Growing up in the village, life was extremely harsh I had to help with farming and do small- scale trading to support myself. I believe my mom took me to live with my grandma, not to punish me or because she couldn’t take care of me but because she didn’t want my grandmother to live alone She wanted me to be her companion.

I completed both elementary and high school in the village. After graduation, I moved back to the city to live with my family. The transition was difficult. I struggled to communicate and connect with my peers, to adjust to urban life, and to fit into my family’s way of living after being away for so long. To continue my education, I worked hard at various low-paying jobs. My father was not supportive or involved, which made things harder. At times, I could have lost my way as a teenager and young adult, but by God's grace and through my mother’s encouragement, I stayed on the right path. I stayed focused on my dreams, refusing to give up or be distracted. Although it’s been years since I graduated and I haven’t yet landed my dream job, I discovered a skill that changed everything: hair and wig styling. I now earn a living through the hair and wig business. I’ve been paying my bills and even supporting my family by selling hair and installing wigs.

In 2018, I applied for an Empowerment Fund using my business idea. My pitch was selected, and I received a small grant to start my business. Like many others, I faced serious challenges during the COVID-19 pandemic, but I stayed determined. I’m not yet where I want to be, but I’m getting closer every day.

My hope is that every girl from a humble or difficult background never stops dreaming. Stay resilient. There will always be distractions and obstacles, but when you know your worth and stay true to your path, greater things are possible.

Written by: JOY EIKOJONWA

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Sometimes I wonder why it always has to be me,
The one who is left behind,
The odd one out,
The one making jokes that nobody laughs at,
Never anyone’s cup of tea.

I mean, you wouldn’t understand,
Since my face hides it so well.
You won’t see what’s behind this beautiful smile,
Or beneath this extroverted spirit,
While deep inside, I am nothing but an introvert
Just a girl, a babe who wishes to be loved,
Yet was loved by none.

I mean, I walked away from love,
Thinking maybe I was unlovable,
So I chose to be a good friend,
The one who listens to every bit
Of nonsense you spill without judging.

The one who keeps quiet
And let you say whatever you want.
Well, I became that one.
Yet as I listened to them,
Nobody cared to listen to me,
Or even try to know what was going on in my life.

I mean, I tried to take care of them,
To be their umbrella come rain or sun,
Yet no one shielded me.
Their only payment was betrayal.

Not because I wanted too much,
I didn’t ask for money; I had my own.
Yet a simple “Hi, how are you?”
Would have done the trick.
But again, nobody cared.

I always wonder – why me?
Yet if not me, then who?
Well, I don’t know.
But I do know this
I am tired.

Tired of being everyone’s go-to,
Yet having no one to go to.
Tired of being just a friend
When all I wanted was to be your bestie.
Tired of being one of the people
You barely remember,
While to me,
You never escape my mind.

I am tired of it all.

By: Merci Mpundu

IG: mpundu merci

The post All I Ever Wanted : To Be Seen~ By Mpundu Merci appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I want to acknowledge to myself and the universe
that I am a beautiful woman—
whole, radiant, and worthy.
Not because someone sees it,
but because I do.
And when love finds me,
it will be because it recognizes what I already know,
that I am deserving of care, softness, and joy.

I am tired of always being the one who understands,
adjusts, and carries the weight.
I want to rest. I want to be soft.
I want to be held without having to earn it.
There is a version of me—gentle, warm, poetic—
who whispers beneath my strength,
“Let me breathe too. Let me be free”.
I don’t want to wear armor to feel safe anymore.
I want to wear my tenderness like silk
and feel the power.

I long for someone who sees all of me—
not just the intellect, not just the ambition,
but the girl who loves dancing alone,
who cries when she’s overwhelmed,
who wants to be told, “You don’t have to do this alone.”
I also want to wear sweatpants and an oversized hoodie
and watch a movie
and wear shorts and oversized T-shirts
without anyone labeling me or putting me in a box.

And I also want to wear expensive, beautiful, magnificent suits and dresses—
not for validation,
but because they reflect me As a woman of grace, power, strength, and magnificence.

Not just any woman—
but one in the lineage of warriors and mothers,
of dreamers and fighters.
Like the women who stood their ground when history tried to silence them.
Like the women who raised nations
and carried generations on their backs with quiet dignity.

