<h2>After seven years away, Nidhi returned to her village to find that physical markers of progress masked the struggles of women confined by traditional roles.</h2><blockquote>Life within these four walls feels like a curse. No one understands us; even festival days are the same for us.</blockquote>A cool breeze whipped through my hair. The bus entered the village, and a rusty brown board with a faded name on it caught my attention. “Welcome to Champaran!” It had been seven years since I had been to my village. Concrete houses replaced the old ones; no more old roofs with the shade of the pipal tree. The Indian almond tree stood with its red almond fruit and the memories it carried.The bus dropped me at the small station on the outskirts of the village. I imagined how much my cousins must have grown, how different they might look, the reconstructed homes, and how beautiful they must be. But what excited me most was reuniting with my family.I reached the tall gate, dropped my luggage, and gazed momentarily, unable to believe how much had changed. The house's frontage was like a parking lot with more than five lavish cars. The house bustled with kids running and playing, older people talking, and middle-aged groups playing cards. I dropped my luggage, freshened up, and received a warm welcome from everyone.Then, my eyes searched for someone else. After greeting everyone, I made my way to the backyard, looking for the missing ones. A long lane led to a section where a wooden stove burned as the ladies of the house cooked food for everyone. It shocked me that everything was new; they even had gas stoves available. So why weren’t they using them?The place was filled with smoke, and their lungs were likely, too. But what else could they do, as the male members of the family believed that food cooked on the wood fire had a sweetness they couldn’t replicate on the gas? Clouded with smoke, their eyes appeared teary and red."We have been cooking for four hours; everyone is busy enjoying their deeds, and we’re suffocating in this smoke," one of them said.&nbsp;They prepared food for more than 50 people, and cooking two meals took half their day. Lunch was over by 4 p.m., and the evening was reserved for a nap. They both went to rest; working day and night to feed such a large crowd is never easy, especially in the village.It seemed that everything had changed, but one thing remained the same: the lives of the ladies in their kitchen. It was the same routine: waking up at 4 a.m., cleaning the veranda, preparing breakfast for guests, doing more household chores, and returning to the kitchen for lunch. A half-hour nap would be challenging for them; they would wake to find the kitchen waiting for them yet again to make tea.Sprinkling water on her face to wake herself up, one of the women returned to the kitchen. With her dry, tired hands, she poured milk into the huge cauldron, added sugar and tea, and prepared the evening tea. The head of the household, her mother-in-law, followed suit and ordered her to milk the cow. “It's time for milking; go to the byre,” she said.I decided to join the woman. As she opened up, her words pierced me. Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice began to tremble.&nbsp;“It’s been more than 25 years since we’ve been in the same place, working like laborers day and night,” she said. “Our mornings start in the kitchen preparing tea, followed by lunch, cleaning dishes, milking cows, and caring for animals. After an hour of milking more than 15 cows, we return to the kitchen. Sometimes, we long to leave it all behind and go back home, where at least we are treated like humans. The guests’ domestics receive more care than ours do.Sometimes we feel like leaving everything behind and running away,” she continued. “Sometimes we contemplate skipping dinner to continue with our chores.&nbsp; Often, we don’t have time to bathe, and on top of that, we must tend to the guests and keep these large new bungalows they’ve built for us clean and tidy. Life within these four walls feels like a curse. No one understands us; even festival days are the same for us. Life has become miserable behind these four walls of the kitchen. We have been here for years, yet this is how we live, keeping our mouths shut beneath these forced smiles.”These words still ring in my ears; these women's lives have indeed become miserable, with no one to understand or listen to them. Many times, they cry in the byre.No festival to be enjoyed,No moments to rejoice…Not a single day in life.To sit and smile,Just work and grudge,Not a big deal for one who never does...Less like life,More like a curse...From morning&nbsp;‘Til night, playingWith emotions boilingIn the cauldron...Less like life,More like a curse...Our world dwellsWithin these four walls...Indeed, villages have changed, but the lives of housewives who live there have not. This may be the untold tale of many women. I hope their conditions change as quickly as the concrete roads and houses have. May the souls dwelling in these homes be noticed and cared for just as they care for others. And they may find a better world within those four walls.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

INDIA: The Lives Within Four Walls

<h2>In pursuit of inclusion, Kurui strives to bridge the gap between global initiatives and local realities.</h2><blockquote>Meaningful collaborations, flexibility in funding, and building trust have been identified as ways to correct biases and power imbalances that exclude grassroots organizations.</blockquote>Decade after decade, the international community has come together to deliberate, share insights, advocate, and make resolutions to promote gender equality. But gaps are glaring in every gathering from the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women to International Women’s Day celebrations.&nbsp;This year’s International Women’s Day theme was Invest in Women: Accelerate Progress. The whole month’s clarion call was to #InspireInclusion. Following the deliberations at the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), it was apparent that inclusion is championed by most, if not everyone, in the women’s rights space.The glaring gaps are being tracked down to women in underserved communities, especially in developing and least-developed countries. Statistics point toward the exclusion of grassroots organizations in global affairs, yet these organizations serve the target population, and most are run by women themselves.People will point out that most funds don’t get to grassroots organizations but are channeled to bigger organizations with the hope that it will trickle down. Furthermore, there’s evidence of structural inequalities and biases against locally led organizations in a way that they’re deemed incompetent and too small to work on global issues. Yet, they’re proximal to the populations that need to be included in development to close the gaps. Aside from understanding the situation in the communities, local founders are women who also understand global affairs and can break them down to fit the local situation.As part of a locally founded and grassroots-serving organization, Missing Third Project, I’m not surprised by this. Addressing issues at the grassroots level is far more complex than how they’re presented on paper. This is where the mismatch between donors and recipients at the grassroots arises.At my organization, we address the gaps in women's leadership in communities and delve into the factors that lead to them. We do this through learning workshops in collaboration with local women's groups. In essence, we are supposed to deliver learning sessions and challenge the women to think and act on how they can be more involved in leadership.The reality in the communities makes using workshops to engage the women difficult. In most cases, there are layers of issues that need to be addressed before talking about leadership, which, in essence, is a vague idea that’s difficult to apply to everyday life. Leadership as a concept often needs to be reflected on from a relatable perspective and incorporated into women's everyday lives to help them appreciate it.When crafting proposals, it becomes difficult to incorporate some of the issues into the project, yet the communities need them addressed. This is how grassroots organizations miss out on funding and collaboration with donors.Underserved communities still struggle with barriers that seem trivial in today’s world, but these are the real things that continue to exclude them from development. For example, addressing girl’s education cannot be done without confronting period poverty. Yet, the distribution of sanitary supplies is seen as something that shouldn’t be included in a proposal for leadership training for girls.Sadly, communities can’t sit in a workshop all day to listen to leadership lessons if their girls miss school for lack of sanitary supplies. The long-term ripple effect of missing education opportunities is that women cannot take part in most decision-making initiatives and take up leadership positions. The privilege of getting a higher-level education has placed many women in leadership positions.Investing in women at the grassroots starts with small matters and then gradually moves to more complex areas. The glaring gaps hindering inclusion don’t get the attention of big global charities and funding organizations. Yet, they keep arising in plenary discussions, with everyone wondering why they've never been solved.Meaningful collaborations, flexibility in funding, and building trust have been identified as ways to correct biases and power imbalances that exclude grassroots organizations. These include allowing donors to see sense in the complexities of grassroots communities’ needs and giving organizations opportunities to share real-time information with funders on their work with communities.Most grassroots communities are facing the real challenges of the digital divide. Since information flows increasingly on digital media, they continue to miss out on global affairs. Without visibility, donors and other supporters cannot recognize and acknowledge their work. This is a vicious cycle that grassroots organizations and communities face.Investing in digital technologies can give grassroots organizations and the communities they serve greater visibility, enabling them to receive and share information with global audiences. Such an intervention can also bridge the gaps in the availability of data from grassroots communities that could inform decisions by development partners.Our organization continues to inspire inclusion by walking with underserved communities one step at a time, breaking a barrier in each step. Our work will continually incorporate learning with practical solutions to eliminate the barriers women in the communities encounter as they work toward achieving equality.We are also using participatory approaches to learn from the women about the nuances of their communities, then linking them to global affairs to craft actionable and relatable solutions. Women from underserved communities must understand and relate to global trends to contribute meaningfully to development.Inspiring inclusion is a long-term journey for those in the development space. This will also require lots of flexibility to fit into the complex and dynamic nature of different communities and the changes that occur with time.Numbers don’t lie, but if they aren’t matched with real people and situations, we will continue to wonder why, after years of action and billions of dollars invested in stopping inequalities, very little seems to change.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller! <a href="!https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Learn more</a>.

KENYA: What Does Inclusion Look Like in Underserved Communities?

Economic Power

<h2>Enoh’s childhood promise made in grief became her lifelong fight against gender bias. Now, in Cameroon’s courtrooms, she wears that robe for herself and for every woman who breaks barriers.</h2><blockquote>"They were dismissing my brain, my spirit, and my mission just because of my skirt."</blockquote>My desire to become a lawyer started with the worst day of our lives. I was only in secondary school, Form 2, a twelve-year-old not thinking about careers or grown-up things. Then the news came: my elder brother, who had left home to study law, had died in South Africa. He was on the verge of being called to the Bar as a lawyer, ready to practice.My father was completely broken. He had poured all his pride and dreams into my brother’s future. Seeing him that way, I walked up to him and, in a moment of childish impulse and love, I whispered: "Don't worry, Papa. I will finish what he never got to finish. I will be the lawyer." It was a joke to dry his tears, but that promise settled deep inside me. As I grew up, it wasn’t just about the legacy; it was about a fierce desire to help and fight for the helpless.A few years later, my father died just before I graduated from high school. I was completely broken. Later that year, I got admitted to the university. My choice was still law. I wanted to become a lawyer not just for my father, my brother, or the promise, but for myself and the desire to help and fight for the helplessAnd that’s when the noise began.It felt like everyone around me thought it was a terrible idea. Law, they said, was not for me. My Auntie Marie was the first to corner me.She looked at me and said, "Law is not for a woman! You’re not going to succeed. It’s a man’s field."My cousin chimed in with that knowing, condescending tone: "You’re not brave enough to handle those tough cases and send people to prison. Choose something softer, dear. Something that suits you, a teacher maybe?” I just nodded, smiled, and left.They were dismissing my brain, my spirit, and my mission just because of my skirt. They wanted me to pick a gentle path, but my brother’s memory and my own hunger for justice wouldn't let me. I went to the university and started my studies anyway.After I finished my first degree, the battle escalated. My decision to go to law school, get enrolled at the Bar, and fully become a barrister brought on a new kind of fear. This time, the concern wasn't about my success; it was about my future as a wife.I remember one evening as I walked home after a busy day, Mama Elodi, an elder in our compound, sat me down, her expression genuinely worried."You, this girl, you’re serious with this your lawyer work?" she asked, sighing. "Too much education is not good for women oo! You will scare suitors. No one will want to marry you!"The pressure was immense. I was told I had to choose: my career or my chance at a home. That my professional worth somehow threatened my worth as a woman. It felt like a profound injustice. But I was not going to let the fear of being single derail my dreams. I went anyway.The true struggle began after I was called to the Bar. Now I was facing the "Man's Field" syndrome every single day, from all sides.The most constant sting comes from the clients—the very people I want to help. They look at my female face, my female hands, and doubt creeps in.A potential client, a businessman with a sensitive case, once asked me directly: "Barrister, are you sure you can handle the case? It’s a serious matter. I need someone strong." By strong, he meant he needed a man.That line—"I need someone strong"—is a gut punch every time. It means I have to spend the first part of every consultation proving I am as competent and capable as the imaginary man they wished was sitting in my chair.And then there are the male colleagues. Their discouragement is more systemic, a constant drip of doubt designed to wear us down. They’ll tell us openly at gatherings, “Women don’t last long in this profession. They always start with seriousness, but they will get tired."They try to push us into a corner, saying, "Litigation is not for women. It’s too brutal. Go in-house; that’s where women belong."They want to relegate our ambition to a nice, safe corporate job, away from the frontline of the courtroom. They want us to believe that the core work of fighting and arguing is too much for our spirits.I haven't gotten tired. I am not running to a quiet office.The courage they said I lacked is fueled by the very things they tried to use against me: the pain of loss, my hunger for justice, and the sting of every sexist word.My resilience is not just personal; it's an act of resistance against "The Man's Field" Syndrome.I stand here today, not just completing my brother’s journey but proving that a woman’s power is fierce, enduring, and absolutely necessary in the fight for justice. I am here to stay, and I will hold the door open for every girl who follows.If you are a woman facing that same wall, whether it's in law, in engineering, in medicine, or in business or any other field, let my journey be your fuel.When they tell you you'll get tired, or that you're not strong enough, remember this: The pressure they apply is proof of the power you possess. Your commitment to your craft is not a temporary ambition; it is your permanent purpose. Do not let their fear of your strength become your fear.The discouragements did not stop, nor did the doubts, but I’m here making every day count. I finished the robe, and I wear it for all of us. Now, go claim your space. You are not leaving. You are here to stay.Let my story remind you that change begins when we refuse to be silent. Whether in law, engineering, medicine, or business, lift another woman as you rise. Stand beside her, speak her name, and open the doors they said were not meant for us—because together, we redefine strength and rewrite the rules.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

CAMEROON: I Broke Into the Man’s Field and Wear the Robe

<h2>In the aftermath of last month's International Women's Day celebrations, Liz Lum questions whether the day is a missed opportunity for lasting change.</h2><blockquote>Remember, advocating for equality concerns everyone. Creating a truly equitable future benefits us all. </blockquote>The world celebrates International Women's Day (IWD) each year on March 8th. This day was initially established to fight for women's rights and equality in all aspects of life. However, there's a growing concern that in many countries, including Cameroon, IWD has become less about pushing for change and more about empty gestures, often referred to as tokenism. We often see parades, speeches, and official events, but the real issues women face, like limited access to education or equal pay, often receive less attention.&nbsp;This begs the question: is IWD in Cameroon just a celebration, or is it a missed opportunity to create lasting change?Balancing Celebration and Sustained ActionCome March 8th, Cameroon becomes a vibrant tapestry of celebration. The streets of major cities like Yaoundé and Douala see colorful parades featuring women's groups, cultural performances highlighting the diverse contributions of women to society, and official speeches delivered by prominent figures, including government officials and representatives from women's organizations. These festivities undoubtedly raise awareness about the importance of gender equality.However, a closer look reveals a potential pitfall. While the celebratory atmosphere is undeniably positive, it's crucial to acknowledge the risk of IWD becoming reduced to a singular annual event, overshadowing the need for sustained efforts to achieve gender equality. Some Cameroonian women echo this concern, feeling that the focus often shifts toward superficial celebration and neglects the core issues they face.This can manifest in several ways. First, the emphasis might be on isolated events like parades or speeches, without a clear plan for year-round action and follow-up on addressing existing gender inequalities. For instance, while organizing official events and programs, the Ministry of Women's Empowerment and the Family (MINPROF) might face limitations in implementing and monitoring long-term policies that truly empower women in various aspects of life.An earlier decision by MINPROF is a stark example of how tokenism can overshadow the true essence of IWD. Underfunded by the national budget allocation, the ministry attempted to raise funds by printing and selling Women's Day fabrics. This single act of improvisation, intended to generate revenue, inadvertently became the center of IWD activities in Cameroon.The focus now shifts toward women buying these fabrics, which increase in price annually, just to participate in parades and events. Many women, perhaps unaware of the historical context and deeper meaning of IWD, feel pressured to purchase the fabric, regardless of its cost. This superficial participation often overshadows women's true struggles in their daily lives. These struggles may include domestic violence, limited access to education or healthcare, and economic hardship.A particularly glaring example is the plight of women and girls in the English-speaking regions. A violent and armed conflict has been raging there for the past seven years, displacing hundreds of thousands of people. Many of these internally displaced persons (IDPs) are women and girls. Fleeing from the violence, they face immense economic hardship. Girls are often forced to drop out of school, increasing their vulnerability.However, year after year since the conflict began in 2016, IWD has been celebrated with parades and speeches, seemingly oblivious to this harsh reality. A holistic action plan has yet to be implemented to address the specific needs and challenges faced by English-speaking Cameroonian women displaced by the conflict. This is a stark reminder that IWD needs to move beyond token gestures and focus on creating lasting change for all women in Cameroon.By recognizing these potential pitfalls and focusing on year-round efforts to address them, we can strive for a more meaningful engagement with IWD in Cameroon. This includes advocating for adequate funding for the Ministry of Women's Empowerment and the Family to implement impactful policies and programs that support women's empowerment throughout the year, not just on a single day.Moving Forward: Engaging IWD with PurposeInstead of viewing IWD as a single day of celebration, we can approach it as a springboard for sustained action toward gender equality. By shifting the focus from tokenism to meaningful engagement, we can empower women and contribute to a more just and equitable future.Remember, advocating for equality concerns everyone. Creating a truly equitable future benefits us all. When women thrive, societies as a whole thrive. Let's work together, big or small, to create a world where equality is not just a dream, but a lived reality for all.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller! <a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Learn more</a>.

