Forgotten yet unbroken: Three women’s fight to survive in Kavango East

Under the shade of a marula tree near Pikinini Junior Primary School in Ndiyona, Kavango East, three women from a marginalised community sit surrounded by bits of wire, empty tins, and scraps of plastic — the raw materials of their survival. Their laughter rises now and then, light and brief, before being swallowed by the dry afternoon heat.They have no official documents — no birth certificates, no national identity cards. In the eyes of the system, they barely exist. But every day, they fight to live.Maria Nduvungu (42) is the eldest. Her hands are rough from years of scavenging through rubbish pits and dry riverbeds, searching for anything that can be turned into something useful. She makes small torches out of broken flashlight heads and bits of wire, using melted candle wax and tape to hold them together.“I learned this myself,” she says, her eyes squinting against the sun. “If I sell one torch for ten dollars, that's a maize meal for my children tonight. It’s not much, but it keeps us alive.”Can't read or writeNduvungu was born in the area but never registered. Her parents died before she was old enough to understand what documents were. Now, every trip to the clinic or school for her children is a reminder of what she doesn’t have.“Sometimes they ask for papers,” she says quietly. “I tell them I don’t have. I just want them to help my child when she’s sick.”Beside her sits Selma Mwatumilwa (28), her youngest child tied to her back with a faded cloth. She collects dry tree sap and boils it with charcoal dust to make a sticky black glue that she sells in small tins. Local shoemakers sometimes buy from her when they pass through.“I can’t read or write,” Mwatumilwa admits, stirring a pot of boiling sap. “But I know this work. My grandmother used to do it. When I make glue, I feel like I am doing something that keeps us strong.”She has never had an identity document either. When she was younger, her family moved often, chasing seasonal work in different villages. No one ever took her to register. “They say go to Rundu for papers, but how?” she asks. “We don’t even have money for the taxi.”Small basketsA few metres away, Tomasina Hango (35) sits weaving small baskets from palm leaves she collects along the Cuma stream. Her baskets are beautifully patterned with natural browns and yellows, but she sells them for as little as five dollars each.“Sometimes a teacher from the school buys one,” she says. “But most days, we just wait. Maybe someone will stop.”Hango’s husband left two years ago to look for work in Tsumeb and never returned. Now, she raises three children alone, with no support. “I am not angry,” she says softly. “I just keep working. If you stop, your children will sleep hungry.”All three women live in makeshift shelters nearby — a few poles, plastic sheets, and pieces of cloth stitched together. At night, when the cold creeps in, they light small fires and talk about their dreams — not of wealth or comfort, but of belonging.“If I can get an ID, I will be a person,” Maria says, looking into the distance. “Then maybe I can open a bank account or register my children. But for now, I just live.”Their lives move with the rhythm of necessity. Each day begins with the search for materials and ends with the hope of selling something — anything — before night falls.And yet, despite everything, they smile. They share food, stories, and silence. They have been left out, but not broken.“We live because we must,” Selma says simply, tying another glue tin shut. “Even if the world forgets us, we won’t forget how to survive.”

Forgotten yet unbroken: Three women’s fight to survive in Kavango East

Comments

Namibian Sun 2025-10-16

Please login to leave a comment

Forgotten yet unbroken: Three women’s fight to survive in Kavango East

Comments

Namibian Sun 2025-10-16

Please login to leave a comment

Login