I carry them in my bones.
And I deserve to walk this world
as the whole of me—
unapologetic, unhidden, and deeply loved.
And lately,
I’ve had this urge—
to buy a beautiful, powerful car,
to learn how to drive it like I own the world,
Maybe I could even drift to feel the wind shout my name.

I want that freedom. That edge. That thrill.
Not for the world’s approval but for me.
I deserve joy. Adventure. Control.

And honestly?
I miss Me.
I miss coming home to my presence,
to my energy filling the space like soft music.
I ache for the days
when I was the only main character in the room—
the silence mine, the chaos mine,
With peace.

I want to return to myself
like an old friend I’ve been too long away from.

By: Tunai Murunga

Tourist Nixie (@touristnixie) • Instagram photos and videos

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When the world sees delay,
I see a school of thought,
A university of wisdom,
Years of occurrences,
A master graduate in the art of life’s experiences.

When the world sees failure,
I see a student in the school of resilience,
Against all odds, a much-needed foe
Who becomes a friend of many teachings.
As they say, “Failure is simply an opportunity
To begin again, this time more intelligently.”

When people see denial,
I see grace, I see protection,
A heavenly judiciary system,
Letting in only as much as my soul can handle at a time.
Yes, hope deferred makes the heart sick,
But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.

When people see rejection,
I see a fueling engine in pursuit of success,
Rekindling the deep-seated passion to succeed,
Unlocking the giant within.

When people see a past full of mistakes,
I see a survivor, I see a conqueror,
I see a warrior, heroes made in the battlefield.

When the world sees brokenness,
I see insurmountable strength,
I see beauty that says, “I am not perfect,
Yet I can hold water, I can hold substance.”
Because many are strong at the broken places.

When you see scars,
Know they are my trophies,
I am a champion, I am a victor,
My scars, my trophies.

Poem written by Cathrine Banda

FB: Cathrine Banda

The post My Scars, My Trophies.. appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Church, my safe space
Church, my home ground
Church, my pillar of strength
I come to you and feel the connection
I rely on you for any other burdens that weigh on me
Church, you are the way and light to salvation.

Pastors have taken over
Pastors have changed it all
Pastors have seen the gap
Then, who do we run to help
We expect to find a pillar in them
Pastors and greed have taken over and spread the doubts to the worshipers.

They say Money is a source of evil
They say Money dictates decisions
I say Money makes the world go around regardless
They say Money is a drive to turn on the congregation.

Church, you are my safe place
The Church is our common ground
Church in you, we find comfort
Church, my pillar of strength
Regardless of changes and trials, Church, you are for us.
Church, you are the way and light to salvation.

The post Church, Money and Pastors appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

During my secondary school vacation, I met a guy who worked at a nearby church. He would often glance at me when he passed by our home, and I found myself wondering if he was interested in me. I started making an effort to be outside whenever he walked by, and eventually, he came to our home and confessed his feelings for me. I was thrilled and accepted him without hesitation.

As we spent more time together, he became a regular visitor to our home. One day, after I had lost my stepmother, he came to comfort me. Our auntie had just taken over as the new head of the house since I had lost both my dad and mum. There were fewer rules to follow at home. So, Brian came to my bedroom, and… well, you can guess what might have happened. Brian convinced me to lose my virginity, and he made a vow that, since he had taken my virginity, he would be my husband.

But did I marry Brian? You’ll find out later.

As I reflect on that moment, I realize how naive I was. As a Christian, I had learned in church that sex was only supposed to be with a husband. That’s why I was hesitant to accept Brian. However, Brian insisted, telling me that if I loved him, I had to show it. I loved Brian, but I also valued my virginity. It was a treasure that I wanted to give my husband.

I was torn, unsure of what to do, and scared. What if I gave Brian my virginity and he rejected me, like Ken, my first crush? So, in the intensity of the moment, I made a quick decision. To solidify our relationship, I compelled Brian to make a vow that, since he had taken my virginity, he would be my future husband. I didn’t realize the gravity of that decision at the time. Not at all.