Beyond the Fabric: Redefining International Women’s Day in Cameroon

<h2>A leader shares her symphony of doubt, dreams, and digital transformation.</h2><blockquote>“Project Digital Impact wasn't born in gleaming labs or funded conferences; it sprouted in the fertile ground of rural Kenyan villages, fueled by a hunger for knowledge and a refusal to be bound by limitations.”</blockquote>I grew up in a village, unaware of the vast digital landscape and its endless possibilities. Ignorance shackles your desires, and I had no inkling of the vibrant world beyond textbooks and dusty fields. It wasn't until university, with its open doors and buzzing screens, that my hunger for knowledge ignited. I became an information scientist, a weaver of code, and, most importantly, a dreamer — not just for myself, but for every village kid in Kenya.Project Digital Impact was born from this dream, an initiative fueled by hope, trembling under the weight of uncertainty. No one except five loyal friends dared to believe in this audacious mission. Some shrugged it off as a student's whimsy; others deemed the rural limitations too vast for university kids to conquer. But fueled by conviction and a shared vision, we embarked on this journey anyway.Laptops borrowed from colleagues, my meager student allowance stretched thin, we denied ourselves luxuries and pooled our pennies to nurture this seedling of hope. The village children, often forgotten and crammed into overpopulated classrooms, faced an educational landscape far harsher than ours. To compete in this world without even basic tools was an absurd disadvantage.Our mission? Not just to equip them with code, but to support entire communities. We offer the keys to the digital world, nurture well-being, champion environmental consciousness, and ignite the spark of entrepreneurial spirit.Our vision? A future where every rural child is a digital citizen, their dreams liberated from geographical constraints, their potential unleashed on a global stage.We believe in the ripple effect of learning. Our students become teachers, forming computer clubs and sharing their knowledge, widening the circles of impact.Two years, fifty kids, and countless challenges later, the confetti of 2023 still clings to my hair, a sweet aftertaste of triumphs. Yet, as 2024 cracks open like a crisp daybreak, a shiver of vulnerability dances down my spine. Leading isn't a victory lap, not for me. It's a tightrope walk across a canyon of doubt, where the wind whispers anxieties and the ground far below threatens to swallow you whole.But here's the secret, dear reader: that fear, that gnawing imposter syndrome, isn't a sign of weakness –– it's the battle cry of a dreamer daring to defy the ordinary. It's the tremor of a heart that yearns to paint the Kenyan digital landscape with the vibrant hues of progress and connection.My dream, oh, it's a behemoth, a sunrise stretching across the savannah of possibility. It's about supporting voices long silenced, bridging the digital divide like a Maasai bridge across a raging river. It's about building a future where technology isn't a cold metal beast, but a warm hearth around which communities gather, ideas spark, and dreams ignite.Fear? It's the fuel that propels me forward. Imposter syndrome? It's the sandpaper that polishes my resolve. Every challenge my team throws my way, every late night fueled by caffeine and brainstorming, is a brushstroke on this grand canvas. And trust me, these are artists who trust their leader, their faith a beacon in the storm.But here's the twist, the secret ingredient in this leadership symphony: you, dear reader, are invited to join the orchestra. You see, leadership isn't a solo act; it's a chorus of voices rising in unison. It's the shy village girl picking up a coding language, the entrepreneur weaving stories through pixels, and the teacher using technology to unlock minds, all united by a shared dream of a brighter digital Kenya.Leadership is not a crown, but a crucible. It stretches and challenges me in ways I never imagined. Each question demands a solution; each hurdle whispers doubts: Can I do this? Am I good enough? I look into the eyes of parents and children, brimming with trust and hope, and the answer becomes clear. Fear may loom, but I step forward anyway. Because it's in the crucible of fear, uncertainty, and self-doubt that true leadership is forged. Not in the polished trophies and hollow triumphs.Project Digital Impact is a testament to the power of dreams, the strength of community, and the unyielding spirit of those who choose to push beyond the perceived limitations. And while the road ahead may be long, we walk it with the unwavering belief that every child deserves a chance to shine regardless of zip code or circumstance.So, to you, the one who feels the fear tugging at your sleeve, the one whispering doubts in your ear, I say this: embrace the symphony of your own dreams. Let the fear be the cymbal that crashes to life, the imposter syndrome, the bassline that gives your ambition depth.Step outside your comfort zone, dear friend. Learn that code, launch that app, mentor that young mind. Let your voice join the chorus, and your actions paint the canvas. Together, we can build a digital Kenya where every sunrise is a testament to the courage of ordinary dreamers who dared to lead.We started with little more than a dream and a fistful of courage. Project Digital Impact wasn't born in gleaming labs or funded conferences; it sprouted in the fertile ground of rural Kenyan villages, fueled by a hunger for knowledge and a refusal to be bound by limitations.We would love your partnership and your willingness to see this dream take root and blossom. Lend us your expertise and share your resources, no matter how small.We may face uncertainty, but we don't walk this path alone. Knowing you believe in and stand beside us is a torch in the darkness. It fuels our determination, strengthens our resolve, and whispers, "You can do this.”Don't let fear dim your light, dear reader. Let it be the fuel that ignites your leadership symphony. Together, we'll paint a Kenyan digital dawn that shines brighter than any doubt.This, my friends, is our call to action. Let's lead, let's dream, let's conquer the fear and build a digital future as vibrant and boundless as the Kenyan sunrise.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: The Code of Courage

<h2>Milena Martinez shares how she found power and authenticity within herself as an introverted woman leader.</h2><blockquote>“Remember, your introversion and gender should be celebrated as assets, enabling you to lead with empathy, emotional intelligence, and a strong sense of purpose.”</blockquote>As an introverted woman, I’ve experienced unique challenges on my path to leadership. I have persistently waged internal struggles within organizations to establish that my voice deserves recognition, especially in male-dominated environments, where it seems that women have to be more aggressive and passionate to have space in conversations. But, it's essential to recognize that being an introverted woman is not a barrier to becoming an effective leader. My introversion and gender are powerful assets in my leadership roles as a psychologist and human resources professional.Most of my work experiences came with a terrifying fear of being a failure. Every time I had to face new challenges or lead initiatives, impostor syndrome loomed over me. Often I found my ideas overlooked due to the absence of&nbsp;conventional and fiercely competitive communication, where the louder voice is the most heard, and where I have to use more than one strategy to sell my ideas. Rather than allowing imposter syndrome to dominate my journey, I always worked alongside it and proved to myself that I was capable of more than I thought.&nbsp;I often encounter comments such as: "You don't look like an introvert,” "You're so nice, you couldn't be an introverted person,” "A woman shouldn't be tired of interacting with other people, you're naturally social,” and the most distressing one for me, "Since you're good at talking with people, I want you to be part of every social event in the company.”&nbsp;These comments represent my struggles over the years due to the fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be an introvert and the importance of recharging our energy. People hold pre-conceived notions that my introversion could limit my ability to express myself, set healthy boundaries, avoid over-explaining myself and my thoughts, and walk confidently.&nbsp;However, I know this isn’t true after I embarked on a journey of self-discovery more than five years ago. I indirectly led teams as a subject matter expert, becoming a mentor, realizing the impact I had on people, and observing their transformation through the process.&nbsp;Along the way, I noticed the limiting voices and anxiety I felt before embarking on new initiatives and public speaking. This realization sparked my self-discovery journey, helping me face these situations with greater emotional and mental awareness. The voices remain, but I have overcome these limitations, which benefits me and others who feel similarly.Although being heard may be a challenge for me personally, I have a strong desire and clear intention to promote safer, healthier, and more inclusive spaces for all types of individuals who coexist in the world.&nbsp;That's why I wanted to share these eight steps I have taken with the aim to guide and empower introverted women to embrace their strengths, navigate societal expectations, and emerge as influential leaders.Embrace Your AuthenticityAcknowledge and embrace your authentic self. Understand that introversion and gender are essential parts of who you are, and they bring valuable perspectives and qualities to leadership. Embrace your strengths, such as empathy, intuition, and the ability to build meaningful relationships, through a personal journal, a to-do list, or questions for friends and family recognizing your strengths.Challenge Stereotypes and BiasRecognize that societal biases and stereotypes may exist in terms of introversion and being a woman. Challenge these biases by advocating for equal opportunities and addressing any prejudices you encounter. Stay true to yourself, and let your actions and achievements debunk stereotypes. Speak out whenever you can, and rely on your unique strengths to reinforce your self-worth beyond biased perspectives. Last but not least, be aware of your own biases, as sometimes our greatest obstacles lie within us.Cultivate Confidence and Self-BeliefDeveloping confidence is crucial for leadership success. Recognize and celebrate your achievements, skills, and unique qualities. Surround yourself with a support network of mentors, peers, and allies who uplift and encourage you. Focus on self-care, personal growth, and nurturing a positive mindset. For this, I always use a gratitude journal, where I jot things down each day that I’m thankful for.Develop Strong Communication SkillsEffective communication is a fundamental leadership skill. As an introverted woman, focus on honing your active listening skills, expressing your thoughts clearly, and adapting your communication style to different situations. Practice assertiveness in voicing your ideas and advocating for yourself and your team.Build and Leverage NetworksNetworks play a vital role in leadership. Seek out and connect with other introverted women leaders, industry professionals, and mentors who can provide guidance and support. Collaborate with like-minded individuals, form strategic partnerships, and leverage your network to expand your influence.Embrace Emotional IntelligenceIntroverted women often possess strong emotional intelligence, enabling them to understand and connect with others more deeply. Leverage this strength to build trust, create inclusive environments, and navigate conflicts with empathy. Emotional intelligence fosters effective collaboration and team synergy.Seek Leadership Opportunities and ChallengesTake proactive steps to seek out leadership opportunities, even if they may feel outside your comfort zone. Volunteer for projects, lead initiatives or join professional organizations that offer growth opportunities. Embrace challenges as learning experiences, allowing yourself to develop new skills and expand your leadership capacity.Mentor and Empower OthersAs an introverted woman leader, use your experiences to mentor and empower other women. Create a supportive environment that encourages growth and inclusivity. Champion diversity and mentor emerging leaders, helping to bridge the gender gap in leadership and fostering a more equitable future.I'm a co-founder of Challengers Up, an entrepreneurship that helps companies and people navigate cultural change, diversity, equity, and inclusive, and digital learning strategies. Through education, we have created spaces for conversation regarding unconscious biases, but above all, regarding the fear we have of differences because we are unsure how to interact with them. These spaces have started by recognizing that we are different, even if we share the same background. Thus, we bring forth the notion that barriers can be seen as objects that can be dismantled to open the way.&nbsp;Fortunately, I have seen how creating conversation spaces fosters empathetic relationships between people and encourages openness to including individuals outside their usual working circle, which is a strength in many introverts. Becoming a leader as an introverted woman requires embracing your unique strengths, challenging societal biases, and leveraging your authenticity with patience.&nbsp;Remember, your introversion and gender should be celebrated as assets, enabling you to lead with empathy, emotional intelligence, and a strong sense of purpose. By embracing your journey and empowering others, you can inspire the next generation of women leaders.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

COLOMBIA: My Leadership Journey as an Introverted Woman

Rising Above the Rains for Women in Politics

Leadership 

<h2>Hawraa speaks out from a region marked by conflict, calling for a new path to peace.</h2><blockquote>Education must be the first line of defense against hatred and violence.</blockquote>The ongoing conflicts in Syria and other parts of the Middle East are not just political and humanitarian disasters; they are also a reflection of deep-rooted flaws in our societies, particularly in our educational systems. Education should be the foundation of a peaceful, tolerant, and cohesive society, yet how we educate future generations has contributed to the divisions fueling these conflicts. Now, more than ever, we must rethink and reform our approach to education to break the cycle of hatred and violence.Education is not merely about academic achievement; it is a powerful force in shaping how people think, interact, and understand those who are different from them. A strong educational system fosters understanding, dialogue, and problem-solving skills, equipping students to resist manipulation, sectarianism, and ideological extremism. Unfortunately, many educational models in the Middle East fail to do so.Our schools often prioritize rote memorization over critical thinking, obedience over inquiry, and narrow identity over global citizenship. Instead of encouraging open discussions, students are trained to accept information without question, making them vulnerable to misinformation and divisive rhetoric.If we observe social media today, we can see how deeply ingrained sectarianism and intolerance have become. Comment sections are filled with hate speech, where people express hostility based on religious, ethnic, or political affiliations. The brutality of words, the dehumanization of others, and the ease with which violence is justified all indicate a critical failure of the education system — it has not taught individuals how to think critically, engage in constructive dialogue, or respect diversity. Instead of using digital platforms to foster mutual understanding, many use them to deepen divisions and reinforce dangerous narratives.The Syrian war has destroyed millions of lives, displaced families, devastated economies, and left entire generations without hope. But beyond the visible destruction, the Syrian crisis serves as a tragic example of what happens when education fails to prepare societies for peace and coexistence.For decades, education in many parts of the region has neglected to equip students with the tools to analyze their surroundings, challenge injustice, and engage in dialogue instead of violence. When crises strike, those lacking these skills become easy targets for manipulation, falling into the traps of sectarian conflicts, extremism, or unquestioning loyalty to political agendas that do not serve them.Furthermore, the war has deprived millions of children of their right to education, exacerbating the problem. A generation growing up without proper schooling is more likely to be drawn into cycles of violence, keeping the region trapped in never-ending conflicts. Without urgent reforms, the consequences will extend far beyond Syria, affecting the entire Middle East for generations.If we truly want to prevent future conflicts, our educational systems must prioritize promoting peace, coexistence, and resilience. This requires a radical shift in how we approach education.Students must learn to question narratives, analyze sources, and think independently to resist misinformation and extremist ideologies.Schools should be spaces for open discussions about different cultures, religions, and ideologies, fostering respect rather than division.Given the role of misinformation in fueling hatred, students must learn how to differentiate between credible news and propaganda.Teachers should empower students to engage in social issues, advocate for their rights, and contribute to democratic decision-making.In conflict zones, schools must implement strategies to support students emotionally and psychologically to help them heal.The devastation in Syria and the Middle East is a reminder that we cannot ignore the role of education in shaping our societies. If we continue to rely on outdated educational models that fail to prepare students for the modern world, we will keep producing generations that suffer from division, ignorance, and conflict.Education must be the first line of defense against hatred and violence. Reforming our educational systems is not just an academic necessity but a matter of survival. The future of our region depends on whether we teach young minds how to think critically, communicate respectfully, and embrace diversity. The question is: will we rise to this challenge, or will we allow another generation to be lost to the same mistakes of the past?STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

LEBANON: Peace in the Middle East Starts with Education Reform

<h2>Amid an ongoing civil war in Cameroon, Achiricons calls for an end to violence and a revival of unity and peace.</h2><blockquote>I cry out for peace. I cry out for justice for the innocent. Restore the peaceful Cameroon we once lived in. –Achiricons</blockquote>The year 2016 was full of hope and great expectations. I had my first job and was planning a visit to my village to share the good news with my grandmother.&nbsp; While preparing for my trip, I saw on TV something terrible had happened. Anglophone boys publicly complained about how politicians ran the country, and a violent government response marked the beginning of what has become known as the <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-45723211" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">Anglophone Crisis</a> — a violent civil war in my homeland.&nbsp;I thought I’d wait temporarily for the political tensions to subside before traveling. But unfortunately, I became stuck in the city with the fear of the unknown looming over me. It’s been over seven years since I’ve returned to my village, and the crisis is just as fraught in Cameroon.Today comes with a heavy heart — I am recalling the case of my dear colleagues who were brutally murdered while conducting fieldwork. They ventured out during working hours and unfortunately did not return. The military searched for them for two years, then we heard on TV a separatist fighter confessed to killing and dumping their bodies.The nation of Cameroon mourns because the country is fighting against itself. Brothers on one side killing brothers on the other side. The country is losing its strong, intellectual men who could push Cameroon in a positive direction. The citizens now find themselves living with animals in the bushes because their homes have become death traps where armed forces can locate them any time.&nbsp;Thousands have lost their lives or primary caregivers, leaving the dependents to suffer. Many who have escaped to the cities beg on the streets, prostitute, and steal, as thousands have lost properties, their houses burnt to ashes and their animals or livestock killed. Perpetrators rape women and render children helpless orphans as they feed fat from it all.&nbsp;Even in the animal kingdom, animals do not kill or eat themselves. We wear clothes, proof that we are a more advanced species, yet we destroy ourselves. For how long do we keep confessing the name of God in our country yet do things contrary to God's will? One day, God will rise to judge those who are intensifying this crisis and claiming young Cameroonians' lives.&nbsp;If we stop our young ones and children from attending school and work, are we planning to have a nation full of illiterate people who are economically frozen? The perpetrators of these acts are among us pretending to be sorry, yet they keep fanning the flames of the war. Let us stop shedding innocent blood as we pray. Stop the war and give peace a chance.&nbsp;What kind of Nation do we intend to have or hand over when we can't even work freely and contribute to the growth and development of the nation? We are hopeless, clouded with the fear of the unknown. We can't even work peacefully because we wonder who will be next.&nbsp;Those who intend to live in peace must first rest in peace with humanity. Are we ready to rest and live in peace? What if you perpetrated the war and suddenly realized your wife and children were caught in the crossfire? What would you do?We live each day with the fear of not seeing the next day. We leave the house to hustle for food, yet we worry about whether we will come back intact to meet our families. Still, we cannot sit at home and remain hungry. At this point, what can be done?&nbsp;I cry out for peace. I cry out for justice for the innocent. Restore the peaceful Cameroon we once lived in. I pray the unborn generation will cultivate peace among themselves. Peace begins with individuals, then at home with family, and later the broader society.&nbsp;We must teach peace education in schools, churches, and the home to help the younger generation grow up with the spirit of peace. I call upon the Cameroonian government and separatists to engage in a dialogue, alongside the international communities as mediators, to take a stand for peace.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

