A woman's story of redemption and hope behind prison bars
Horrific cycle of abuse ends in tragic child murder
By confronting childhood abuse, a violent relationship and a devastating crime, Paulina Nghipunya stepped onto the stage not just to tell her story but to urge society to stop turning a blind eye to Namibia's crisis of violence against women and children.
The hall is silent at first. Hundreds of women from all walks of life watch as a slight, soft-spoken figure takes the podium.
Then, as Paulina Nghipunya begins to speak, the silence gives way to a tide of emotion. One by one, women in the audience break down in tears.
Even I, a journalist covering the event, am overcome by emotion.
Weighed down by a crime she committed in October 2013, aged just 23, Nghipunya cannot hold back her own tears. Her voice trembles, the pain still raw. She is serving time for a crime she now believes could have been prevented.
Nghipunya is one of the speakers at the Second National Women’s Conference in Helao Nafidi, in the Ohangwena region, held last weekend. She holds nothing back, telling her story and speaking courageously about a crime many find almost incomprehensible.
For her, the murder of her three-week-old newborn son was not a sudden, senseless act – it was the devastating climax of a life deeply scarred by abandonment, abuse and relentless rejection.
Today, the 35-year-old from Ohakafiya village lives behind the walls of Windhoek Female Correctional Facility, where she is serving a 10-year prison sentence.
Early wounds
Her testimony is not an attempt to excuse her actions, but an urgent plea for society to intervene before desperation turns deadly, Nghipunya explained.
“My mother abandoned me when I was just two weeks old,” she said, pausing to fight back tears. “Even today, she still wants nothing to do with me. I have spent many nights asking myself why she rejected me. I still don’t have the answer.”
That first, wrenching wound – being unwanted by the very person meant to love her most – set the tone for a childhood marked by instability and violence.
Engulfed by violence
Raised by an aunt, she grew up in a home where beatings were frequent and brutal, she told the audience.
“Sometimes, my aunt was so badly injured she could not move,” Nghipunya recalled.
As a vulnerable, young child, she also carried the heavy burden of caring for younger cousins, a role that hardened her heart before she had even had the chance to be a child herself.
At 15, she sought refuge with her maternal grandmother. Instead, she encountered another wave of cruelty. “She treated me like I didn’t belong,” Nghipunya said.
“She never let me forget I had been abandoned. And these were daily reminders. Her words hurt me to this day,” she shared, her words weighted with emotion.
Into the arms of an abuser
Her desperate longing for maternal love led her to drop out of school in grade nine and move to Windhoek, where she reconnected with her biological mother – but not to the welcome she had imagined.
“She was cold. There was no love,” she remembered. “Instead of caring for me, she tried to push me into relationships with men, maybe hoping one of them would take responsibility for me.”
At 17, believing she had found love and security in a 32-year-old man living in Walvis Bay, she left Windhoek for the coast.
At first, he seemed caring. But after the birth of their first son, he became abusive – physically and emotionally.
The cycle of violence she had witnessed as a child had now become her adult reality.
“I felt trapped. It was like living my aunt’s life all over again,” she said.
Nghipunya said she tried to break free, returning to her grandmother’s home, but eventually succumbed, returning to her abuser after his empty promises to change. She soon became pregnant with their second child – but the violence continued.
“He would insult me, saying, ‘You are ugly. You are just eating my food’. I cried all the time. Sometimes it was my four-year-old son who would try to comfort me."
A day of despair and murder
On 14 September 2013, she gave birth to her second child and phoned the baby’s father to tell him. His response? She said he told her to stop disturbing him, that he had met another woman and had moved on.
Barely a month later, on 3 October 2013, she was kicked out of her grandmother’s house. With two children in tow – a five-year-old and a newborn – she was destitute in Ondangwa and sought help at Good Hope. The children’s father had cut all ties.
“While there, my mind filled with dark thoughts. I was hopeless, rejected and alone,” she shared.
“I kept asking myself why my life had turned out this way, why even my own mother didn’t want me. I don’t know what came over me," Nghipunya recalled.
That fateful day, she described walking with her infant son to an open field until they reached a pond, where she drowned him. She wrapped his tiny body in nappies, buried him in a shallow hole, and left. Not long after, she was arrested.
Unlocking the past and future
For years, the shame weighed heavily on her, unspoken, locked away.
“I was too afraid to tell the truth,” she admitted. “I felt deep shame – especially because I had harmed my own child.”
Slowly, however, she began to unpack her past.
She enrolled in gender-based violence awareness programmes, learning about abuse, healthy relationships and how to seek help.
She completed a Bible-based study called 'The Prisoner’s Journey' and a women's empowerment programme. Nghipunya also learned tailoring skills while inside the prison.
She told the rapt audience on Saturday that, once freed, she hopes to rebuild her life, weaving in the lessons she has learned while incarcerated. She is also hopeful that she will be able to support herself and become an independent woman who does not rely on a man to survive.
For Nghipunya, she advised parents to “love and nurture” their children. She said life in prison is not easy, and she misses her son every day.
“I want my story to stop another woman from feeling like there’s no way out,” she said.
“If I had known there was help, my baby might still be alive.”
A heart-wrenching lesson
Police Inspector General Joseph Shikongo, who officiated the event, said Nghipunya’s story reflects a larger national crisis.
He noted that in the 2024/25 financial year, 4 089 gender-based violence (GBV) cases were reported, with the Ohangwena region recording 461. Between April and May alone this year, 647 GBV cases were reported nationally, 79 of them in Ohangwena.
Common assault tops the list, with 2 047 cases, followed by assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm at 1 285.