Looking back, I see how that moment changed me. It was a turning point in my life, one that I didn’t fully understand at the time. I thought I was in love, but I was really just trying to fill a void. I was seeking validation in all the wrong places. The truth is, Brian took advantage of me. He didn’t marry me, even after taking my virginity.

Despite the mistakes I made, I am grateful for that experience. It taught me a valuable lesson about the importance of self-reflection and self-awareness. It taught me to be more mindful of my actions and to consider the consequences of my decisions. It taught me about the quick vows we make in intense moments like that. Such moments are not good for making serious life commitments or vows.

How could a naive girl like me make such a vow when I hardly knew anything about marriage? Growing up, I didn’t see any happy marriages around me. So, what was I even vowing to?

And young girls, listen to me: we don’t keep a man by having sex with him. We don’t prove our
love to men by sleeping with them. A man who asks you to do that is just taking advantage of you. Those are the kind of men who use and dump girls. A man will do anything to “eat your cookie,” even if it means promising to marry you. So, don’t fall for that marriage proposal lie. There is more to a relationship than the question, “Will you marry me?”

I see girls posting their flashy proposals on Facebook and Instagram. Not that I’m against them doing so, but I always wonder: Did that man tick all your boxes before you said yes? Do your homework before that proposal. Take time to know the man from A to Z. Ask those tough, probing questions before you step foot in the middle of his bed.

I will speak more about these tough questions in my later writings. But I stress this as I close: sex does not keep a man, sex is not proof of love, and don’t fall for vows some men use to trap us. A man can promise heaven on earth, but if he doesn’t qualify, don’t settle.

By Rita Mukisa
#MotherAfricaEchoes
+256 773807806

The post The Lost Child Innocence appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

The worst plan one can ever have is no plan at all. I was born in a family without a plan. My parents lived on the greater part as reactionaries to their unfortunate experiences. Every major decision they made came as a result of something rather than as a properly plotted course of action. But this does not mean that they weren’t ambitious then or now, or that they had no foresight, rather it means that they built their achievements on fragile foundations.

The Beginning.
In August of 1986, my parents got married in Mbuya parish church under the mission of the Communion and Liberation(CL) movement, a Catholic movement founded in Italy by Father Luigi Giussani to spread the mission of the Catholic faith and strengthen its influence in the world at large. My parents were consumed by his philosophies, and his ideologies and teachings
became their compass in faith. Before their marriage, my parents struck up a friendship that would have probably never graduated into a romance had my mother not become orphaned very suddenly.

My father, in support of his friend, my mother, had travelled across the border to Kenya in the company of his fellow congregants to offer comfort to my mother as she sent off her parents to the afterlife. The news of her parents’ passing had come at a crucial time in her life. She was seventeen and in the middle of completing her Ordinary level exams (O Level). Her class was a historic one. They were the first class to sit for all the science exams separately in Uganda. They were to write Physics, Chemistry and Biology exams separately with practicals for the first time in Uganda’s curriculum and this called for excitement given the fact that her ambition was to become a doctor. She was one right answer away from her dream career and one exam away from vacation with her parents in Kenya. She had missed them and after that year of education, she planned on staying in Kenya for the rest of her educational years. But tragedy had befallen her family and both her parents were killed in a car accident almost at the same time during her final exams. She did her exams with an unbearable grief. “I cried during many of my exams” she had recounted on various occasions and once again grief stood in her eyes like as if her parents had passed that very day. And then she would retell the entire story from start to finish. She would tell us of how our dad had come during the funeral and watched as her
uncles scrambled for property, how her brothers had talked down on her, and how all that he saw had prompted him to protect her from the hellish path that awaited her had she stayed back in Kenya.

Mom recounted all this with staunch misery only to be struck by a streak of hope when she recounted what my father had said to her. “Let’s get married,…and give your sister a home” he had said and in as much as this was abrupt, it presented itself as the best available option. My mother was the second to last child of her parents and her younger sister was barely sixteen when this tragedy befell their family and so, while everybody else sought to enrich themselves from what the dead had left behind, my father had sought to protect my mother from the ill fate which awaited both my mother and her sister after all the ruckus was put to rest. They say that theirs was a love that grew in a hopeless place. One that they wouldn’t have known of had they not faced adversity and opposition. But many love stories come as abruptly as this and falling in love does not in any case qualify for a bad plan.