CAMEROON: Let Go and Give Peace a Chance 

<h2>Amid civil unrest in Haiti, Amanda Lynn makes an urgent plea for true security in a nation longing for peace.</h2><blockquote>The need for destruction has ravaged Haiti since slavery, and it's time to put it to bed.</blockquote>Once again, I'm crying tears for Haiti. Abused and hated as a child, I was a <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/childabuseandneglect/vacs/haitianchildren-domesticservants.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">restavek</a> in my own home. I began learning about Haiti at age 14 and visited there several times, with the dream of returning one day. The past month in the country I love <a href="https://press.un.org/en/2023/sc15266.doc.htm" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">has been hellish</a>, replete with kidnappings and gang violence that never ends.&nbsp;Back to reading policy papers I go, trying to find answers and solutions to Haiti’s seemingly intractable problems, back to hoping for change. I see suggestions and recommendations pointing to security as the number one thing Haitians need and call for, but even the newest points seem more of the same.The one thing that no one ever calls for in Haiti – except perhaps pastors and priests –&nbsp;is self-control. Ironically, I think it's the one thing that could save the nation. Personal responsibility in a fragile state paves new ground for seeds of long-term change and democracy to be sown.Immediately appealing to the better nature of citizens via an ad, t-shirt, or radio campaign could bring real security by asking everyone to take a breath. To stop, just for a moment, from campaigning, screaming, fighting, drug-dealing, raping, beating, and policing. While everyone is full of fear or out for themselves, the nation is dying. L'Union Fait La Force –&nbsp;the coat of arms in Haiti meaning strength through unity – is bullshit as it's playing out right now.After our collective breath and momentary consciousness, our billboard ad, t-shirt, or radio campaign could point to an immediate eight-point plan.1. Stop vying for power and control. Unity requires listening, patience, and conversation with others.&nbsp;2. Evolve into someone who wants to do good. Think of who and what you love, and vow to protect that and the loved ones of others if you can.&nbsp;3. Count your blessings. Do you have food today? A house or tent? A family? Your language? Your country? Black pride? Centuries of Black excellence and dignity to reflect upon and pull from? Your personal freedom? Yes, you do. You have choices. You can loot, rob, kidnap, and kill or you can uplift, unite, teach, and create.&nbsp;4. Unite by treating people like baby birds in your palm. Look at them with wonder and delight, knowing that this person is a fellow Haitian, a reflection of Toussaint's dream of a free Black state staring back at you with the desire for fraternity in their hearts. The two of you grasping for solidarity invites greater unity and allows others to join you in your endeavor. When you unite, not in the streets but in your hearts, you will have lasting peace that no outsider can bring, even with their billions.&nbsp;5. Rejoice that you have a choice. You can be miserable, or you can be hopeful. Do not rest your head on your hand in despair; you are alive, and you still have the chance to do something great with your life. Protect someone, feed another, and pray for others.&nbsp;6. Ignite a discussion with your neighbors to form unity in your neighborhood or region. Set your soul on fire with the call to be an agent of peace and personal responsibility, to set an example for your children, gang members, and the cynical and hard of heart.&nbsp;7. "Each One Teach One." During slavery, when Black Americans learned to read, they in turn taught others. Teach what you know, every skill, word, language, and survival mechanism. Teach the youth, elders, teachers, police, and politicians –&nbsp;that you are human, you have rights, and patience and self-control are necessary life skills for everyone.&nbsp;8. Yearn for better. The only thing that will create true security in Haiti is self-actualization for its people. Yearn for peace and create it in the way that only you can. Haiti is a nation full of young people, angry over the hand that life has dealt them. Yet, they love reggae and kompa, music that speaks of love and serenity. Tap into that, and sing instead of shout your way through each day. You will be happier and influence people’s consciences, calling them to the free and unified state that Haiti was supposed to be.The need for collective consciousness is bubbling over in Haiti, and as a love and unity-based approach to security takes hold, individual consciences will cry out for peace rather than chaos and blood.In 2010, <a href="https://race-talk.org/?p=4008" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">I was raped in Haiti</a>. Security then seemed like a real thing, with <a href="https://peacekeeping.un.org/en/mission/minustah" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">MINUSTAH</a>, the U.S. Army and Navy, and the Haitian police force present in droves. I never dreamed that I would be raped with so many protectors around, but I was. On a rooftop and held all night, freed the next day to suffer my shame and hurt alone, in a foreign country with $30 in my pocket. I had nothing and no one, but what I did have – and still do – is the dream of a safe and secure Haiti.I am not naive; I know that my rapist was a bad man and that there are many bad people in the world, but the problem was that he had no self-control. Not over his lust, his need for power and control, his hatred of paternalism and colonialism, his need to conquer my body as retribution. If he had only stopped and truly thought about what he was doing, he could have opted for self-control, and overcome his need for destruction.&nbsp;The need for destruction has ravaged Haiti since slavery, and it's time to put it to bed. When Haitians riot, they destroy only their sacred ground. It’s time for all of us to take a breath when it comes to Haiti. I know I need to.I believe in my own and Haiti's capacity to be so much more than what the world calls us. We can overcome the obstacles that have been placed before us.&nbsp;From now on, I'll no longer cry for Haiti. I'll encourage true security through the establishment of individual self-control and personal responsibility, yearning for the day that I see Haitians learning to unite. Together, Haitians can be strong.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

UNITED STATES: Tears for Haiti

We Will Rise from Our Buried Dreams

SRI LANKA: Aching for a Miracle

The Struggle of Love in Sri Lanka 

UKRAINE: My Testimony as a Ukrainian Refugee

CAMEROON: Blood for Tears

COLOMBIA: No War Has Brought Peace

INDIA: Fighting for a Future in a ‘Graveyard for Farmers’ ​​​​​​​

TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO: Women Are Suffering in Paradise

SOUTH SUDAN: The Shade of My Skin, The Length of My Neck

NIGERIA: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Holds the Key to Peace

PHILIPPINES: During Disasters, Women Count On Each Other

KENYA: Ambitious Young Women Won’t Be Stopped

CAMEROON: My Security Starts With Me

CAMEROON: Without Health Care, We Are Not Secure

INDIA: My First Lesson on Peace

SIERRA LEONE: Girls Are the Future of Peace and Security

NEPAL: Safety Shouldn’t Mean Losing My Freedom

ZIMBABWE: The Enormous Power of Representation

JAMAICA: What Gives Me Hope

Peace & Security

<h2>In Nairobi's informal settlements, women childcare providers navigate challenges from climate change and rising food prices.</h2><blockquote>Our climate change actions must begin and end with women.</blockquote>One afternoon in December 2022, I sat in the rear seat of a taxi ferrying me to a meeting with women childcare providers in one of the vast urban informal settlements of Nairobi, Kenya. The heat was excessive, and I kindly requested the driver open the car windows. It was so uncomfortable that after a few minutes in the car, I was already sweating and almost finding it difficult to breathe. I reached out for my phone and was just about to take a selfie when I saw an image that still haunts me so much that I decided to write this piece to awaken our conscience.&nbsp;Inside my phone’s camera, I saw the face of a woman who was beaten and exhausted, worrying about how our childcare food program was going to survive the ever-soaring food prices. That was me. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. With the uncomfortable heat and sweat, I hated our country's situation more. Until April 2023, Kenya experienced severe drought fueled by four failed rainfall seasons, reported by <a href="https://news.un.org/en/story/2022/12/1132047" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">United Nations agencies</a> as the worst in 40 years.&nbsp;On this day, however, the reality of our situation as a women-led childcare food initiative hit me hard and left me fighting back tears because I did not want to alert the taxi driver about my worries. You see, in April 2022, having conducted three years of research to understand the challenges that prevented women-led childcare enterprises in Nairobi’s informal settlements from growing and thriving, I narrowed down access to food for children as the main factor that limits their economic viability. This is because, while most female child caregivers provide childcare services at $0.5, many are forced to use this same income to provide food for the children, despite clearly agreeing with parents that they would bring packed food. As a result, women childcare providers are constantly in a cycle of unending financial poverty propelled by insufficient food for children left under their care. After consultations with more than 100 of them, we agreed that food for children was their top-most priority, which, if addressed, would help improve the viability of their micro-enterprises.&nbsp;Providing food in informal, high-density neighborhoods can be difficult because many people are often hungry. The food won’t reach the intended beneficiaries if not implemented with care. Owing to the increased cost of cooking fuel due to macroeconomic factors and limitations in time and space for cooking, we established that most female child caregivers use their childcare income to buy cheap food for children from street food vendors. Although rarely nutritionally balanced, the women at least try to allocate $0.2 for food per child who comes without a packed lunch. The result is young children’s health and development being compromised every day. However, buying that basic rice and soup combo for the children helps the women survive the nightmare of 10 to 20 toddlers crying because of hunger until their mothers come to collect them in the evening.&nbsp;Together with 20 women childcare providers, who mainly operate out of their homes and church halls, we agreed that partnering with the local women's food vendors was the ideal, affordable, and sustainable solution for their challenging situation. In return, they would talk to parents, often single mothers who do odd informal jobs to provide for their families, to accept to pay an extra $0.2 for food and $0.1 for porridge. Through a series of meetings and consultations with the women and local leaders, we identified a group of five women street food vendors who would prepare clean, suitable food for the children and deliver it to the childcare facilities while still fresh and warm. Subsequently, we conducted cooking experiments with the women to establish food costs, suitable portions for children ages 1-3, viable meal plans, and overhead costs such as labor and delivery. With these careful steps and various terms and conditions established, we began the childcare food program in October 2022, intending to feed 300 young children per day in the pilot phase before we could gradually increase the numbers to reach more children in other childcare and Early Childhood Education centers.&nbsp;At first, we thought the food situation in the country would change for the better and make our women-led childcare food initiative profitable. Every Friday afternoon, the women would gather to review the food service, suggest improvements, and make meal payments. They were all pleased with a newfound optimism about their childcare businesses, fueled by their ability to save some of their child-care income instead of using it on food (the food cost was now shifted to parents). The women started a Savings and Lending group. Since most of them are not banked, the women childcare providers’ most effective route to gaining financial freedom is through community-based microfinance groups, such as the <a href="https://www.vsla.net/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Village Savings and Loans Associations</a> (VSLA) model. With skills acquired through training from various non-governmental organizations, the women easily formed a VSLA group to save their hard-earned childcare income and readily access micro-loans every Friday.&nbsp;It was gratifying to watch the women run and grow their savings from a weekly average of $1 per member to a cumulative total of more than $200 within a short time. At last, we were on the verge of proving that economic viability for informal childcare enterprises could be achieved by solving the childcare food challenge. This would create a clear pathway for accelerating the growth of the enterprises and guaranteeing affordable childcare so that more mothers could go to work.&nbsp;However, that Friday afternoon, I wondered what to tell the 25 women entrepreneurs because our numbers were not good. Food prices kept increasing at such a high rate that we could start the week with a cost of $1/kg of rice and close it with a price of $1.5/kg. Unlike rice, where the government applied tax subsidies to encourage importation, maize flour (a staple for Kenyans) was the worst affected. At the time, the government declared that the most sustainable way to reduce the cost of maize flour was for the rains to start, upon which farmers would be supplied with subsidized fertilizer to boost the harvest. In the few months since we had done our food experimentation to establish viability, the price of maize flour had increased by more than 70%. At this point, even government leaders felt the most hopeful way was to ask the nation to pray for the rains!But a hungry person, much less a child, cannot pray for rainfall or an end to drought. As I gathered myself to enter the community social hall venue for our afternoon meeting, I resolved to ensure that our childcare food initiative continued despite the rising food prices, even if this meant digging deeper into my pockets. Yet, I knew this would only be sustainable in the long run if the rains came and farmers could finally supply food like maize, vegetables, and fruits at more affordable prices.&nbsp;Our country recently experienced its first successful rainfall season in April 2023, prompting the Ministry of Agriculture’s Principal Secretary to estimate that <a href="https://www.standardmedia.co.ke/business/national/article/2001478139/kenya-expects-to-harvest-of-43-million-bags-of-maize" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">43 million bags of maize would be harvested</a>, thereby lowering prices for maize flour. However, uncertainty in weather patterns and food insecurity still hangs over us.&nbsp;The impact of climate change on children’s health and development, fueled by droughts that are causing food and water shortages, thereby increasing cases of malnutrition and water-related diseases, cannot continue to be underestimated. Having monitored our micro-data on childcare food and prices over the past year, I know many parents and facilities cannot provide sufficient healthy meals for their children. Yet, as noted by UNICEF, we all know that scientific studies underscore the value of children consuming the right balance of nutrients as a foundation for their healthy brain and physical development, which are crucial for <a href="https://www.unicef.org/nutrition/early-childhood-nutrition" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">long-term health and productivity</a>.&nbsp;There has never been a more urgent call to act now to save our children's lives. And as we act on climate change for their sake, we must not forget that women, the backbone of society’s care systems, bear the burden of it all. Our climate change actions must begin and end with women.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: Urban Women and Children Bear the Brunt of Climate Change

<h2>A dedicated bamboo advocate, Aidalyn Arabe reshapes construction norms in the Philippines, turning bamboo into a cornerstone for sustainable development.</h2><blockquote>There's a growing movement to champion bamboo as a durable, sustainable, versatile, beautiful, and natural material for construction use.</blockquote>Advocating for environmental protection has always been challenging, especially when dealing with local communities whose livelihoods and daily sustenance depend on the forests, rivers, or the sea. You can’t just say, “Stop what you’re doing,” without providing alternative options. People must eat and provide food for their families, and that often means clearing forests to plant crops or catching fish using unsustainable methods. Climate change is the least of their concerns — a reality we know working at the grassroots level in a country like mine, where poverty and environmental abuse are rampant.I have been an environmental advocate and activist for 14 years. Yet, it was only in 2017 that I learned what I believe is the best tool to help communities generate a livelihood and contribute to the local economy's progress while helping the planet: Bamboo.&nbsp;Bamboo is the most sustainable plant on Earth. It is is a renewable plant material because it regenerates fast and can grow almost everywhere in tropical and subtropical regions. It surpasses trees in carbon sequestration, contributing significantly to environmental health. Beyond this impact, bamboo is crucial in preventing soil erosion, revitalizing the soil, fostering biodiversity conservation, and rehabilitating degraded lands.Food, beverage, medicine, construction, engineering, homewares, arts and crafts, and musical instruments are examples of bamboo’s versatile and aesthetically beautiful uses. There's a growing movement to champion bamboo as a durable, sustainable, versatile, beautiful, and natural material for construction. It is the future's gold — a commitment to a sustainable tomorrow. By promoting and elevating bamboo, we not only support individuals, communities, and local economies but also help the planet by using a material that will regrow for decades. Bamboo is a three-tiered tool advocates can effectively use to address people, progress, and the planet.In 2017, I started a bamboo planting project in landslide-prone mountain areas when I was deep into trail running and mountain climbing. Over the following two years, I worked at a bamboo treatment and processing facility, engaging with communities to advocate for bamboo as a primary construction material.&nbsp; I have witnessed the positive impact of bamboo on household income and community livelihoods, from establishing nurseries to propagation, planting to harvesting, and processing to use the product. I came to understand the intricacies of building with bamboo and how it can last a lifetime. I gained insights into the use of treated bamboo, implemented through well-tested and proven methods. I learned the art of constructing with bamboo, employing artisanal carpentry skills and jointing systems.Despite its incredible potential in sustainability, there are challenges to getting people to accept and adopt bamboo as a primary material. Bamboo has two opposing reputations: being a poor man's timber and a material only the rich can afford. Bamboo has also always been recognized as a go-to material for temporary use, not something that lasts for decades. Industries, especially the construction industry, remain hesitant, citing concerns about susceptibility to insect or pest infestation, the necessity for increased strength, limited expertise in bamboo-based construction or carpentry, challenges in sourcing high-quality construction-grade bamboo, and the absence of its inclusion in building codes. Overcoming these obstacles could unlock the full potential of bamboo in the construction sector.I recently quit to spread my wings. I can do more for the community and the environment by establishing my own organization, Moutara. There's a wealth of information to explore about this material, with much more to research and study. Now operating as an independent bamboo consultant, I primarily offer nursery development, propagation, planting, harvesting, treatment, and processing services. My goal is to enhance people’s awareness of bamboo by highlighting its advantages and benefits. As an active environment advocate and activist here in the Philippines, bamboo is my primary instrument to foster collaboration among environmental workers, private stakeholders, government entities, and even those unintentionally contributing to ecological degradation. Our responsibility extends beyond caring for the planet; we must also educate those who lack the understanding and empathy needed to protect the gifts our environment has given us. Despite the potential fatigue and impact on our careers and personal lives, the question remains: if not us, who will take on this vital task?STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

