My name doesn’t matter. What matters is what happened, because it happens to many of us. I grew up in a small village, thinking I’d marry young, have kids, and farm the land like my mother and her mother before her. It was the only life I knew then.

Then came the drought. The crops withered. The animals died. My family struggled. My father, desperate, decided I should marry a man from the city. He was older, had a good job, and could provide. I didn’t want to, but I knew it was for the good of my family. It felt like a heavy stone in my stomach.

City life was overwhelming. So many people, so much noise, so much I didn’t understand. My husband was kind enough, but we just didn’t connect. He worked long hours, and I stayed home, cleaning and cooking. I felt lost and useless. I missed my family, the familiar smells of the farm, the comforting rhythm of village life.

One day, I stumbled upon a small tailoring shop near the market. The owner, a woman named Fatima, was teaching young girls how to sew. I watched them, fascinated. I remembered my grandmother teaching me to mend clothes back in the village. An idea sparked in my mind.

I asked Fatima if I could learn. She smiled and said, ‘Of course, my dear. There’s always room for one more.’ It wasn’t easy. My fingers were clumsy at first. I made mistakes. But Fatima was patient, and the girls were encouraging. Slowly, I started to learn. I learned to cut fabric, to sew straight lines, to create beautiful patterns.

Sewing gave me something to focus on, something to be proud of. I started making clothes for my neighbors, then for people in the market. My small earnings helped my family back in the village. I felt useful again, like I was contributing. It wasn’t the life I imagined, but it was my life, and I was building it with my own hands.

My husband saw how happy I was. He started bringing me fabric scraps from his work. He even helped me set up a small sewing corner in our house. We started talking more, sharing our days. He began to appreciate my effort and skill.

It wasn’t a fairy tale ending, but it was real. I wasn’t the farmer I thought I’d be, but I was a tailor, a provider, a woman who found her own path when life took an unexpected turn. And that, I realized, was enough. Sometimes, it’s about finding the strength to embrace the changes that  life throws at you and creating something new from the pieces.

Life rarely goes as planned. It’s okay to find your own way, even if it’s different from what you expected. Don’t be afraid to try new things and discover hidden talents. Support other women, we are stronger together. And never underestimate the power and authority that God instilled in you.

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I was excited and ready for another day of teaching in the small African town I had come to call home before the sun came up. As I got ready for the day, I kept thinking about how I got to this school for people with less money. I had left the benefits of my city life behind because I was so determined to make a change in the lives of these kids.

As I walked through the lively town, I could hear drums and laughter off in the distance. The kids were already awake and ready to learn, with bright eyes and eager smiles. Even though the classroom was small and simple, it was full of excitement that couldn’t be stopped.

When I walked in, the kids met me with warm hugs and songs they had learned about their culture. Their excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help but feel like I had a strong sense of purpose and duty. Many of these kids came from poor families and had to deal with the problems of being poor and having limited access to tools. But they couldn’t get enough of learning.

I always started the day with a pattern that had nothing to do with school. We started by talking with them about their dreams, hopes, and goals. We talked about how important education was and how it could change their lives. I thought that education was the key to getting these kids out of poverty and giving them the chances they earned.

It took imagination and skill to teach at this less-privileged school. There weren’t enough books, and the school didn’t have even the most basic things. We did the best we could with what we had. We used sticks to write and draw numbers and letters on the dusty ground, and three or four kids shared pencils and diaries.

Even though they had problems, these kids showed a lot of strength. They soaked up every bit of information I gave them, and their desire to learn never went away. Through stories, art, and music, we learned about the world. We praised their cultural background, and I told them to be themselves, dream big, and be proud of what makes them special.

As the days turned into months, I saw my kids change in amazing ways. They became more sure of themselves, more interested, and more aware of what they could do. Their academic growth was clear, but what really made me happy was the spark in their eyes.

My job as a teacher didn’t just happen inside the classroom. I became a guide, a friend, and someone who helped. I worked closely with the community and got parents and older people involved in the schooling process. Together, we made a strong network of support that helped these young minds grow.

Over time, the village started to feel the effects of all of our work together. More kids started going to school every day, and the community realized how important education was as a way to make things better. The town, which used to be quiet, turned into a place where people could learn and find hope.

When I think back on my time as a teacher in this school for kids with less money, I am amazed by how strong and determined these kids are. They showed me what it means to be persistent and how strong we all are to get through hard times. We showed that education can break down obstacles and change people’s lives.

Every time I walk into my classroom and see my students’ happy faces, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to be a part of their lives. I found a reason for living in this small African town that goes beyond countries and cultures. And I can’t say enough good things about the chance to make a change in the lives of these amazing kids.

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It is not many who pursue their dreams later in their lifetime. More so if you are born and raised in a poverty-dominated world. But, at the age of 50, Mrs Phosa, well-known in her village of Ha-Makhuvha, as Ma’am Phosa. Defied the odds and bossed up when she decided to put behind all the self-pity and excuses and chase her dreams. 