Our Horrible Plan
For my parents, the worst plan they ever had was us. All nine of us, including the three who died under the age of one. And by saying this I do not exonerate myself from whatever dismay may be brewing up in the minds of whichever moralist has taken the time to read this text. Yet still,I stand firm on what I say. My parents should not have had so many children as they have today. Had they been more industrious and less academic than they are, then maybe their reproductivity would receive much respect from me. However, I was born to a pair of selfless, academic and rather too religious human beings who were bound to fail in the
economic framework of society. They were more focused on their moral standing and appearance in the community than they were focused on their actual problem. They didn’t believe in modern methods of family planning as they went against their religious beliefs and cultures at the same time. In the African Traditional Society, many children are a sign of great wealth but this isn’t the case in my family.

In my family’s case, our big number means and meant great deprivation. As a child, I had four knickers. Two for my time at home and two for going out to school and Church or to the hospital. I had two pairs of shoes, black shoes for school and white kitten heels for Church and visits. I never got a new dress until Christmas time and I could have had only six visiting dresses by the age of six had I not had three older sisters whose dresses I took on once they could no longer fit into them. And yes, we did attend great schools and that is a great plus sign for my parents, but we survived on the bare minimum despite assuming spaces in these great places and schools that our parents struggled to put us in.

To many who are reading this text, I am simply an ungrateful child, and for that I apologise for making you think that way. But planning your family, is like cutting your coat according to your size. It’s like knowing all your resources and allocating them correctly or wisely in order to  secure a wholistic growth for your family. Children born in better planned homes are in most cases able to develop in all aspects of life, and this I have been lucky to witness. I once went to school with a girl called Lorie.(this name has been altered to protect her privacy) Lorie and I had the same abilities. We both loved art, and music, and dance and we certainly had a similar outspokenness on the issues we found concerning. But, in as much as I tried, never in my school life did I beat Lorie at anything. In my family, music was just a hobby and so learning to read it or to play an instrument was simply a luxury so no body bothered with it. When I requested that I be sent to a music school over the holidays to learn something, I was told that my desires were nonsensical luxuries and it was more important to focus on my school work. And so, every time I went back to school, Lorie ranked excellently on talent shows. I was good. I was talented but not skilled as she was. She also always managed to top the class not because she was better than I was, but rather because her parents could afford extra classes, and she always came to school on the first day.

For me, this wasn’t the case. Many times my parents had to prioritize my older siblings who were in much higher classes. They had to make sure they went to school before they cared about the rest of us in the lower classes. Had they had children their finances could handle in surplus, I would probably have gotten at least one chance to rank above Lorie. When I think back on that time and remember the hard work I put into everything despite registering continuous failures, I realize that so much potential among the poor and the middle class is stifled by their meager resources which are often a result of poor planning or no plan at all.

And “children are a blessing” as they say, but this is only so if you can actually take care of them. I know the amount of stress that goes into having stringent finances in regard to one’s responsibilities. I witnessed my parents’ moods and characters go bizarre because of their inability to promptly provide for us. I watched them fail to be able to offer emotional support to all of us because they couldn’t completely understand all our temperaments as we were and still are too many for them keep up with while trying to make ends meet and understand their own psychological predicaments.

Raising a child takes a lot. It’s not just a financial journey. It is an emotional and psychological one as well for both the parent and the child. A child raised in an emotionally stringent home has higher chances of being an under achiever as such conditions breed personality disorders which are listed by many studies as the leading detriments towards development. Therefore, family planning is a major requirement in the fight against poverty.

My high-school headmaster Mr.James Park; God rest his soul, once gave me a sex education talk when he learned that I had a boyfriend then. I was sixteen at the time. He wasn’t happy about it but he knew that this was part and parcel of human growth and so he went on to do the best that he could as my teacher and headmaster”…boys don’t carry these things” He said. “Men are mostly careless but women carry the responsibility of their carelessness” so he added. “I want you to carry a condom. Always. Because only you can protect yourself” I still remember those words as if they were said to me this morning and their impact on my reasoning in regard to development is very vivid.