PHILIPPINES: Bamboo's Rise as the Eco-Friendly Building Block

<h2>Dr. Sadia Javaid celebrates Pakistan's rich landscapes, urging readers to preserve Earth's beauty.</h2><blockquote>Pakistan, my beloved Earth, you are a treasure worth protecting, a love worth fighting for.</blockquote>My Dearest Earth,As I write this letter to you, my heart swells with a profound love and admiration for the beautiful land of Pakistan, the slice of heaven that you bless with your presence. You are, without a doubt, the most precious and enduring love of my life. I find myself at a loss for words, not because I lack the vocabulary, but because the love I hold in my heart for you in the enchanting land of Pakistan is so profound and overwhelming that it defies simple expression. You, dear Earth, embody all that is beautiful, complex, and awe-inspiring, and my love for you knows no bounds.From the very moment I set foot on your sacred soil, I was enchanted by the diversity that is quintessentially you, Pakistan. The sheer contrast in your landscapes, cultures, and people is breathtaking. From the snow-capped peaks of the Karakoram and majestic Himalayas in the north to the arid deserts of Thar in the south, you offer a glimpse of every natural wonder. From the bustling metropolises of Karachi, Lahore, and Islamabad to the remote villages and towns that dot your countryside, you have woven a tapestry of humanity that is as rich and vibrant as the colors that adorn your festivals.Your landscapes are a symphony of beauty. The towering mountains, particularly K2, the second-highest peak on the planet, have humbled me with their majesty. The valleys of Swat and Neelum, adorned with emerald-green meadows and tranquil rivers, have serenaded my soul. The Thar Desert, with its golden dunes and timeless folklore, tells tales of resilience and endurance. Your forests, like the ancient Deosai Plains and the mystical Sharan Forest, are a sanctuary for nature and the human spirit. Your coasts, from the pristine beaches of Gwadar to the thriving ecosystems of the Indus Delta, whisper stories of life's eternal dance. You are an artist, Earth, a creator of unparalleled beauty, and every corner of Pakistan is a masterpiece.But what makes Pakistan a place of love and devotion for me is not just the physical beauty you possess; it is the heart and soul of your people. The resilience and warmth of Pakistani people have touched my heart in ways I can hardly express. In the energetic bazaars of Lahore, the quiet lanes of Hunza, the vibrant streets of Karachi, and the serene villages of Chitral, I have encountered an unmatched generosity of spirit. The laughter of children playing cricket in the dusty alleys, the music that resonates through Sufi shrines, and the rich flavors of biryani, nihari, and kebabs, all of these are notes in the love song that the people of Pakistan sing to their land.Your culture, Earth, is a living testament to the tapestry of history and tradition that has shaped this land. The ancient cities of Mohenjo-Daro and Taxila, the Mughal monuments of Lahore, and the architectural wonders of Shah Jahan's Badshahi Mosque and Lahore Fort are the living embodiment of your history. Your people's art, music, and literature are the expressions of a soul that has experienced the highs and lows of life. The qawwali performances that echo through the shrines, the intricate designs of your carpets and textiles, the flavors of saffron-infused dishes, and the colors of your festivals are the brushstrokes on the canvas of a culture that has endured for millennia. Pakistan's culture is a testament to your ability to absorb, adapt, and evolve, and it is a love letter to the world.Yet, despite your many charms, I can't help but feel a sense of urgency and concern for your well-being. My beloved Pakistan, you are facing environmental challenges requiring immediate attention. Pollution, deforestation, and the looming threat of climate change cast a shadow on the love story between humanity and nature. Our responsibility is to protect and preserve the beauty you've bestowed upon us.In northern regions, the glaciers that feed your rivers are receding at an alarming rate. This threatens the livelihood of those who depend on these waters and the delicate ecosystems that have evolved over millennia. In the south, the mangroves along the coastlines, which protect the shores and nurture aquatic life, face a constant battle against pollution and habitat destruction. The cries of the Indus River, the lifeblood of this land, grow louder as it faces the dual threats of over-extraction and contamination. Witnessing the consequences of our neglect is heartbreaking, and we must reverse this trend.But I am heartened by the unwavering spirit of the people of Pakistan, who are guardians of your beauty. Conservationists, environmentalists, and community leaders are rising to the challenge, dedicating their lives to preserving your treasures. Initiatives like the Billion Tree Tsunami and the Cholistan Desert Jeep Rally are testaments to the passion and dedication of those who love you. The people of Pakistan are showing their deep connection to the land through actions that speak louder than words.As I close this love letter to you, Earth, my cherished homeland of Pakistan, I pledge my eternal commitment to protect and cherish you. My love for you is not fleeting; it is a lifelong devotion. I promise to be more mindful of my impact on your environment and to support initiatives that seek to safeguard your beauty. I will share the stories of your magnificence with others, spreading the message of conservation and sustainability.You are a part of me, and I am a part of you, forever entwined in a love story that spans generations. Together, we shall overcome the challenges that threaten your beauty, ensuring that future generations can experience the same wonder and love I feel for you. Pakistan, my beloved Earth, you are a treasure worth protecting, a love worth fighting for.With all my heart,Dr. Sadia JavaidSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

PAKISTAN: Embracing Earth with Love

<h2>After a devastating mudslide claimed her best friend, Margizuu planted more than 50,000 trees in her community to confront climate change and create a safer, more resilient future.</h2><blockquote>Trees saved my family, home, and animals. Cathy's memory fuels my mission to ensure no one else loses a loved one to the devastating effects of climate change. </blockquote>Growing up, my best friend Cathy and I were inseparable. My parents were tree planters who grew and sold tree seedlings for a few coins. Because some of their customers bought in bulk, Cathy and I helped my parents plant seedlings, water them, and even name the trees.&nbsp;As we worked on trees, my dad would talk about climate change and the environmental degradation he witnessed. When we had strange bouts of weather, I asked him if we could die from climate change. “Maybe!” he joked. Then my mother gave him a side eye for teasing me.Planting trees made my parents popular. They were known for bringing tree seedlings to community events, where many neighbors didn’t have trees. But for some reason, Cathy's family didn't like trees.&nbsp;One day, forceful winds swept through my community, ushering in a torrential downpour. I remembered how my dad shared that climate change would teach us a lesson one day. We took refuge from the relentless rains in the store with our chickens and goat. My mother held me close, sensing my fear of the storm rumbling.&nbsp;The next thing I heard was a loud bang and people screaming for help. My heart raced. I asked my mother what was happening, but she wouldn’t speak. The rain did not stop for another two hours. Then, my dad stood up and went outside to assess the scene. “Oh no!” he yelled. My mother asked him what it was. He told us a mudslide had swallowed Cathy's family. My mother embraced me, knowing how much Cathy meant to me.&nbsp;It took me years to heal from Cathy's death. I still see her empty desk, hear her laugh, and talk to her every night as I go to sleep. In Cathy’s memory, I started a foundation called the Ukaha Youth Program that teaches people how to mitigate the risks of climate change by planting trees. I use my family's story of surviving the mudslide to drive home my message.&nbsp;With the help of my parents and NGOs, I’ve run awareness events at different government institutions. My hope and determination haven’t subsided despite a lack of funding. I used the tools available to me to share my story in the local language so everyone could be included in my program.If you compare my village to what it was 20 years ago, you’ll notice a big difference. I’ve planted more than 50,000 trees in my community in honor of Cathy and her family. The soil is firm and protected, even when rain and harsh wind pass through. Nobody loses a house because there are no more mudslides and floods. I visit schools where we donate trees to students and encourage them to name them after their favorite things.I have always dreamed of doing this in my community –&nbsp;making it a safer, more peaceful place where people don’t have to worry about what nature will do next. I still think of Cathy now that I have my own family. I wish she were here so our kids would play, plant trees together, and name them — to see a new generation making memories together. But I know she lives in my heart and watches over me and all the projects she motivated me to do.&nbsp;I’m grateful for my parents, community, and friends from home and abroad, who support me in being the voice of climate change in my community.Cathy’s story reminds me that every day is a blessing because it can be taken away in the blink of an eye. Cathy and I played for the last time before she ran home because of the impending rains. I had no idea nature would swallow my best friend hours later. Trees saved my family, home, and animals. Cathy's memory fuels my mission to ensure no one else loses a loved one to the devastating effects of climate change.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: Planting Trees in the Face of Climate Tragedy

<h2>Kasmin envisions a collective force that reconnects communities with nature to confront the urgent climate crisis.</h2><blockquote>Alone, a single voice may be heard, but when a chorus of voices rises in harmony, it becomes a powerful force. </blockquote>In many parts of Asia, the effects of climate change exacerbate existing gender inequalities. Women in developing nations of Asia have limited access to education and economic opportunities, which makes us more vulnerable to the negative impacts of a changing climate. The burden of collecting water, caring for the sick, and ensuring our families' survival falls disproportionately on our shoulders. Moreover, extreme weather events caused by climate change pose specific threats to women's health. Pregnant women in these situations face higher risks, as the lack of access to medical care and clean water can lead to complications.In the spirit of a grand narrative, let's reimagine Asia's path toward environmental stewardship. This narrative begins with recognizing that ecological degradation is not a localized woe but a global existential challenge. It's a story of interconnectedness and shared destiny. It transcends borders and acknowledges that one nation's actions ripple across the planet. The first step is a mental shift, a realization that the environment isn't an "other" to be conquered but a cohabitant to be nurtured.Collective Girl PowerIndividual efforts are essential in the battle against climate change, but the real game-changer lies in the collective action of communities and groups. This holds especially true for women in Asia. We can harness our collective strength to drive meaningful change. Climate change knows no borders, and its impacts are felt globally. As such, the response to this existential crisis must also be global. Women across Asia are diverse in cultures, languages, and backgrounds. Imagine how amazing it would be to unite under the common banner of environmental stewardship.Alone, a single voice may be heard, but when a chorus of voices rises in harmony, it becomes a powerful force. Women's community groups, grassroots organizations, and online networks can provide platforms for amplifying concerns, sharing knowledge, and advocating for change. Climate change presents complex challenges, but solutions often emerge when diverse perspectives come together. We can create spaces for exchanging ideas, expertise, and practical solutions. Indigenous knowledge, for example, can be invaluable in mitigating climate impacts.Climate action can be emotionally and physically demanding. It's not just about planting trees or attending rallies but pushing against established systems and norms. By forming support networks, we can provide each other with emotional fortitude and encouragement to sustain the fight. The sheer numbers and influence of Asian women are formidable. Collectively, we can mobilize entire communities to take action. Whether it's organizing tree-planting drives, conducting educational workshops, or advocating for policy changes, the potential impact is substantial.Hold Corporations AccountableThe role of corporations in climate change cannot be overstated. Large corporations wield immense power, from resource consumption to carbon emissions. We have a pivotal role to play in demanding accountability and responsible business practices from these entities.Transparency is the first step toward accountability. Women-led movements can advocate for clear and comprehensive reporting on a corporation's environmental practices, including emissions, resource consumption, and waste management. Many products reach Asian markets through complex supply chains that often exploit resources and labor in environmentally damaging ways. Women's groups can lobby for ethical and sustainable supply chain practices, pushing for fair wages, safe working conditions, and reduced environmental impacts.As conscious consumers, we can encourage corporations to invest in sustainability. They can demand that corporations adopt cleaner and more eco-friendly technologies and commit to long-term sustainability goals, including reducing carbon footprints. By making conscious choices and supporting companies prioritizing sustainability, we can encourage businesses to change their practices to meet the growing demand for eco-friendly products and services.Collective efforts can extend beyond corporations to policy changes. Women's groups can push for legislation that holds corporations accountable for their environmental impacts, imposing penalties for unsustainable practices.Mindful consumptionStart by consciously reevaluating your consumption habits. Consider the impact of your daily choices, from food to clothing. Then, embrace sustainable, locally sourced products, reducing your carbon footprint.Educational programs and initiatives should be designed to empower women in Asia to make informed choices about what we buy. This can involve providing information about eco-friendly products, fair trade practices, and the environmental impact of certain products. Schools and colleges should include modules on sustainable consumption in their curricula. This can help young women develop eco-conscious attitudes and habits from a young age. Governments and NGOs can encourage and support women in starting eco-friendly businesses. This promotes economic independence and fosters sustainable and responsible consumer choices.We can play a crucial role in promoting a circular economy by actively participating in recycling, upcycling, and sharing economies. Encouraging initiatives that facilitate these practices can be particularly beneficial in urban areas.Reconnect with NatureWomen can play a pivotal role in preserving their local ecosystems. Rekindle your connection with nature. Participate in afforestation projects and local conservation efforts. Support wildlife sanctuaries and promote biodiversity.Encourage and support ecotourism initiatives that take visitors to rural areas. These initiatives can be led by women's cooperatives, offering tourists a chance to experience the local culture, cuisine, and environment while contributing to women's economic empowerment in rural regions of your nation. Encourage women in rural areas to explore nature-based entrepreneurship. This could include activities like organic farming, beekeeping, and eco-friendly handicrafts. Government support in terms of training, funding, and marketing can be instrumental.Provide opportunities for other women to take leadership roles in local conservation efforts. This can include initiatives like planting trees, protecting wildlife, and cleaning up natural areas.In essence, the power of collective action among women in Asia is a force to be reckoned with. By uniting our voices, we can address the urgent climate crisis more effectively, pressing corporations and governments to enact meaningful changes. By holding corporations accountable, we women can foster a business environment that respects and protects the environment while advocating for responsible practices that benefit the present generation and future generations.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

INDIA: My Action Plan for Climate Justice in Asia

<h2>Kasmin Fernandes celebrates her profound connection with the tapestry of India’s landscape.</h2><blockquote>In your embrace, I have found the courage to surrender to the uncertainties of life and trust in the benevolence of the universe.</blockquote>Dearest Earth,My soul communes with yours, dear Earth, for you are not merely a planet beneath my feet, but a sacred embodiment of existence itself. Through your lush landscapes and rugged terrains, I find solace and connection, transcending time and space, merging into the timeless now.As an Indian woman, I have traversed your enchanting lands, from the verdant hills of the Western Ghats to the arid expanse of the Thar Desert. Your diverse landscape, woven with myriad hues, has mirrored the many facets of my own being. In the cool embrace of forests, I have found refuge and wisdom, the whispering leaves echoing the wisdom of sages and the rustling of stories untold. How you have blessed my soul with the sacred waters of your rivers! The Ganga, flowing gracefully through ancient lands, carries the essence and purity of devotion. Bathing in her waters, I am cleansed in body and spirit, dissolving the veils that separate me from the eternal presence of the now.Through the cycles of seasons, I have witnessed the ebb and flow of life, embracing the impermanence of all things. Your rhythm, Earth, teaches me the art of acceptance and surrender, for in every loss lies the promise of renewal. As I sow seeds in the fertile soil of your belly, I am reminded of the infinite potential that lies within every soul, waiting to blossom in its due time. In the golden embrace of the setting sun over the vast Thar Desert, I have felt the oneness of all creation. The sands, kissed by the evening breeze, speak of the timeless dance of Shiva, the cosmic dancer. In this moment of profound stillness, I am no longer a separate entity but an integral part of the cosmic symphony.Dear Earth, your sacred sites and ancient temples, rooted in this land's very soul, have embraced me. I have felt the energy of devotion, expressed through countless rituals and prayers, transcending the boundaries of religion. With each breath, I feel the gentle caress of your love, reminding me of the interconnectedness of all living beings. As I walk barefoot upon your soil, I am grounded in the present moment, where past and future dissolve into the eternal now.In the quiet corners of my heart, I hold India as an ineffable mystery — a landscape of contradictions and harmonies. I write to you not as a traveler passing through your land but as one bewitched by the enigma you embody. As I traverse your vast expanse, from the serene backwaters of Kerala to the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, I find myself treading upon layers of history, culture, and spirituality that seem to stretch beyond the horizon. Your landscapes are like open books, revealing stories of ancient civilizations and wisdom that transcend time.You are a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that awaken every sense within me. The scent of incense wafting through temple courtyards, the melodic call of the muezzin, and the playful chatter of children in bustling bazaars all intertwine to create a symphony that resonates within my soul. Our people embody a hospitality as warm as the tropical sun that bathes your lands. From the distant villages to the vibrant cities, I have been embraced by your inhabitants' genuine smiles and kind gestures. In their eyes, I see a profound acceptance that celebrates the oneness of humanity.Your spirituality is a gentle river that flows through every aspect of life. In the rituals of devotion at the ghats of Varanasi and the peaceful meditations of Dharamshala, I witness a profound longing for transcendence and a yearning to touch the divine. But amidst this enchanting tapestry, you are not immune to the harsh realities of the world. Poverty and plenty walk hand in hand, and your roads are lined with contrasts that challenge the mind and break open the heart. And yet, amid the chaos, there is an enduring resilience and a capacity to find joy in the simplest moments.The animals that roam your expanse have shown me what love is about. I am forever indebted to the friendships I have cultivated with the animals on the farms and in the cities I have come in contact with. They have a deeper and stronger connection than any human connection I've had. Some of my best friends are dogs, cats, and birds; I wouldn't have it any other way. I feel in tune with their rhythms and emotions. There is no need for words when one has such a strong, energetic presence. They are powerful beings with an innate wisdom for living passed down from their ancestors. It is in their genetic code. They have no need for schools and institutions to teach them how to live in harmony with you. I hope to learn how to be one with you as the inhabitants of the animal world do. This is the wisdom that goes beyond rational thinking and the rules of society.Earth, you have taught me the beauty of imperfection — the art of embracing the present, whether in the glory of a sunrise over the Red Fort or in the chaos of a bustling railway station. In your embrace, I have found the courage to surrender to the uncertainties of life and trust in the benevolence of the universe. I thank you, Earth, for the food and water you have blessed me with these 40 years of my life. I would not have been alive if not for the nourishing food grown on your soil.Thank you, dear Earth, for the lessons you have etched into my soul. I shall forever cherish the time we spent together. May we, as humans, awaken to the consciousness of our inherent unity with you, dear Earth, and with each other. For in loving you, we discover the path to loving ourselves and all beings.With boundless love and gratitude,Kasmin FernandesSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

