Walvis Bay woman funds her soup kitchen out of her kapana business
Cooking with love, serving with purpose
What began as a modest effort to feed 25 children in Seapoint, Walvis Bay, has grown into a weekend lifeline.
Today, more than 60 children—many from the dusty streets of 11th and 12th Avenue—line up at Meriam Uushona’s small home every Saturday and Sunday for a hot meal.
For these children, her soup kitchen is more than just a place to eat. It is a space of comfort, care, and belonging—a refuge where hunger is replaced with warmth and the knowledge that someone is looking out for them.
Memories of hunger spark compassion
Uushona says her motivation is rooted in the reality she sees around her every day.
“Most of the children’s parents are unemployed, and some survive on only one meal a day,” she explained.
“My aim is just to help the kids who don’t have anything to eat. Sometimes the kids don’t have parents to give them food in the morning, afternoon and evening, and they are forced to go to bed on an empty stomach because of the living conditions.”
Her mission is also deeply personal. She remembers her own childhood struggles. “In my childhood, I also ate soup like this. I was also poor and just in the streets. Then one day I walked through our church house and found a soup kitchen.
That auntie there later told me to come and work with her. That is how I first worked in a soup kitchen.”
Those early experiences planted the seed of compassion she carries into her work today, recreating for others the same act of kindness that once sustained her.
Sacrifices made to keep the pots boiling
Running a soup kitchen is no easy task, but Uushona has learned to make it work.
She funds the initiative out of her own pocket, drawing from her kapana stall and the rental income she earns from small backyard rooms.
“I started this foundation out of my own pocket,” she said proudly. “I do get some money out of my kapana. I also have some rents at the back. And because I want to give back to the community, I started this soup kitchen.”
Her meals are simple—a pot of soup brimming with vegetables and meat, served with bread.
But to the children, they are a taste of comfort, of being cared for, of belonging somewhere.
A weekend ritual of nourishment and joy
Because of limited resources, the kitchen only runs on weekends.
“I’m cooking for two days, only Saturday and Sunday, so that everyone who’s going to school can also come and eat. I cannot make it during the week,” Uushona explained.
Even so, the impact is clear.
Children know that twice a week they can depend on a warm plate of food.
Young Jordan Cloete summed up what it means: “I am grateful for Auntie Meriam, we always go home with full tummies and big smiles on our faces.”
Another child, Ria Naris, added with a shy smile: “I always come to Auntie Meriam’s soup kitchen because the soup is very delicious. I like the soup so much because she makes it with love and happiness.”
A community takes notice
Her neighbours have also taken note of her commitment.
“We truly appreciate the work Meriam is doing to feed these children,” said Jacqueline Laurence. “It brings joy to our hearts to see that she has the heart of a mother. It is not easy to take money out of your own pocket to feed another woman’s child, but Meriam treats all of our kids with love and care.
Her dedication has encouraged us to step in and help around the kitchen whenever she needs support.”
Still, keeping the soup kitchen running is a constant struggle. With demand growing and funds tight, Uushona is appealing for support—but she is clear about what she needs.
“I want the community to help us with food. Not money, but bread, soup, cabbage—anything but not money. Buy it for me and bring it for me to cook,” she urged.
“From cups, plates, spoons, you can donate anything. Buy it for me and bring it for me,” she pleaded.
Her words are a reminder that the simplest acts of generosity—sharing food, donating supplies, lending a hand—can transform lives. In Walvis Bay, where hunger is a daily struggle, one woman’s determination has created more than a soup kitchen. It has created hope.
Today, more than 60 children—many from the dusty streets of 11th and 12th Avenue—line up at Meriam Uushona’s small home every Saturday and Sunday for a hot meal.
For these children, her soup kitchen is more than just a place to eat. It is a space of comfort, care, and belonging—a refuge where hunger is replaced with warmth and the knowledge that someone is looking out for them.
Memories of hunger spark compassion
Uushona says her motivation is rooted in the reality she sees around her every day.
“Most of the children’s parents are unemployed, and some survive on only one meal a day,” she explained.
“My aim is just to help the kids who don’t have anything to eat. Sometimes the kids don’t have parents to give them food in the morning, afternoon and evening, and they are forced to go to bed on an empty stomach because of the living conditions.”
Her mission is also deeply personal. She remembers her own childhood struggles. “In my childhood, I also ate soup like this. I was also poor and just in the streets. Then one day I walked through our church house and found a soup kitchen.
That auntie there later told me to come and work with her. That is how I first worked in a soup kitchen.”
Those early experiences planted the seed of compassion she carries into her work today, recreating for others the same act of kindness that once sustained her.
Sacrifices made to keep the pots boiling
Running a soup kitchen is no easy task, but Uushona has learned to make it work.
She funds the initiative out of her own pocket, drawing from her kapana stall and the rental income she earns from small backyard rooms.
“I started this foundation out of my own pocket,” she said proudly. “I do get some money out of my kapana. I also have some rents at the back. And because I want to give back to the community, I started this soup kitchen.”
Her meals are simple—a pot of soup brimming with vegetables and meat, served with bread.
But to the children, they are a taste of comfort, of being cared for, of belonging somewhere.
A weekend ritual of nourishment and joy
Because of limited resources, the kitchen only runs on weekends.
“I’m cooking for two days, only Saturday and Sunday, so that everyone who’s going to school can also come and eat. I cannot make it during the week,” Uushona explained.
Even so, the impact is clear.
Children know that twice a week they can depend on a warm plate of food.
Young Jordan Cloete summed up what it means: “I am grateful for Auntie Meriam, we always go home with full tummies and big smiles on our faces.”
Another child, Ria Naris, added with a shy smile: “I always come to Auntie Meriam’s soup kitchen because the soup is very delicious. I like the soup so much because she makes it with love and happiness.”
A community takes notice
Her neighbours have also taken note of her commitment.
“We truly appreciate the work Meriam is doing to feed these children,” said Jacqueline Laurence. “It brings joy to our hearts to see that she has the heart of a mother. It is not easy to take money out of your own pocket to feed another woman’s child, but Meriam treats all of our kids with love and care.
Her dedication has encouraged us to step in and help around the kitchen whenever she needs support.”
Still, keeping the soup kitchen running is a constant struggle. With demand growing and funds tight, Uushona is appealing for support—but she is clear about what she needs.
“I want the community to help us with food. Not money, but bread, soup, cabbage—anything but not money. Buy it for me and bring it for me to cook,” she urged.
“From cups, plates, spoons, you can donate anything. Buy it for me and bring it for me,” she pleaded.
Her words are a reminder that the simplest acts of generosity—sharing food, donating supplies, lending a hand—can transform lives. In Walvis Bay, where hunger is a daily struggle, one woman’s determination has created more than a soup kitchen. It has created hope.
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