It is my belief that women should spear head development as it is their responsibility to protect themselves as well as the next generation. So what am I trying to say? What am trying to say is that women should understand that pregnancy happens to them and not to their partners. Therefore, we must take charge of when we have children. We must protect our families and societies from the impact of unplanned pregnancy and child birth as it’s long term and it’s immediate effect is poverty.

Children are not rocks, but even rocks go through weathering, therefore, we must know that the children we bare will grow and as  they grow, so will their needs. This means that your expenditure will go up as you enlarge the population of your family demanding profound financial investments to be made, but if not made, you will succumb to poverty. I took the time to find statistical evidence to back my claims and this is what I found. I urge you to extensively read these texts as they will offer a less emotional outlook on the matter.

Evidence:

1. Global Evidence on Family Planning and Poverty Alleviation: Numerous studies have demonstrated the critical role of family planning in poverty reduction. According to a report by the Guttmacher Institute, family planning programs have been estimated to prevent approximately one-third of maternal deaths worldwide by enabling women to delay or space pregnancies, thus reducing the risk of maternal mortality (Singh et al., 2014).

2. Economic Impact of Family Planning: Research published in The Lancet indicates that investing in family planning yields substantial economic returns, with every dollar spent on contraceptive services generating an estimated $120 in direct and indirect benefits, including savings in healthcare costs and increased productivity (Bongaarts, 2017).

3. Educational Attainment and Family Planning: A study by the World Bank found that family planning has a positive impact on educational attainment, particularly for girls and young women. By enabling women to delay childbearing and pursue educational opportunities, family planning contributes to higher levels of educational attainment, which in turn correlates with higher income levels and reduced poverty rates (Adamchak et al., 2019).

4. Gender Equality and Reproductive Rights: The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) emphasizes the importance of family planning in advancing gender equality and reproductive rights. Access to family planning empowers women to make informed choices about their bodies and futures, enabling them to participate more fully in economic and social life and escape the cycle of poverty (UNFPA, 2020).

Conclusion:
The lack of family planning represents a fundamental obstacle to poverty alleviation, perpetuating cycles of deprivation and inequality for generations to come. By empowering women to make informed choices about their reproductive health, we can chart a course towards a much more stable economy as women do not just drive their families towards proper allocation of funds when they take on family planning. Women also passively contribute to the economy by purchasing modern family planning methods such as pills, condoms and injections.

Science has yet to balance the boat when it comes to sexual reproductive health, but before it does, we must take charge of the way we reproduce. We should ask questions like; am I ready mentally, physically, emotionally and economically to raise a child? How will this child impact my life out of the emotional scope? Can I take the consequences that come with child birth? And so on and so forth. As we answer these questions, we must also aim at more concrete and logical answer in regard to our situations. Only then shall we be armed and in turn arm our society against poverty as well as conquer other biological detriments such as maternal mortality rates which could come as a result of poor preparation or the lack of it in regard to child birth and could contribute either directly or indirectly towards a poorer community.

The post OUR HORRIBLE PLAN Opinion piece by Luiza Masiga appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

In the big, busy world where everything moves so fast, I’ve got this deep feeling inside me. It’s like a wish to connect with where I come from, to find a place that feels like it belongs to me. I want to go back to my mom’s village, where things are calmer and life is about nature and green spaces.

My big dream isn’t just about having lots of money. It’s about having enough to buy some land in the village where my mom grew up. She grew up in the Eastern side of the Congo (Bukavu). I want to create something there, a home, a place where I can feel like I belong and be close to my family’s history. I totally understand that there would be challenges with wanting to start a home in a war stricken area like the east of Congo, but I know that there are some people who live in the safer side of Bukavu (in the mainlands).

So, picture this: a cozy home where laughter fills every corner, surrounded by fields of colourful veggies that I’ve grown. It’s not just about planting crops; it’s about being connected to the land and the people around me. I want to make a home that feels like a warm hug, where I can breathe in the smell of the earth and enjoy the simple joy of growing my own food. It’s about honouring my family’s past while building something for the future.

This dream isn’t just about money. It’s about going back to where my family comes from, where my roots are. I want to create a place where I feel like I truly belong. And every step I take right now is getting me closer to making that dream come true.

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