INDIA: A Love Letter to Earth

KENYA: We Have a Right to Say No to Mercury

Remember the Plight of People in Pakistan

Environment

<h2>Lairab faced restrictions growing up. But when she found writing, she discovered what true freedom meant, a kind of freedom no one could take, and began dismantling the invisible cage around her, word by word.</h2> <blockquote>"I want girls to know that even if you can't escape the cage, you can build wings inside it. You can grow ideas in the dark. You can find power in the page."</blockquote>I learned the meaning of freedom by living without it—not from books or speeches, but from feeling its absence in the quiet moments of everyday life.I learned it the way many women in my part of the world do. Like when I wanted to ride a bicycle and was told girls don't do that.Or when I asked too many questions and was met with silence, or worse, shame.Or when I watched boys walk out the door without permission, while I was taught that my place was inside—safe, unseen, and silent.Growing up in Pakistan, I learned that “freedom” doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone. For girls like me, it was never about rights or independence. It was about restrictions wrapped in the language of protection. I was told that good girls don't talk too much, don't go out too much, don't study too much, and certainly don't dream too much. We are to be emotional, soft-spoken, and obedient. And we are told we must be careful because outside, there are men who wait to devour us with their eyes and intentions. That is our reality.Let me be clear: being a housewife, being a caregiver, building a home—these are beautiful roles. When forced upon you, they become a prison with invisible walls. Not because the walls are visible, but because they live in your mind, stitched into your identity so tightly you forget who you were before they were placed there.As a child, I watched Western shows on television. I saw girls driving cars, speaking freely, laughing loudly, studying science, becoming lawyers, and astronauts. They weren't afraid to speak, to lead, to exist. It stirred something inside me. A question began to grow:“Why can't I have that, too?”I didn't know it then, but that question was my rebellion. Quiet, invisible, but powerful.I wasn't allowed to go far for higher education. I was told that girls who study too much become "too opinionated." I was told my future would be inside a home, not in classrooms, not in offices, and certainly not on public platforms. But my mind refused to shrink. My world was small, but my questions were not.So I found freedom in the only place left to me: writing.Writing didn't need permission. It didn't need transport. It didn't care about how I looked or what hour it was. I could write at midnight or at dawn. I could whisper into the page all the words I wasn't allowed to speak aloud.Slowly, my pen became my protest. My voice. My way out.Through writing, I've begun to touch the world beyond my walls. I've connected with women across countries, cultures, and continents—many of whom have lived their own versions of confinement. And in that connection, I've found not only empathy, but power. Because the act of sharing my story is my freedom. Every word I write is a brick removed from the invisible walls around me.I still live in the same society. The roads are still dangerous, the stares persist, the judgment has not disappeared.But I have changed.Now, when I write, I don't just write for myself. write for the girl I was, and the girls who still sit silently in corners, hiding their dreams behind their eyes. I want them to know that even if you can't escape the cage, you can build wings inside it. You can grow ideas in the dark. You can find power in the page.I once believed freedom was a place—maybe a Western country, maybe somewhere else. But now I understand: freedom is a mindset. It begins inside you, when you dare to question, to resist, to dream. I've never stood on Western soil. But in many ways, I live that dream: not of wealth or luxury, but of becoming the author of my own story.And that is what I've learned about freedom by living without it. STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

PAKISTAN: My Pen Became My Protest

<h2>Mosfeka shares how her father’s love and willingness to defy tradition shaped her into a leader for herself and every girl fighting to be seen and heard.</h2><blockquote>I am not just a girl; I am a woman who carries the legacy of a father who believed in equality, empowerment, and the collective power of human dignity.</blockquote>Before I was born, everyone hoped for a boy except for my father. Defying society's norms, before my birth, he named me Kamal Mahmud –&nbsp;traditionally a man’s name. When I was born, my father took me in his arms and called me "my own tigress."&nbsp;As I heard this story growing up, I asked my father, "Why did you call me that? You know I’m afraid of cockroaches!" He laughed and responded, "What the world says is not my headache. I know you're my tigress."My father, a professor who studied at Dhaka University, was the first person from our village to attend this prestigious institution. Despite his accomplishments, he remained humble and grounded. He always stood beside underprivileged students, empowering girls and supporting their education. He never treated me like a typical girl; he called me "Abba." I once questioned why he called me that instead of "Ma." He explained, "In our society, men are raised with dignity. They are empowered to take responsibility. But I know you are my tigress. You will take on responsibilities like a man."At a young age, I didn’t fully understand my father’s words. But life soon forced me to grow up quickly. When I was only five, my father became mentally unstable due to Alzheimer's Disease. Suddenly, the responsibility of caring for my younger sister, managing the household, and making sure we had food fell on my small shoulders. With my mother working to earn a living, I became the caretaker, grocery shopper, and cook for my family.At 20, I lost my father, and shortly after, my mother lost her job. The entire family depended on me, and I had no choice but to take charge. I started my own clothing business and worked part-time to continue my studies and support my family.Looking back now, I understand why my father always called me his tigress and referred to me as "Abba." Even though I don't see myself as a tigress and sometimes feel overwhelmed by the weight of my responsibilities, I take pride in knowing I am the daughter of a progressive father who believed in empowering his daughter to stand strong and rise above every challenge.My father’s vision was to raise me as a human, not limited by gender or societal expectations. He showed me that the true strength lies in embracing responsibility, regardless of gender, and that our true power comes from within.My father’s actions and beliefs were a lesson in how individual struggles and societal distractions can be transformed into collective empowerment. He believed that by empowering one person — his daughter — he could set a ripple effect that would contribute to the betterment of society. His progressive outlook and faith in me have shaped who I am today. His vision helped me break free from the distraction of gendered roles, to claim my place as a leader, a caregiver, and a changemaker in my community.&nbsp;I am not just a girl; I am a woman who carries the legacy of a father who believed in equality, empowerment, and the collective power of human dignity. And I will continue to rise, not just for myself but for all the women and girls still fighting to be seen and heard.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

BANGLADESH: My Father Believed in Me Before I Was Born. That Changed Everything for Me.

<h2>Sympathy Sibanda helps women and girls unlearn traditional definitions of strength and turn to self-care through writing therapy and storytelling.</h2><blockquote>It's time we stop feeling guilty about not having it all together, to realize that our mental wellness matters, and to cut ties with any generational toxicity.</blockquote>I come from a country that taught me the term musha mukadzi, which means women are in charge. At face value, this sounds dope. However, in actual practice, it is not to say women are bestowed with matriarchal power in households. It means women have the burden of being strong, tolerating a lot, and rising like a phoenix, putting everyone else before themselves. On paper, it sounds like a royal scepter, but in reality, it has for generations left women wallowing in depression – but for the sake of their homes to stand, they continue being strong.For me, the biggest problem isn't just that older women are taught to be strong amid domestic violence, cheating, and a lack of resources while continuing to hold the house together in silence. For me, the ick is that young girls are taught to have this strength as young as they can utter a word. Girls receive the generational burden of musha mukadzi.&nbsp;Given this background, there is no room for mental health considerations. There is no space to break down and feel things – remember, you must be strong! If you are seen crumbling, then you are not womanly enough. You are just an impostor. How will you even face childbirth? I remember having my wisdom tooth pulled out and being encouraged not to cry because childbirth would be worse. I held it all in. I wanted to be woman enough.The Women Writers Support Network-Africa(WWSN-A) initiative I created is a writing therapy and networking organization that brings together women of all ages to breathe, share experiences, and, just for that while, realize that they don't always have to uphold musha mukadzi.Girls are told to share their feelings at a particular time using illustrations or words. From such exercises, we have unearthed shocking stories of abuse and acute depression that were going unnoticed at school, home, or society in general. This tool encourages girls to realize that the most important person is THEMSELVES before anyone else. It teaches them to identify toxic behaviors and relinquish the need to be a musha mukadzi kind of girl.As an initiative for all ages, we also prompt mothers to go on a self-healing journey using the same tools of storytelling, writing therapy, and conversations to stop toxic generational behaviors. This helps them avoid putting the same burden on their young girls to carry into the future.It's time we stop feeling guilty about not having it all together, to realize that our mental wellness matters, and to cut ties with generational toxicity. Musha mukadzi isn't a derogatory term, but some of its tenets have been abused. I still stand proudly as a homemaker but on my terms. I don't tolerate abuse, I don't always have my ducks in a row, and most of all, I don’t feel any competition with fellow women but instead foster sisterhood. I want every Zimbabwean girl, every African girl, to remember this.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"> Learn more.</a>

ZIMBABWE: I’m Breaking Generational Burdens and Redefining Strength for Women

<h2>After failing to pass the medical entrance exam, Adeeba struggled with self-doubt but found a new passion in business, ultimately launching her own successful digital agency.</h2><blockquote>My mission is to create jobs for others because, in Pakistan, the inflation rate is high, and employment opportunities are scarce. Many people are struggling to find work.</blockquote>My family wanted me to become a doctor, which was my dream. Unfortunately, I didn’t pass the medical entrance exam in 2020 and spent a year at home. I felt like I wasn’t capable or gifted.But deep down, I knew I was the smartest child in my family. I had won two awards back in school. I was a hard worker, but I wasn’t given enough time to practice for the test. Still, what had happened had happened.I felt isolated, like my world had ended, and no one supported me. That one year felt like a blur. I became socially withdrawn, hated meeting people, and skipped every family function.Then, one day, my mother said something that changed everything: "The day ends, and there will be a new day with new opportunities and new hopes."That line shook me to my core. My adrenaline kicked in, and suddenly, I felt like the old, pre-2020 Adeeba.&nbsp;I started learning new skills. My brother introduced me to digital marketing freelancing, and I began my journey as a beginner. I made mistakes, lost clients, and got scammed multiple times. Eventually, I thought freelancing wasn’t for me.My English wasn’t good back then, and I didn’t know how to write well. But now I do.I enrolled in university and changed my major from medicine to business. It was a huge shift for me. Imagine switching from your dream career to something entirely different. The thought always haunted me: Did I make a mistake by choosing business?But deep down, I wanted to be someone people knew and admired. I wanted to help others, and to do that, I knew I had to help myself first. So, I decided to stick with business as my major.In university, I made new friends and realized how vibrant life was. People were happy, living their lives, pursuing their dreams. And here I was, isolated when the world outside was full of life and joy. I thought, Adeeba, it’s time to step out of the shadows.In my first year of university, I learned a lot. I grew, made connections, and met kind and supportive mentors. But the story didn’t end there.One day, my father said, "Child, the medical exam is coming up again. If you want to give it another shot, we’ll support you."Honestly, I didn’t want to try again, but out of respect for my father, I enrolled in the medical exam again during my first year of university.I didn’t tell anyone at university, not even my friends. Only my family knew.Here comes the twist: I scored 190/210 on the medical exam. I was shocked! I couldn’t believe it. I thought, how do I tell my parents that I’ve succeeded on my second try with excellent marks?But here’s the second twist: I wasn’t interested in medicine anymore. I had only taken the test to honor my parents, but the passion I once had was gone. My heart was now in business. I had made friends, formed connections, and embraced my university life.I told my father I didn’t want to pursue medicine anymore. He was shocked. With my marks, I could have easily gotten into the top medical universities in Pakistan.It was a tough decision. My entire future depended on this moment: medicine or business?I spent time alone, thinking deeply. In the end, I decided not to pursue medicine.I knew many people would think I was foolish for making that choice. But I stood by it.My parents were upset. They thought I should pursue my childhood dream of becoming a doctor. In their eyes, pursuing a business career was too uncertain and unconventional.But I told them, "I’ll find my way. Please support me. And if you can’t, at least don’t discourage me," as politely as possible.The next day, I went to university and shared my story with my friends. I told them I had retaken the medical test and scored top marks. They were proud of me and urged me to pursue medicine."That was your dream," they said. "Why give up now?""It was my dream," I replied, "but not anymore."They couldn’t understand. "Then why did you take the test? Why didn’t you tell us?"I explained it all happened suddenly, and I wasn’t sure I’d succeed.They worried I was making a mistake, choosing business over medicine. They asked, "Do you even have a goal in business?"Their words made me think. Why had I chosen business in the first place? I didn’t have a clear goal in mind either. It felt like my life was a mess. I was confused, torn between two worlds. But in the end, I made my choice.I decided to stick with business. I had no interest in medicine anymore.But what would I do now? I didn’t have a clear goal in business either.I spent the next year learning new skills, actively participating in university, attending lectures, and slowly finding my way back to a normal life.My family still thinks I made the wrong decision. My father has always said, "Choose any university, and I’ll pay for it." But I knew it would be a burden on him, and medicine was no longer my dream.Fast forward to 2024, and I’ve applied my skills in the real world. I am now an SEO content writer, helping businesses grow their visibility on Google. Many clients appreciate my work, and they encourage me to keep going.I’ve even founded my own digital agency. My mission is to create jobs for others because, in Pakistan, the inflation rate is high, and employment opportunities are scarce. Many people are struggling to find work. It’s my goal to land a big project for my agency by the end of this year.&nbsp;Your support made my dream a reality, and your initiative could change many lives. If any of you want to grow your business on Google or need help with social media management or anything else, feel free to private message me on World Pulse. Let's grow together, women, and let the world know the major impact we have on it!&nbsp;STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"> Learn more.</a>

PAKISTAN: I Failed the Medical School Exam, Then Built a Thriving Digital Agency

<h2>In a letter to her future self, Faith vows to become the woman she's always aspired to be, drawing upon storytelling, journalism, and coding to create meaningful change.</h2><blockquote>Your worth is not defined by what others think or expect of you. It is found in your kindness, resilience, and willingness to keep moving forward, even when the path seems uncertain.</blockquote>Dear Grown Faith,As you stand at the edge of tomorrow, know that you are made of the stories of the past, the dreams of the present, and the endless possibilities of the future. You might not have all the answers right now, but the woman you'll become is already within you — quietly growing, learning, and finding her way. I see you standing in a place where purpose and passion have aligned. You are confident, but not because life has been easy; instead, because you’ve grown through every challenge. You’ve embraced complexity, finding the balance between storytelling, journalism, and coding – turning them into tools for change, just as I dream of now.Dear Faith, I imagine you as a voice of empathy, using your stories to shed light on the lives of others. You’ve learned to listen deeply and speak with conviction. Your words don’t just describe the world; they change it. They bring people together, make them reflect, and inspire them to act. There's no excuse for not trying. Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it, and I want you to work on it. You are allowed to dream big, to chase after what sets your soul on fire. Don’t let anyone dim your light or convince you that your voice doesn’t matter. Speak up, stand tall, and be unafraid to take up space in a world that sometimes wants to shrink you. You will not necessarily succeed in everything the first time you try, and that's okay. You succeed because you understand that you can't let failures define you. Let failures show you what to do differently the next time. Failures make you a stronger, better person.Dear Faith, sometimes life will hit you in the head with a brick; don't lose faith. You have to trust that the dots will connect somehow in the future because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well-worn path, and that will make all the difference. I know you’ve been through times of doubt, but you never let them hold you back. You’ve kept moving, even when it seemed like progress was slow. You’ve stayed committed to your vision, knowing that every step leads you closer to it, no matter how small. The woman you'll become will carry today's lessons with her, but she will also grow beyond them. She will laugh, she will cry, she will fail, and she will rise again. And in every step of her journey, she will discover new layers of herself, filled with wisdom, grace, and courage.Dear Faith, even when you're struggling or discouraged and feel like others have given up on you, don't give up on yourself. Don't be that person who quits when things get tough, but keep going and try harder. Do nothing less than the best. Put your best efforts into everything you do. Never lose those people who help you stay on track to achieve your goals, people who believe in your mission, and people who pray for you. Never lose those people, never!Dear Faith, I hope that someday you'll realize how lucky you are that you don't realize it. How blessed you are that you don't even consider yourself lucky. And when that time comes, I hope you learn never to expect ease in life. I know you have this amazing fantasy about life that should go according to your plan, and if that doesn't happen, you give up. Life is a test and trial, and you shouldn't expect ease from a trial. Trials make us stronger and a better person.Dear Faith, I want you to fight your fears and accept yourself the way you are – the sooner, the better. You might think your life is unfair, but think again! When you think that way, you are being unfair to yourself. Everything gets better and better as the years roll down. Don't let yourself down. Don't break the heart of little you by not becoming the better person you wanted to be as a child –&nbsp;failing her and watching all her dreams fall apart.Dear Faith, your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown you. The world will challenge you. There will be moments when you doubt your strength, question your purpose, or feel lost in the noise. But remember this: your worth is not defined by what others think or expect of you. It is found in your kindness, resilience, and willingness to keep moving forward, even when the path seems uncertain. There will be haters, there will be naysayers, there will be disbelievers, and then you will prove them wrong. Never giving up is the way to live always.So, keep pushing forward, future girl. There’s so much waiting for you. The world needs your brilliance, your heart, and your spirit. And even when things get tough, know that the woman you're becoming will be strong enough to handle it all. Today, I’m working to become you. I’m learning to be patient with myself and understand that growth takes time. I’m discovering how to combine my skills and passions in ways that serve others. I’m building the foundation for the change I know I can make.I look forward to meeting you – not as a distant dream, but as the reality of who I am becoming.I love you.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: Dear Woman I Aspire to Be