Married at a young age and searching for a place to call home after she suddenly became homeless. She did not let anything stop her from dreaming big. I had a chat with her about how she overcame all odds and changed her life when so many believed she couldn’t. 

Mutshidzi Kwinda: At the age of 50, did you not think it was too late to step up and follow your passion for teaching?

Ma’am Phosa: I did. I knew I was already too old to go after my dreams, but I had to do it. I have tried almost all the jobs you can think of. I have sold vegetables from door to door, mopped floors, cleaned toilets, volunteered in countless organizations, ploughed the fields; you can name it all. And it was not enough. I had a burning desire to become more than just a kind street vendor. I wanted to be around children. I wanted to teach, and no matter how I tried to talk myself out of this “silly” desire, it kept crawling back to me.

At times, I would even have dreams about it as if God was giving me an instruction. And I knew I had no other choice but to try and see what would happen. And that’s what I did. I went and spoke to the chief of our community and told him I wanted to start a creche. I outlined my plan to him and explained how the creche would benefit the community so that he could grant me a stand to commence my teaching work. And just like that, with hard work and determination, my dream came to life.

MK: What would you say was your primary motivation to start the creche?

Ma’am Phosa: The main reason was the desire to fulfil my dreams and be of service to my community. This is why instead of registering the creche as a private learning centre, I chose to make it a public/NGO.

I wanted to create a safe space within the community where people can leave their children when they go to work or school. I know the pain of being stuck in a place where you have to choose between your children and your career. It is not a good place to be because, whichever decision you make, you end up losing something important and valuable – one way or another.

I also have some background knowledge about teaching children, which I acquired through the four years in college between 1992 and 1996. So to me, teaching and caring for young children has always been a calling. And above anything, I wanted to help my community by providing concrete and formal Education to the children while they are still in their early developmental stage. In that way, I knew it would help them grow into young girls and boys who value Education.

MK: You dropped out of teaching college in your final year, and as a result, you couldn’t finish your studies. How did that make you feel? 

Ma’am Phosa: It crushed me deeply. I was beyond hurt. All I wanted, more than anything, was to build a promising future for both my children and me. But all that was gone in a blink of an eye. I had to leave everything to take care of my son and, later on, his father. Then, around the age of 4, my son, now 33 years old, suddenly fell sick. Before I knew it, my son was given the title “disabled.”. He went from being a healthy bouncing baby boy to being a little boy who couldn’t walk, talk, or even sign. The doctor could come up with only the explanation of his seizures, so the final diagnosis to this date is epilepsy.

When I tell people about how I left school to take care of my son, they often ask me why I didn’t find someone to look after him while I finished school. And more than anything, I wish I had that luxury. But, unfortunately, I was in a position where no one could help take care of him(especially for free). The father of my children had no relatives close by where we lived. And neither did I. My family lived across the mountains, and even though that’s the case, I tried to plead with my mother to come to stay with us just for a little while so that she could help while I finished writing my exams. But, unfortunately, she couldn’t. So yes, leaving school was beyond painful, but I had no other choice.

MK: You studied Education at a tertiary level; what was the experience like?

Ma’am Phosa: I enrolled in a teaching college to study Education (Foundation Phase) for grade R to grade 4 learners. That was between the age of 33 and 37. It was one of the first times I was ever hopeful for a brighter future. I could almost see myself and my children escape the chains of poverty. But that hope did not reach far. As I said, my son became severely sick in my final year, and the doctors kept adding more and more things that were wrong with him. From just epileptic seizures, he then became mute, incontinent and intellectually disabled. My world was torn apart, and I did not know where to run to. That year, I failed three of my courses in the final exams with supplementary. I had prepared myself to go and write despite any hurdles. However, nothing prepared me for what came next.

In 1997, my child’s condition became critical to the point where I thought I would lose him. As I was in the midst of this turmoil with my son’s sickness, his father passed away. At that point, I had accepted that that was it. My future had just been flushed down the drain right before my eyes. Now all I hold from the teaching college is an academic record without a certificate of completion. 

Although I never got the opportunity to seal my foundation phase education studies, I completed level 4 with SETA in 2014 at the age of 54, qualifying me to teach preschool children.

MK: What would you advise someone going through challenges and wanting to give up on their dreams?

Ma’am Phosa: Don’t lose hope. When you meet challenges, never give up without fighting for what you believe in. And more importantly, have someone or something to lean on when challenges come. I trust God, and He is the one on my speed dial whenever I need a friend to talk to. 

MK: What does self-evolution mean to you?

Ma’am Phosa: It means that you must never stop improving yourself as an individual. It does not matter how young or old you are. It is crucial to constantly work on yourself. Learn from others and your mistakes. Be willing to move from your comfort zone and reach for the stars. You can always be more. You can always achieve more. And you can go as far as your mind takes you.

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