“GBV is a violation of human rights and a national crisis,” Shikongo said. “These crimes are preventable and rooted in harmful societal attitudes. We must change them.”
He urged women to speak out and men to become allies in creating safer homes, schools, workplaces and public spaces.
- [email protected]
Then, as Paulina Nghipunya begins to speak, the silence gives way to a tide of emotion. One by one, women in the audience break down in tears.
Even I, a journalist covering the event, am overcome by emotion.
Weighed down by a crime she committed in October 2013, aged just 23, Nghipunya cannot hold back her own tears. Her voice trembles, the pain still raw. She is serving time for a crime she now believes could have been prevented.
Nghipunya is one of the speakers at the Second National Women’s Conference in Helao Nafidi, in the Ohangwena region, held last weekend. She holds nothing back, telling her story and speaking courageously about a crime many find almost incomprehensible.
For her, the murder of her three-week-old newborn son was not a sudden, senseless act – it was the devastating climax of a life deeply scarred by abandonment, abuse and relentless rejection.
Today, the 35-year-old from Ohakafiya village lives behind the walls of Windhoek Female Correctional Facility, where she is serving a 10-year prison sentence.
Early wounds
Her testimony is not an attempt to excuse her actions, but an urgent plea for society to intervene before desperation turns deadly, Nghipunya explained.
“My mother abandoned me when I was just two weeks old,” she said, pausing to fight back tears. “Even today, she still wants nothing to do with me. I have spent many nights asking myself why she rejected me. I still don’t have the answer.”
That first, wrenching wound – being unwanted by the very person meant to love her most – set the tone for a childhood marked by instability and violence.
Engulfed by violence
Raised by an aunt, she grew up in a home where beatings were frequent and brutal, she told the audience.
“Sometimes, my aunt was so badly injured she could not move,” Nghipunya recalled.
As a vulnerable, young child, she also carried the heavy burden of caring for younger cousins, a role that hardened her heart before she had even had the chance to be a child herself.
At 15, she sought refuge with her maternal grandmother. Instead, she encountered another wave of cruelty. “She treated me like I didn’t belong,” Nghipunya said.
“She never let me forget I had been abandoned. And these were daily reminders. Her words hurt me to this day,” she shared, her words weighted with emotion.
Into the arms of an abuser
Her desperate longing for maternal love led her to drop out of school in grade nine and move to Windhoek, where she reconnected with her biological mother – but not to the welcome she had imagined.
“She was cold. There was no love,” she remembered. “Instead of caring for me, she tried to push me into relationships with men, maybe hoping one of them would take responsibility for me.”
At 17, believing she had found love and security in a 32-year-old man living in Walvis Bay, she left Windhoek for the coast.
At first, he seemed caring. But after the birth of their first son, he became abusive – physically and emotionally.
The cycle of violence she had witnessed as a child had now become her adult reality.
“I felt trapped. It was like living my aunt’s life all over again,” she said.
Nghipunya said she tried to break free, returning to her grandmother’s home, but eventually succumbed, returning to her abuser after his empty promises to change. She soon became pregnant with their second child – but the violence continued.
“He would insult me, saying, ‘You are ugly. You are just eating my food’. I cried all the time. Sometimes it was my four-year-old son who would try to comfort me."
A day of despair and murder
On 14 September 2013, she gave birth to her second child and phoned the baby’s father to tell him. His response? She said he told her to stop disturbing him, that he had met another woman and had moved on.
Barely a month later, on 3 October 2013, she was kicked out of her grandmother’s house. With two children in tow – a five-year-old and a newborn – she was destitute in Ondangwa and sought help at Good Hope. The children’s father had cut all ties.
“While there, my mind filled with dark thoughts. I was hopeless, rejected and alone,” she shared.
“I kept asking myself why my life had turned out this way, why even my own mother didn’t want me. I don’t know what came over me," Nghipunya recalled.
That fateful day, she described walking with her infant son to an open field until they reached a pond, where she drowned him. She wrapped his tiny body in nappies, buried him in a shallow hole, and left. Not long after, she was arrested.
Unlocking the past and future
For years, the shame weighed heavily on her, unspoken, locked away.
“I was too afraid to tell the truth,” she admitted. “I felt deep shame – especially because I had harmed my own child.”
Slowly, however, she began to unpack her past.
She enrolled in gender-based violence awareness programmes, learning about abuse, healthy relationships and how to seek help.
She completed a Bible-based study called 'The Prisoner’s Journey' and a women's empowerment programme. Nghipunya also learned tailoring skills while inside the prison.
She told the rapt audience on Saturday that, once freed, she hopes to rebuild her life, weaving in the lessons she has learned while incarcerated. She is also hopeful that she will be able to support herself and become an independent woman who does not rely on a man to survive.
For Nghipunya, she advised parents to “love and nurture” their children. She said life in prison is not easy, and she misses her son every day.
“I want my story to stop another woman from feeling like there’s no way out,” she said.
“If I had known there was help, my baby might still be alive.”
A heart-wrenching lesson
Police Inspector General Joseph Shikongo, who officiated the event, said Nghipunya’s story reflects a larger national crisis.
He noted that in the 2024/25 financial year, 4 089 gender-based violence (GBV) cases were reported, with the Ohangwena region recording 461. Between April and May alone this year, 647 GBV cases were reported nationally, 79 of them in Ohangwena.
Common assault tops the list, with 2 047 cases, followed by assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm at 1 285.
“GBV is a violation of human rights and a national crisis,” Shikongo said. “These crimes are preventable and rooted in harmful societal attitudes. We must change them.”
He urged women to speak out and men to become allies in creating safer homes, schools, workplaces and public spaces.
- [email protected]
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