<h2>On International Day of the Girl, a young woman inspires her sister to be excited about science and technology.</h2><blockquote>The path to empowerment starts with small steps — conversations, opportunities, and the courage to believe in oneself.</blockquote>On the morning of October 11, I woke up to the sound of my younger sister, Maya, flipping through her textbooks. She was excited — it was the International Day of the Girl, and her school had planned various activities to celebrate.I remember feeling unsure about my place in the world when I was her age. I often struggled with self-doubt, particularly about pursuing my interests in science and technology. I wanted to support Maya and encourage her to embrace her passions without hesitation.At breakfast, I shared stories of girls who had inspired me, like Marie Curie and Ada Lovelace. I could see Maya’s eyes light up as I spoke. “Do you think I could be like them?” she asked, her voice full of hope.“Absolutely,” I replied. “You can be anything you want.”Later that day, I decided to attend the events at her school. The gym was decorated with colorful posters and artwork created by the students. There were speeches from teachers, videos showcasing girls from around the world, and a panel discussion featuring successful women from our community.One speaker stood out to me — an engineer named Sara, who shared her journey in a male-dominated field. She talked about the challenges she faced and the importance of persistence and community support. As she spoke, I noticed Maya leaning forward, captivated by Sara’s words.After the event, I approached Sara and introduced myself. I shared how inspired I was by her story and how it resonated with Maya. Sara smiled and said, “It’s crucial for girls to see role models in fields they’re interested in. Encourage her to ask questions and explore her interests.”With newfound determination, I took Maya to a local science workshop that weekend. It was a small, hands-on program where girls could experiment with coding and robotics. As we entered the room, I noticed a diverse group of girls, all excited to learn.Maya quickly found her place, diving into a coding project with a group of peers. Watching her collaborate and share ideas filled me with pride. It was a moment I wished I had experienced at her age — an environment where girls encouraged each other to take risks and learn.By the end of the workshop, Maya was buzzing with ideas. “Can we do this again next week?” she asked, her face glowing with excitement.“Of course!” I replied, realizing that moments like these were essential for her growth.The International Day of the Girl had sparked something in both of us. It wasn’t just about celebrating girls; it was about fostering an environment where they could thrive and support each other. I promised myself I would continue encouraging Maya and create more opportunities for her to explore her interests.As we left the workshop, I felt hopeful. The path to empowerment starts with small steps — conversations, opportunities, and the courage to believe in oneself. I was determined to be a part of that journey for Maya and other girls like her.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"> Learn more.</a>

UNITED ARAB EMIRATES: A Day for Change

<h2>Through daily coffee gatherings, Amina inspired local women to challenge harmful customs, helping protect girls from child marriage and circumcision.</h2><blockquote>My happiness is indescribable knowing that these girls survived and women are capable of making change.</blockquote>Before the war in Sudan, I worked with women and children, providing services to survivors of violence, leading advocacy campaigns, raising public awareness, and fostering an environment that protects human rights.&nbsp;The war in Sudan broke out suddenly on April 15, 2023, in the capital, Khartoum, between the Sudanese army and the Rapid Support Forces, followed by some states. Because of this war, millions of Sudanese have been displaced and sought refuge inside and outside the country, and the education and health systems have come to a halt. The death toll is countless, with many human rights violations and sexual violence against women. Sudan is currently going through the worst and ugliest stages of its history of chaos, violence, displacement, chaos, and the imminent threat of famine.When the war reached Khartoum, my family and I were displaced to a city in the south, far from the armed conflict. Life was different from what I was used to. People were simple and kind, treating us with great hospitality and generosity. But, I was shocked by certain customs. The community frequently held weddings, and I was surprised to see child brides. Then, what I thought were typical celebrations in Sudanese homes often turned out to be girls’ circumcisions. My heart ached each time, especially since the practice is deeply rooted in tradition and religion, leaving no room for discussion — especially from an outsider like me. Meanwhile, because the war raged in Khartoum and other states, schools and universities remained closed, with girls on a perpetual break.I noticed that the local women gathered daily at noon in one of their homes to drink coffee with incense, nuts, sweets, and other traditional rituals. It seemed like a good opportunity to reach out. I selected a few women who seemed open to listening and began discussing the issue. The path was thorny, full of excuses and complex arguments, but with time and perseverance, I convinced five influential women to join me. To ensure they had clear, complete, and scientific information, I held a training workshop for several days in one of the houses. They were captivated by the PowerPoint presentations and the stories of the girls we had helped.Through these coffee sessions, the women became a center of consciousness for girls' rights. They also communicated with local initiatives and associations to celebrate the Day of the Girl Child last year. After I left the city, I stayed in touch with them. Thanks to their efforts, they stopped five child marriages and convinced the families to reconsider the arrangements. Additionally, the women prevented 11 circumcisions and continued to advocate for the girls. My joy is indescribable, knowing that these girls were saved and women are creating real change.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller. <a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/en/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Learn more</a>.

SUDAN: How a Group of Women Prevented Child Marriages and Circumcisions

Fatmata Selina Kabba defied societal norms in her community and learned to embrace her authentic self.<blockquote>“At this age, I’ve realized that, like many other kids, I just had a mind of my own. Being loving is not a weakness, and we shouldn’t be responsible for how people respond to the energy we give.”&nbsp;</blockquote>In my hometown, girls learned to act a certain way – “the normal way.” When I was 5 years old, I was so bold my community dubbed me the “stubborn, talkative child.” While other children were afraid of adults, I spoke up. My mother, however, disapproved of my noisy nature, often complaining that I was too curious and that such behavior was deemed unacceptable for girls.As the months passed, I decided to talk less and play with the boys. This experience introduced me to exciting games, although I was unaware that mingling with the opposite gender was frowned upon. My auntie warned my mother that if they didn’t rein in this wild child, I would end up pregnant before even reaching high school.My mother took me to church to tame what she perceived as a spirit within me. The pastor told me I should be loving, quiet, and mild like Christ. I obeyed and tried to please everyone around me, but as I grew older, people complained I was too chicken-hearted.As a teenager, I desperately wanted to be heard, so I became a troublemaker. As usual, my family didn’t spare the rod; they flogged me until I had blisters, as “that was the way to make a child change.” By age 15, I had become an outcast, my voice silenced. Acting introverted felt unnatural to me, but I aimed to please my parents, and it was only a short time until I became a people pleaser. I couldn’t make mistakes; everything was linked to being a good religious girl.At 18, I did not feel accepted at home, so I settled for whatever the street offered: bread crumbs, Margot-meat, and side chick positions to guys. The culture surrounding me damaged my self-esteem, and it seemed as if the world were crumbling beneath my feet.By 19, every drop of blood in me screamed for me to let it out. I concealed my wounds beneath a facade of motivational phrases. I kept saying I was fine, I could handle it, I was a boss lady, and I was strong.None of it worked. I kept losing weight and looking sad. Tearfully, I told my brother, “I feel like I’m depressed and dying.” He simply smiled and said, “You’ll be fine because we all are depressed in this part of the world. It’s normal.”And so, I suppressed my feelings until depression became my new normal. At this age, I’ve realized that, like many other kids, I just had a mind of my own. Being loving is not a weakness, and we shouldn’t bear the burden of how others respond to the energy we give.&nbsp;If only my parents had recognized I was a child, a human with individuality, not merely an asset or property. Healing is hard but is possible. It was challenging, but I chose to heal to reclaim myself. I knew if I didn’t address the broken energy within me, it had the potential to harm not only myself but others.If depression is normal in my society, I’m okay with being “outside the normal.” If I could talk to teenagers, I would tell them to love every part of themselves and find purpose. I would tell parents to break the cycle of belittling their children.&nbsp;Let's work together to create a world where girls feel accepted and loved for who they are. Join me on this journey “outside the norm,” where authenticity and self-love can help build a brighter, more inclusive world.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

SIERRA LEONE: Outside the Normal

<h2>Anita Nwokoji shares how she has shattered cultural conventions, ignited her purpose, and lit the way for future women</h2><blockquote>Nurture yourself, value who you are, and never be afraid to stand alone.</blockquote>I am an African girl from the western part of the continent. I grew up in a community where I saw women as full-time housewives, nursing babies, and nurturing the home. I was a beautiful young girl and heard people tell my parents they should prepare for suitors. Here, women are asked to do just the minimum. At least we go to school, but not to find a purpose – to find a great man and get married. I grew up fine with this until I turned 15 and wanted something more. I didn’t want what the average girl wanted; I didn’t like the bare minimum. If it wasn’t the best, I wasn’t settling for it.&nbsp;There is this societal cycle, a system that governs where I come from – a measuring yard of a woman’s life. There is a mental brainwashing that keeps women in fear. The fear of time being against us and nature not standing at our side as we mature. So we must learn fast how to be a girl, cook and clean, and become the woman who cares for the house. Learn how to forget about yourself and put other people first. Learn how to read and write, graduate from school, get married, and continue the cycle.I didn’t have a problem with this, but I found it a boring routine. I was raised to fit into society and not to discover my own interests and desires. A woman is not created to cook and clean and bear children alone. A woman is created with a unique purpose to serve humanity. I started intentionally developing myself to be the woman God intended me to be, not what society thought I should be.&nbsp;Many young girls worry they will chase men away if they do too much. Society asks us to subdue ourselves, settle for less, pray, and wait for the right man to come. I don’t know if there are many girls like me out there, but here, where I am, it seems like I am alone in this world, advocating for everybody to see the truth and genuine purpose of being female. We birth ideas, not just children, and nurture innovation, not just the family.&nbsp;I have decided to champion this change within and around me. I’m teaching girls my age and older to find themselves in the light of their purpose. True success is a journey that starts with discovering your identity and purpose. So it begins with you and not your family, not your society. It starts when you dream of going to school, graduating, and making the change you want to see in your community. It starts when you pick up creativity in your craft and strive to follow the CASPER method (Clarity, Align, Strategy, Plan, Execute, Result).&nbsp;You start by finding clarity and aligning it with your purpose; you develop strategies and plans to accomplish each goal. Then, you gradually execute them without rushing. When you are fulfilling your purpose, time will never be against you. You stay positive as you await your results, your small or big wins.This Casper approach is what I implement in my day-to-day life journey to success. I believe I will be a woman who will inspire many young girls, so I am not sad to take on the challenge. Trying to say no to a society's ways and methods because I want to stand for what is true will not be easy. I have heard people call me a feminist and all sorts of names, but I believe in my feminine power and am determined to bring out the best of it. Society has misinterpreted women as emotional and weak vessels. I have the strength I need to co-create a dynasty to help humanity.So, to future females like me, let’s continue reading and renewing. Take that course, learn that skill, and make that money. Decorate yourself with lots of love and care. Be beautiful for you and not just to attract romantic partners. Nurture yourself, value who you are, and never be afraid to stand alone.&nbsp;Until I see you somewhere beautiful and bright, let’s take the mountains together, not waiting for the sun to set but riding together as the sun rises, for we are queens.&nbsp;STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

NIGERIA: To The Future Female

<h2>Purity shares a mother’s heartfelt advice on love, life, and legacy.&nbsp;&nbsp;</h2><blockquote>“Continue being true to yourself, not to seek attention but to fulfill your own potential. Nature has a way of rewarding those who do good deeds, even if they go unnoticed at times.”</blockquote>Dear Angel,&nbsp;I don’t know when I will carry you in my womb or hold you in my arms, but I do know that you will be the best thing that will ever happen to me as a reward for true love. There's so much that I want to share with you and teach you when you finally grace my life – and even more when you reach your teenage years.Baby, you are a precious gem, and no matter what comes your way, never think otherwise. Life will show itself in different forms, but I want you to be keen enough to know when to adapt and blossom.Education is vital, so pay attention and focus when you get to school. When you get to university, please avoid distractions because they will do you no good. Don’t succumb to peer pressure, and don’t feel the need to follow trends. It’s OK to be experimental, but not at the expense of your bright future.Life has seasons and phases; go through them one at a time and be patient with yourself. If you must compete, let it be with yourself. Be honest with yourself and wait for the right time for things to happen. Don’t rush because there are no shortcuts to a worthwhile destination. Embrace and savor each moment as it unfolds.Continue being true to yourself, not to seek attention but to fulfill your potential. Nature has a way of rewarding those who do good deeds, even if they go unnoticed at times. Consistency has a way of pushing you up the ladder.Don’t lose hope; just because today didn’t favor you doesn’t mean tomorrow won’t. Pat yourself on the back, keep moving, and somehow, when you least expect it, you will reap the rewards of your hard work.Choose your career wisely because it not only affects you but also those around you. You can crawl, swim, fly, or walk toward success, but never compromise your dignity. Earn your success because it’s the journey toward it that makes it beautiful and worth the ride. If it comes too easily, you might spend the rest of your life paying for the consequences.Chase your dreams rather than the people you’re attracted to. The right romantic partner will enter your life at the appropriate time. Gone are the days when a woman’s place was confined to the kitchen. Be the prosperous partner, not just the spouse of a wealthy person. Never give up on your ambitions because you are uniquely qualified to achieve them. Learn to visualize all your dreams.Mark you, this is a society full of uncertainty, where people often do the wrong things for the wrong reasons. Always read the writing on the wall and do right by others, not just because of karma but because it is the right thing. Avoid offending the wrong people, for nature has a long memory. Keep your hands clean.Let your good character and humanity define and vouch for you. It can never lead you astray. Be the person who pushes others to be the best version of themselves, not because of bonds but because our shared humanity makes us equal. Don’t judge people by their social class, level of education, or tribe; you might discard a gem while picking up a stone. Give people equal opportunities to improve themselves.Life has no rehearsal. Live it to the fullest. Never regret being loyal and genuine. If others fail to appreciate it, it's their loss. Do not change for others, as you might lose yourself while trying to impress someone who never valued you. A few bad experiences shouldn’t define you. Give yourself all the chances you need; you owe yourself that.I love you, and I wish you all the best in life. I pray your legacy lives on even after you’re gone, so please embrace the gift of life and unleash all your potential.With all my love,Purity STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: A Letter to My Daughter

<h2>In a letter to her younger self, Boluwatife describes life's forest of dreams and challenges.</h2><blockquote>“Just as the sapling stretches towards the sun, reach for your dreams and passions. Follow the path that brings you joy and purpose. It may twist and turn, but trust in your inner compass.”</blockquote>Dear Younger Me,Let me tell you a story that might help guide you through the years ahead. Imagine a young sapling in a vast forest, just like you. This sapling faced the same challenges and uncertainties as you do now.As this little tree grew, it yearned to reach the sky, to stand tall and strong amid the forest giants. But it faced storms that shook its branches and tested its roots. In those moments, it wished it had known a few things.Firstly, remember that growth takes time. Just like that sapling had to endure many seasons to become a sturdy tree, you, too, will face hardships that will shape you. Embrace the journey, for it molds your character and strength.Secondly, don't compare yourself to others. Each tree in the forest is unique, and so are you. Celebrate your individuality, and remember that your path differs from anyone else's.When the storms of life come, and they will, stand firm. Your roots, like the tree's, run deep, drawing strength from your experiences. Don't be afraid to bend in the face of adversity, but never break. You're stronger than you realize.Build meaningful connections with those around you. Just as the forest thrives on the diversity of its trees, your life will flourish with the relationships you nurture. Cherish your family and friends; they are your shelter in the storm.Lastly, always seek the light. Just as the sapling stretches towards the sun, reach for your dreams and passions. Follow the path that brings you joy and purpose. It may twist and turn, but trust in your inner compass.Younger me, life is an adventure. Embrace it with courage, patience, and an open heart. You are like that sapling, destined to become a magnificent tree. Believe in yourself, and you'll find your place in the forest of life.With love and encouragement,Your Older SelfSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

NIGERIA: Embrace the Journey 

<h2>A father's belief in his daughters' potential defied stereotypes and transformed their lives.</h2><blockquote>Through the unwavering dedication of my father, we serve as living examples that daughters are not curses but rather guardian angels who possess immeasurable potential.</blockquote>In 2001, my father made the courageous decision to migrate from Jammu and Kashmir, India, to Islamabad, Pakistan. Realizing the need for a fresh start, my mother followed suit with my older sister and me. To begin our new life, my father took a loan from a friend and opened a fruit shop. Unfortunately, after just a few months, his hopes and dreams were shattered by a devastating flood.Despite the setbacks, my sister and I enrolled in school. Then, in 2005, when I was in the fourth grade and my sister was in the sixth, our family received the joyous news that my mother was pregnant, much to my father’s delight. Determined to provide for the family, he established a utility store that sold essential items like groceries, household supplies, and personal care products. However, a shareholder and a worker betrayed him, leading to a devastating early morning robbery.Amid this turmoil, my mother's blood pressure skyrocketed to dangerous levels, and the doctors told my father she required an emergency cesarean delivery but they needed his approval to move forward. My father, weighed down by the difficult decision, ultimately consented, fully aware of the risks involved as my sister and I were also born through cesarean deliveries.An hour later, a nurse emerged from the delivery room, saying,﻿ "Congratulations, it's a daughter!" Unfortunately, my mother's blood pressure had spiked so high that she lost consciousness, slipping into a coma due to severe blood loss. Desperate, we had no choice but to pray for her recovery.Our newborn sister was placed on a ventilator, and my father was allowed periodic visits to the labor room.Community members rallied to support us, but they unjustly blamed my father instead of offering solace. They accused him of knowing the baby's gender in advance and mistreating my mother, and when the doctors told my mother that it was a daughter, her blood pressure went up so high out of fear that she was in critical condition.&nbsp;These community members threatened to harm him if anything happened to her; they would kill and disown him from society. Everyone, even my father's closest friends, cut off all connection. Trapped with no money and faced with mounting medical bills, my father was forced to sell all our possessions to cover the expenses.Meanwhile, our baby sister battled double pneumonia, relying on the ventilator for several weeks. Once she was discharged, there was no one to care for her while our mother remained hospitalized. Community members accused my father of having no right or duty toward my sister because in their mind he was the one who had caused her injury.In desperation, my father turned to his closest friend and the friend’s wife, who gladly offered to take care of our sister during this challenging time. Eventually, they named her "Naima Batool," deriving inspiration from the Arabic term that means "a blessed one."I recall a day when my sister and I discovered our father sitting on a prayer mat, weeping and pouring his heart out to God. There was no one to prove his innocence. This was the first time we witnessed his tears.&nbsp;Miraculously, God answered his heartfelt prayers. Though the doctors were amazed, my father's unwavering faith had been rewarded. My father said that God saved my mother just to prove his innocence. As proof of his innocence, my mother began her slow path to recovery, despite losing her hair due to anaesthetic medications when she was in a coma for a few months and almost becoming bald.After seven long months, my parents finally had the opportunity to embrace their daughter's face with sheer delight. Motivated by their transformative journey, my father dedicated himself to breaking societal norms and uplifting the status of women. He worked day and night to achieve his dream –&nbsp;a dream to make his daughters guardian angels for those who are suffering in the same situation as my dad, for those who think of their daughters as pieces of garbage, and for those who believe that every father sees their daughters as weight on their shoulders.&nbsp;Today, my eldest sister has achieved her dream of becoming an MBBS doctor and works as a medical officer in a hospital. I, too, have recently graduated as a dentist. As for our youngest sister, she is currently in high school, lighting up our family with her infectious zest for life.This tale serves as an inspiring reminder to all fathers who invest their all in their daughters, defying the stereotypes that label them as burdens. Through the unwavering dedication of my father, we serve as living examples that daughters are not curses but rather guardian angels who possess immeasurable potential.Cheers to all dads who are their daughters’ heroes!STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

PAKISTAN: Congratulations! It's a Daughter

<h2>Activist Sweta Singh shares how girls’ education can transform communities.</h2><blockquote>“Education gives us self-respect and makes us respected in society. It takes us out of darkness and shows us the right path, providing us with opportunities to brighten our future.”</blockquote>An African proverb says, "If we educate a boy, we educate one person. If we educate a girl, we educate a family – and a whole nation."As a girl, my brothers were allowed to attend school, but I was deprived. When my brothers were allowed to go out and play, I had to stay home to do household chores. One day I finally told my father I wanted to go to school and study —&nbsp;to contribute to my family and not be financially dependent on anyone. My father agreed, with me becoming the first girl in my community sent to a missionary school. Encouraged by this, many families in my community sent their daughters to school.Education is an essential part of human existence and the most powerful weapon we can use to change the mindset and condition of society. It’s the pathway for a nation's progress and the backbone of society. Education gives us self-respect and makes us respected in society. It takes us out of darkness and shows us the right path, providing us with opportunities to brighten our future.Young women like me are helping girls in rural India access an education. We have implemented lunches to improve children’s nutritional status and offer extra-curricular activities and community building to remove barriers and make girls aware of the benefits of education.&nbsp;In many countries, women are typically seen as homemakers, while men are seen as breadwinners. As a result, there are several myths behind girls’ education: an education would prevent girls from doing domestic duties, they would have to travel through public places to reach school, it would take girls away from home, and a girl would choose not to marry.My classmates and I volunteer at orphanages, elder homes, schools, and in rural Anganwadi, advocating for free education, adequate teacher training, and modern teaching methodologies. As a mentor, I’m heartened when my students learn from my lectures. Young people have the power to change the world and impact future generations. Girls’ education is our most powerful investment for our collective future.&nbsp;As a result of our advocacy, recently the Indian government's Digital India program has begun providing infrastructure and internet connectivity in rural areas. This is a positive step, but we must continue to improve girls' access to education through parental and community involvement, flexible school schedules, and locating schools close to home with women teachers, as many parents worry about girls traveling long distances and prefer their daughters be taught by women.When girls are educated, they are less likely to be forced into marriage and pregnancy and more likely to lead healthy, productive lives. They earn higher incomes, participate in the decisions that most affect them, and build better futures for themselves and their families. Girls’ education strengthens the economy and reduces inequality.&nbsp;So let us pick up our books and pens. They are our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher, one pen, and one book can change the world. Education is the only solution.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Learn more.</a>

INDIA: Educating Girls -The Weapon Against Injustice

Girl Power

<h2>Dolly Mthembu shares how rejecting Eurocentric beauty standards and wearing her natural crown became a radical act of resistance.</h2><blockquote>"When I twist my hair, I am twisting time. I am communing with ancestors who knew that beauty was never just decoration; it was declaration."</blockquote>"Get your hair done!" How about "nope!?"I shouldn’t have to justify my preference. In South Africa, September 24 is Heritage Day, a time to honor culture, tradition, and ancestry. But I don’t wait for a holiday to celebrate my decolonized self. I live it, I wear it. More than anything, it’s who I am.I decolonized my hair in 2012, the year of my becoming—a reckoning with everything colonialism had taught me to hide. It was honoring my heritage through resistance and reverence. My hair brought meaning beyond aesthetics; it carried my lineage and ancestral memory. Reclaiming it meant sovereignty over my own body, a choice both intimate and political.My hair is a living archive. Each coil carries the memory of people who braided wisdom into survival. Its very texture is proof of where I come from — descendants who endured, who created, who would not be erased.I remember the rituals: the scent of coconut oil, the gentle pull of plaits, the stories drifting between scalp and soul. My grandmother’s hands knew how to speak to my roots. In those moments, it went beyond a hair being styled; I was a granddaughter being remembered.When I twist my hair, I am twisting time. I am communing with ancestors who knew that beauty was never just decoration; it was declaration. What looks like an elaborate haircare for some is a sacred ceremony for me.But colonialism taught me to forget—to tame my hair, straighten it, vanish myself in compliance. Eurocentric beauty standards pathologized my natural texture, calling it "unprofessional," "messy," "too political." School rules banned dreadlocks. Job interviews demanded assimilation. Even friends and family, shaped by survival, urged me to conform.The violence was subtle and systemic. It taught me that acceptance required erasure, that my crown was a burden. Colonialism stole more than land—it stripped away texture, taught us that straight hair was superior, that our natural state needed correcting.I've been told my dreadlocks are "too much," my locs "unprofessional," my headwrap "distracting." But what they really mean is this: my presence disrupts the lie that Whiteness is default, that Blackness must be muted, that heritage must stay hidden.So I cut the chemicals. I stopped apologizing for my hair's volume, length, and texture—for taking up space. I learned to twist, to wrap, to wear my hair in ways that honored its truth. With the rituals came pride, and in that pride, I found myself again. And in that pride, I reclaimed myself. Each style—or absence of it—became a declaration: I am not here to conform. I am here to remember.Reclaiming my hair meant reclaiming my voice. I stopped asking permission to exist, stopped shrinking to fit systems never built for me. I began to see my hair as a compass, pointing me back to myself.I wore my dreadlocks to boardrooms. Let my mane bloom at conferences. Wrapped my head in Njeti cloth at gatherings.Each choice was a refusal, each style its own sermon. I am not here to be palatable. I am here to be powerful.Now, when I walk into a room with my dreadlocks haloed in sunlight, I am not just making a fashion statement but a political one. My hair is protest. It carries poetry and refuses to be silenced.In a world that still polices Black bodies, wearing my hair freely is an act of sovereignty. It says: I belong. I'm enough. I am the very roots that coil from my scalp.Visibility isn’t vanity — it’s victory!When I wear my hair freely, it speaks for me: I survived. I remember. I won’t be erased. My hair is a banner of resistance, a celebration of heritage. It is a mirror for every Black girl who wonders if she's enough.My decolonized hair is a message: You are enough. You always have been.To every Black woman reclaiming her crown, may your coils be loud, your edges proud, and your rituals sacred. May your hair remind you that you are the archive, the altar, and the anthem.Decolonizing my hair had little to do with strands. It was about soul—about choosing myself, again and again, in a world that profits from my erasure.So no, I won't "get my hair done."It is done.It is divine.It is mine.And now, I invite you to act.Educators, revise your grooming policies. Make space for cultural expression, not compliance.Employers, interrogate what "professional" really means. Challenge the bias coded into dress codes.Parents, affirm your children's textures. Let their coils bloom without apology.Policymakers, protect the right to wear natural hair without discrimination.To every Black woman reclaiming her crown: Document your journey. Archive your rituals. Share your story. Wear your crown unapologetically.Let our hair be loud. Let our heritage be seen. Let our resistance be rooted.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

SOUTH AFRICA: My Decolonized Hair, My Crown

<h2>Growing up under strict control, Jannatul was denied the freedom to play, choose, or dream. Today, she's creating something different—not just for her daughter, but for every child in her neighborhood who deserves to dream freely.</h2><blockquote>“I could not change my own childhood, but I changed my daughter’s.”</blockquote>I made myself a promise: if I ever had a daughter, she would get all the opportunities I was denied.I belonged to an orthodox Muslim family. We followed the rules of Islam strictly, and even as children, we had to obey them. But I often had objections.For example, our guardians forbade us from playing outside, especially with boys. Yet I wanted to play with my friends. As a girl, I had no freedom to make my own choices, and that disturbed me the most.My father was a businessman and was always busy. He had no time to take care of our daily needs or look after our studies. So he relegated those responsibilities to my uncle, who managed everything from our education to our daily life, even deciding when we ate or slept.My uncle was very strict. If we disobeyed him, we often faced physical violence. If he saw us playing in the nearby field, or if we failed to finish the lessons he gave us, he beat us severely. He even decided everything for us—from when we went to bed to what we ate, wore, and did each day. As a child, I tried to accept these things, but over time, they began to suffocate me.When I was in class six, my mother took me to the market for Eid shopping—a special time before the Eid festival when families buy new clothes, shoes, and gifts to celebrate. I wanted to choose my own dress, but I had to take the one my uncle picked.Throughout my school years, my uncle forbade me from joining study tours. I felt sad watching my friends go while I stayed behind.When I was in class nine, students had to choose a division: Science, Arts, or Commerce. My dream was to study Science, but my uncle forced me into Arts, and I had no choice but to continue in that field.I missed the chance to socialize outside school, because my uncle always drove me there and brought me straight back home. I often felt frustrated, and sometimes I complained to my father, but nothing ever changed.When I think about my childhood, I find many things missing. For me, play is one of the children’s basic needs. Through play, they learn teamwork, social skills, and good manners. It also helps their mental and physical growth. The freedom to make choices allows children to become independent and improve problem-solving skills. This leaves a positive impact on their mental growth, especially at a stage when they want to make their own decisions.When I was young, I often dreamed about how when I became a mother, I would make sure to give my daughter the opportunities I was denied.My elder daughter was born in 2015, just after I finished my Higher Secondary Certificate (HSC) exams. I was only eighteen years old, too young to understand motherhood, but I was overjoyed to have a girl child. Since then, I have been trying to give her all the support she needs and asks for, as long as it’s good for her. I just want to ensure that she never feels the dissatisfaction I felt in my childhood.With the help of my supportive husband, we converted a small space in our house into a playground for our daughter. Many girls and boys around our neighborhood play there too. We set up a badminton court where children of all ages and genders play together. The girls who are interested in sports feel especially valued here.My elder daughter has been passionate about martial arts since she was five. When I was young, my family would never have given permission—especially not with boys training alongside me. I dream of watching my daughter compete internationally one day.In our small city, there were no opportunities for my daughter to train in martial arts. She tried to learn from television and online programs, but to truly learn, she needed hands-on training.We often go on tours around the city and sometimes visit the district stadium during holidays. One day, we saw a national-level Wushu (Chinese martial arts) player, Mr. Motahar, teaching martial arts to his son. I asked if he could teach my daughter, but he said it would be too costly.So I suggested that he start a Wushu training center. I promised to help by recruiting students and promoting the center, and he finally agreed.In December 2022, he opened Motahar Wushu Academy at the indoor stadium in our town of Magura, with only five students. My daughter was among them. Today, nearly one hundred players train there, girls alongside boys. The coach often thanks me for encouraging him to open the academy and for the support I gave him at the beginning.Now, I feel proud. I could not change my own childhood, but I changed my daughter’s. I helped her dream grow, and I also helped a coach find his livelihood.My message is simple: children deserve freedom and love, not violence. And girls, especially, should be free to make their own choices. Let them play. Let them choose. Let them become who they are meant to be. STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

BANGLADESH: Let Her Play

The World is Making Me Feel Bad for Turning 38

INDIA: What is in a Name?

SWEDEN: My Beautiful Curly Hair Affirms My Authentic Existence

Arts & Culture

<h2>Ananya Grover shares how losing her father taught her that healing happens in community. Drawing on her own journey through grief, therapy, and menstrual health activism, she created HealCycle, an app that supports women’s mind-body health and wellness journeys.</h2> <blockquote>“Self-care is not just a personal act. It's also relational. It's about building spaces where healing can happen in community."</blockquote> In my final year of college, I lost my father. The grief was quiet but all-consuming. There were no dramatic breakdowns, no outward signs that something in my world had shifted irreversibly. Instead, I kept going — to lectures, research sessions, club meetings, student activities — believing that if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t fall apart.But eventually, the emotional backlog caught up with me. Pushing through wasn’t the same as healing. I learned, slowly and with difficulty, that care isn’t just something we offer to others — it’s something we have to learn to extend to ourselves.That realization didn’t come suddenly. It unfolded quietly, in the loneliness of my dorm room, in the weight that wouldn’t lift no matter how many things I achieved.Eventually, I went to see a therapist and joined a grief support group offered through my college’s counseling center. These spaces became lifelines.In them, I met others who had experienced similar losses — students who were grieving parents, siblings, friends.I realized I wasn’t alone.We cried together, sat in silence together, sometimes even laughed through our tears. Our pain spoke a language we all intuitively understood.Self-care, I learned, is not just a personal act. It’s also relational. It’s about building spaces where healing can happen in a community where we can show up not just as achievers or performers, but as whole, hurting, healing people.Somewhere between holding everything together and beginning to let go, I began conceiving the idea for HealCycle, a women’s menstrual and mental wellness app.At first, it was simply a way to stay afloat, to channel my energy into something meaningful, but the more I worked on it, the more I realized that this was deeply connected to my healing process.HealCycle began as a response to the needs I saw in myself and in the women around me.I’d long been involved with menstrual equity work, starting with a social campaign “Pravahkriti” in High School in India, which led to a TED Talk spreading the message of period positivity. But now, I saw the emotional and physical toll of hormonal imbalances and premenstrual disorders, especially when they overlapped with grief, stress, and the pressure to perform. I also saw how often women, especially married women and mothers, put their own health last, minimizing pain, delaying rest, and carrying on silently.The more I talked to other women — friends, classmates, and strangers — the more I realized how widespread this pattern was. So many of us were suffering quietly, adjusting our lives around symptoms like PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder), PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome), chronic fatigue, and mental health struggles, without ever feeling like we had the language or support to fully address them. We were functioning, but not flourishing.HealCycle became my way of imagining what care could look like for women like us — for people trying to balance pain with purpose, for those who don’t always have the words to ask for help, but still desperately need support. The platform is built on a simple but radical idea: that women’s health deserves to be taken seriously. That our cycles — hormonal, emotional, energetic — are not inconveniences to be suppressed, but vital rhythms that can guide us toward deeper well-being if we’re willing to listen.We’ve designed HealCycle to be cycle-aware, shame-free, and accessible, a space where women can track not just periods, but patterns of energy, mood, sleep, and stress.Where they can find resources, stories, and support tailored to the lived realities of menstrual and mental wellness.Where self-care is not a luxury, but a daily, doable practice.Over time, building HealCycle has helped me heal in ways I didn’t expect. It has reminded me that care is not a one-time intervention, but a practice. A discipline. An orientation toward ourselves and others that says: you matter. Your needs matter. Your pain is valid, and you don’t have to go through it alone.I’m still learning how to pause.To rest.To let care in, and to give it.Sometimes that means saying no to new projects or stepping away from my screen.Sometimes it means naming what I feel without trying to fix it right away.It’s not always easy, especially as a young woman founder trying to build a startup in the health and wellness space. But I bring that same mindset of honesty, slowness, and self-compassion to my work with HealCycle.Ultimately, both my personal and professional journeys have taught me that caring for our bodies and minds shouldn’t be an afterthought.That rest and resilience aren’t opposing forces, but deeply intertwined.And that healing, real healing, happens when we come together and hold space for one another.But this can’t just be my story — it has to be ours. Each of us has a role to play in reshaping how we approach care. That might look like:Checking in with the people in your life, not just when they’re visibly struggling, but in the quiet, invisible moments when they may be carrying more than they say.Normalizing conversations about cycles, hormones, and mental health so they’re not tucked away in shame or silence.Making rest legitimate — in our families, workplaces, and schools — by modeling it ourselves and affirming it in others.Creating and supporting spaces — whether it’s an app and community like HealCycle, support groups, or even circles of friends — where people can show up as their whole selves, without pressure to perform.If we can begin to do these small things consistently and together, we can start to transform how care is practiced and shared.Because healing isn’t an individual achievement, but a collective act: it begins with the everyday ways we show up for ourselves and for each other.Care, after all, is not just something we give or receive, but something we cultivate together — one cycle, one breath, one honest conversation at a time. STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

INDIA: When Grief Bloomed into A Cycle of Care for Women

<h2>Muniba began her studies with no computer, confidence, or clue how to code, but persistence turned her into a student others rely on.</h2><blockquote>If I can’t ace everything, I can still try, and that’s enough.</blockquote>How does it feel to sit in a room full of strangers, even though you’ve seen them every day, week after week? For me, it felt suffocating. As an isolated, introverted kid, even starting a conversation felt impossible. Asking for help felt like breaking a mountain into pieces.Trauma held me back from many things, including being steered away from computer science into general science.Still, I found my way back to computers in the 10th standard. I vividly remember my first day in the lab. I didn’t even know how to start the computer or open Microsoft Word. My classmates buzzed with questions for the teacher while I sat silent, my throat tight with tears.Before I could break down, the teacher came over to help. She was strict, but I admired her. I wanted nothing more than to impress her and stay in her good graces.Soon, we progressed to coding. I remember we received summer vacation homework to create a file with 20+ codes and understand them. My two-month break was filled with computer paper and colorful pens as I decorated my coding file just the way the teacher suggested. I felt proud of my creative work, yet I cried at night.At that time, I didn’t have a computer or laptop, making it impossible to practice as our teacher instructed. The taunts from my past echoed every time I forgot a step in a code. I broke down trying to learn all that coding.&nbsp;I was scared of disappointing my teacher and not passing my exam with flying colors, terrified that I had filled a whole register learning just those 20 codes. I filled an entire register trying to memorize those 20 codes, and it still never felt like enough.When school started, I presented my coding journal to the whole class. My heart raced, and the hair on my neck stood straight. But my teacher’s words made my heart swell with happiness: “This is one of the best creative journals in this batch,” she said. “I see you worked hard, Muniba.”For me, it was worth every tear and restless night I endured.As time passed, I became a popular student in my computer class due to my work. I became a known name in the computer class. I even carried my journal on non-computer days so classmates could ask for help. Every little interaction chipped away at my loneliness.Just before the finals, we had a grand test. I sat in the third row and prayed for code number four, the easiest. Instead, I got code eight — the longest, and the one I struggled with most. Worse still, I was the only one who received it.I tried to remember it, but halfway through my coding, I teared up because the test was worth 15 marks, which was too much for me to lose. I panicked, and tears streamed down my face. The sound of my sobs broke the pin-drop silence of the class, and I caught whispers and laughter directed at me.Head down, paper stained with tears, I looked up to see my teacher approach and ask what had happened. “I studied well,” I managed to say through hiccups, “but I forgot this. I don’t know what comes next…”My teacher looked at my paper and nodded. “You wrote much more than I expected from the students, since this one is really hard,” she said. “I’ll give you a chance; write down whatever other code you have studied, and I’ll give marks according to both.”I wanted fairness; I couldn’t just write one of my favorite codes and ace the test. I asked my teacher for another code number, and she gave me number twelve. It wasn’t easy either, but I got it right.That moment taught me something I carry to this day: If I can’t ace everything, I can still try, and that’s enough.That’s strength.I’m still not a tech wizard. Even today, when someone asks me to use Excel, Word, or Google Meet, I get confused. But I try. I learn. I believe. Because falling doesn’t make you weak.Giving up does.Sometimes, our biggest victories are hidden within our hardest days.&nbsp;Have you ever faced a moment where you almost gave up, but chose to try again anyway? Maybe in sharing, we can remind each other that strength isn’t in always winning, but in never losing hope.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

PAKISTAN: She Didn’t Know How to Start a Laptop. Now Her Classmates Ask Her for Help.

<h2>Once a teenager who dozed through computer class, Amira never imagined she'd become a computer science educator. Then she learned that coding could be a powerful canvas for creativity.</h2><blockquote>You don’t need to choose between art and engineering. You can be both. You can be more.</blockquote>As a teenager, I was deeply in love with art. I’d get lost in my sketches, in colors, in imagination. But when it came to computer science class? I slept through most of it, literally. It felt dry, technical, and far from the creative world I wanted to live in. I wasn’t a rebel, nor did I hate it. It was just meh: another subject, another lecture, another day.Until one day, my teacher, probably out of desperation, asked me to explain PowerPoint to the class. I remember standing up, feeling awkward, but somehow, everything went smoothly. The class listened. I wasn’t the best, but I did it. Still, I didn’t think much of it. It was just a moment. I returned to doodling in the margins of my notebook, unaware that something had quietly shifted inside me.Fast forward a few years: I graduated from high school with no clear path. Art still called to me, whispered to me in the quiet moments, but it didn’t seem “practical.” Society tells you to be “realistic.” So, like many others, I followed my parents’ advice. “Try computer science engineering,” they said. I didn’t feel excited or even interested.” Honestly?” I rolled my eyes. “Why would anyone choose this as a major?” I wondered. I told myself I’d switch later. That this was just temporary.But life has a way of leading us exactly where we’re meant to be.The first semester felt like I had landed on another planet. Binary numbers, algorithms, error messages — it was like learning a new language. And yet, there was something strangely familiar about the challenge. Maybe it was the way a small piece of logic could lead to a powerful outcome. Perhaps it was the invisible structure beneath the surface, like lines in a sketch guiding a masterpiece. I don’t know when it happened, but I stopped feeling lost one day. I started seeing possibilities.Year after year, I began to discover the beauty in code: the logic, the structure, the endless freedom to create. It wasn’t just commands and brackets. It was about building something from nothing. It was about giving shape to ideas, solving real problems, and — most importantly — connecting with others. I realized that programming is an art form of its own. It’s where creativity meets logic, where imagination is translated into apps, games, and tools that can change lives.And that’s when I truly fell in love with the process, language, and power that came from being able to build.I began teaching, building, and exploring. And for the first time, I found myself not only awake in class, but leading it. I started seeing my students the way I used to see myself: unsure, hesitant, unaware of their own potential. So, I made it my mission to awaken that potential. I didn’t want them to memorize code — I wanted them to feel what it could do. To see how it could bring their wildest ideas to life.Five years after graduation, I stand proud as a computer science educator. I use technology to empower students, bridge creativity with coding, and bring ideas to life. I’ve created activities that combine history with AR, puzzles with programming, biology with algorithms, and even social impact with app development. I design escape rooms with binary clues, let students code their own feedback bots, and encourage them to challenge each other with their creations.I’ve trained teachers, led workshops, and watched young girls light up when they realize, “I can build this. I can code this.” Those moments are everything to me.But more than the lessons and workshops, it’s about showing a new generation, especially young women, that they belong in tech. That creativity has many forms, and you don’t need to choose between art and engineering. You can be both. You can be more.If you had told 16-year-old me I’d one day be obsessed with computer science, I’d have laughed. But here I am, telling the world: if this isn’t the most important major, it’s certainly one of the most powerful because it gave me the tools to connect with others, innovate, problem-solve, and inspire.And that sleepy art girl? She never left. She just found a new canvas, one made of algorithms, dreams, and a whole lot of heart.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

United Arab Emirates: How an Accidental Engineer Found Art in Algorithms

<h2>Digital spaces can change lives, but Kurui says that until every woman and girl can access them, the world is missing out on important voices.</h2><blockquote>We can get our girls out to the world, one cellphone or laptop at a time.</blockquote>Joy and I had worked together on menstrual hygiene awareness events in 2024. She was the kind of person I felt like I’d known forever – someone who brings joy to every encounter.&nbsp;She recently told me how she had tried to show some of the girls from the event their photos on Instagram. As much as they were excited, they barely knew what Instagram was.&nbsp;She tried to tell them about the social media platform and even showed them on her cell phone. A few of them could relate based on a bit of experience on Facebook.&nbsp; But the concept of digital tools and platforms is still far-fetched for many of these rural women and girls.The experience made me think about how many women and girls’ stories and experiences are hidden from the world. Millions of women and girls go about life, beating the odds of societal norms, scraping through difficulties to get an education, either escaping or falling prey to harmful practices like FGM and early marriages. Still, their resilience through all of it might never be seen by anyone outside their small villages.Working with these young women and girls through their journey offers an opportunity to bring their stories to the world. But it gets difficult to capture their experiences. My conversation with Joy made me realize how posting photos from our events on Instagram or any other platform is just one step towards the goal of the world caring about the issues these young women and girls face.I imagined how it could be if they could post themselves and put their experiences in their own words. They’d give a true picture of what they are trying to overcome and build for a better future.They talk about this during mentorship sessions: They want to see a different world from what they’ve grown up in.Digital spaces have changed the world; they’ve connected people from every corner of our planet and allowed them to share their stories and support one another.Africa has not been left behind in the digital revolution, and so many lives have changed through stories, connections, and support. Education is becoming more accessible, and job opportunities are being created in digital spaces. But, there is still a significant gap in access and affordability to the tools, especially for women and girls who are often financially constrained.There also remain the obstacles of navigating digital safety concerns for women and girls, as the spaces have been turned into weapons to shame and attack them. Most young women have raised fears of avoiding the platforms because of safety concerns.Still, the benefits of using the internet to access the world and being visible outweigh the detriments. We need to accelerate more women and girls through training for digital skills to get the full benefits. With proper information on how to use the tools and platforms, these women and girls should get the power to be present where it matters and tell their stories.Joy called me back a few days ago with more good news. She has been training some girls out of high school on how to use a computer and the internet. As a volunteer, she decided to use her own laptop since the girls didn’t have access to computers or smartphones. Sometimes, we just need to appreciate and start with what we have instead of waiting for more. As an adage goes: a bird at hand is better than several in the bush.We can get our girls out to the world, one cellphone or laptop at a time.Every Saturday, a number of girls sit with Joy to learn digital skills. I’m glad I can contribute to their monthly internet connection. From small thoughts and ideas, women and girls around the world are changing their lives and narratives.&nbsp;I ponder my journey in the digital world since I joined World Pulse 16 years ago. I came across the platform on Google while searching for opportunities to support my education.It was a moment of despair as I’d dropped out of university due to financial constraints. But I look back at how fortunate I was to have internet access. I would go to a cyber café in my neighborhood and use any available coins to browse for opportunities.Though I never got a scholarship online, I was introduced to many other opportunities and connections through the internet. Through World Pulse, I met friends in Kenya and even one from the US. All these connections have shaped my world and contributed to my work. I draw inspiration and ideas from such experiences and what other women do in their communities.Let us purposefully bring our sisters who are still left behind in the digital world to the spotlight and afford them the opportunities we enjoy. “If you want to go faster, walk alone; but if you want to go further, walk with people." Our solidarity is our strength.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

KENYA: Bridging the Digital Gap for Rural Girls

<h2>As an IT engineer with a disability, Samia champions digital inclusion and describes technology as her ally.</h2><blockquote>The journey toward digital inclusion is not merely a technological endeavor but a moral imperative.</blockquote>In an ever-evolving digital landscape, access to technology has become synonymous with empowerment. Yet, amid the rapid advancements, there remains a significant gap in inclusion, particularly for women with disabilities. As we navigate the complexities of the digital age, it's imperative to recognize technology's transformative potential for marginalized communities.As an IT engineer and a woman with polio affecting my legs, I've experienced firsthand the profound impact that high-tech advancements can have on the lives of individuals with disabilities. Despite the physical challenges I faced, my determination to pursue a career in technology propelled me forward, opening doors to opportunities I once thought were beyond reach.With its endless possibilities, technology became my ally, offering solutions and accommodations that leveled the playing field. From assistive devices to specialized software, each innovation enhanced my capabilities and broadened my horizons. Through perseverance and innovation, I transformed obstacles into stepping stones, proving that disability does not define my potential.My journey is a testament to the power of resilience and the boundless opportunities that technology affords. As an advocate for digital inclusion, I've strived to inspire and support other women with disabilities to embrace their unique strengths and pursue their passions fearlessly.In the broader context, the digital divide remains a persistent challenge, disproportionately affecting marginalized communities worldwide. Women with disabilities, in particular, face intersecting barriers that hinder their access to education, employment, and social inclusion. However, by harnessing the transformative power of technology, we can bridge this gap and create a more inclusive society.It's essential to recognize that true progress lies in technological advancements and fostering a culture of inclusivity and accessibility. From developing accessible digital platforms to implementing inclusive policies, every step toward digital inclusion brings us closer to a more equitable future.As we strive to build a society where everyone has the opportunity to thrive, the stories of individuals like myself offer hope and inspiration. Through innovation, determination, and collective action, we can unlock the full potential of every individual, regardless of their abilities or circumstances.The journey toward digital inclusion is not merely a technological endeavor but a moral imperative. By embracing diversity and supporting women with disabilities, we enrich our communities and unlock untapped talent and creativity. Together, let’s embark on this journey toward a more inclusive and equitable digital future.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller! <a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Learn more</a>.

Embracing Digital Inclusion: Supporting Women with Disabilities in the Tech Era

Technology

<h2>Sheryl shares how women in her Papua New Guinea village are challenging the traditional week-long menstrual isolation by advocating for open education and discussion.</h2><blockquote>As women like my cousins and I bridge traditional and modern worlds, we're helping write a new chapter for Papua New Guinea's daughters.</blockquote>My name is Sheryl, and I am from Kosakosa, a small, beautiful village along the coast of Papua New Guinea that is rich in customs and traditions. When a girl gets her first period, my village holds a traditional practice passed down through generations.When menstruation begins, mothers and aunties place girls in an initiation house for about a week. The belief is that a woman's first period makes her unclean, requiring separation from men and boys to protect the community. During this isolation, the girl lives apart from her family while her mother and aunties care for her, teaching her about the responsibilities of womanhood.The restrictions are extensive and symbolic. She cannot touch her own body or hold food with her hands — eating only with utensils and scratching her itch with bamboo sticks. School attendance stops until her menstruation ends, with parents informing teachers their daughter will be absent due to her first period.The community believes that failing to follow these traditions will bring lifelong challenges. Girls must not come close to men nd boys because of the traditional belief that menstruating women can make them sick or weaken their masculine strength. Even using the toilet requires her to cover her entire body to remain unseen. Washing is permitted only in the early morning or evening in the dark.After a week, when her period ends, the cleansing ritual begins. Mothers and aunties gather special leaves from the bush for washing. This occasion is also a celebration for the family marking the transition of their daughter into womanhood.Once the initiation is complete, she can touch food with her hands and assist her mother with household duties.When I got my first period, I did not go through the whole initiation process because we lived in town. However, I was advised by my mother not to touch anything with my hands or even scratch my skin. I ate using a fork and spoon, but I was able to attend school. My cousins in the village, on the other hand, went through the complete initiation process.This traditional practice is still actively observed in my village and throughout Papua New Guinea, where menstruation has historically been shrouded in silence, a pattern that persists in many areas today.Yet change is emerging. Today, many people, especially women, are challenging the cultural barriers by educating both females and males about the menstrual cycle. Women have been advocating for open discussions about menstruation and working to normalize this topic, which is seen as taboo in Papua New Guinea communities.This advocacy represents hope for a brighter future for women, girls, and mothers across Papua New Guinea. As women like my cousins and I bridge traditional and modern worlds, we're helping write a new chapter for Papua New Guinea's daughters — one where understanding replaces fear, and education illuminates what was once hidden in silence.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

PAPUA NEW GUINEA: From Isolation to Education, Breaking the Silence Around Menstruation

<h2>At 14, NyarAwange’s first period at school caused fear and shame. Her mother’s pep talk inspired her to pass on lessons to the next generation.</h2><blockquote>My mother explained the possibility of having cramps and told me to lie down, not to overthink, and to let nature be.</blockquote>You would think all those talks about menstruation would prepare you for your first period. For me, they didn't. I was 14. Adolescence was taking shape nicely. Hips broadening. Breasts enlarging. School officials called senior girls in for a pep talk on periods and period hygiene. They also gave us a sample of pads or tampons from the brand that sponsored the talks. There was so much shame in having your period back then.We used to hide our pad samples from the boys who did nothing but point and laugh at us. And even when we hid them, they would always say "hata mkizificha tunajua mumepewa pads za ma piri." (Even though you hide them, we know you have been given pads for the periods). Some curious ones came to ask what they look like. Some confident girls would show them. The rest of us would cringe and respond with hostility, saying it was none of their business.Why were we so ashamed of such a natural occurrence? Back then, in the early 90s, our parents didn't quite educate us on matters of sexuality. All we were told when we began our periods was that we needed to be clean and not "play with boys" because we could get pregnant. Our hawk-eyed mothers would swoop in on any boys who were trying to be too familiar with their daughters and sternly warn them to stay away.The shame many of us felt around puberty stemmed largely from misinformation and a lack of open conversation. Sex education was often gender-segregated and awkward, with laughter used to mask discomfort or deflect attention from our own body changes.My first experience was in class. I was sitting down, and when I stood up from my seat, I felt an unfamiliar breeze. My backside was wet. I froze in horror, sitting back down and subtly running a hand down the back of my tunic. Lo and behold, it came back red! I was confused and mortified.I never removed my sweater, no matter how hot it got, because my breasts had begun to show, and some naughty boys would elbow me in the chest on purpose. There's no need to mention how badly that hurt. Still, I removed my sweater, wrapped it around my waist, and went to the girls' bathroom. I washed my hands and fumbled with the pad until I placed it firmly on my panties.We all got a chance to try it at home after the talks, but I was uncertain, as I had never done this before.There was also the tension of leakage from the pad. One was never sure enough that they hadn't stained their tunic. We wanted to check every time. Thankfully, my first experience didn't come with menstrual cramps.The pad was thick. I had previously heard jokes about people's pads falling down during activities like walking, running, or jumping. I never wanted that to happen to me.I wrapped my sweater around my waist again to cover my period stain. I couldn't wait for lunch break to rush home and wash up like nothing had happened. I think I walked like a duck for the first few steps before I adjusted to the fact that this would be my life. I would walk with a "thing" stuck on my panties. What a nightmare it was. I walked back to class and was unusually quiet.The nosy ones began to wonder why I had finally taken off my sweater. I snapped at them. Nobody prepared me for the mood swing. Some knew. They murmured among themselves that I had "started.” Some were friendly enough to tell me they started before me. I felt some comfort. I asked them questions I was too shy to ask. But they told me not to be ashamed. They would cover for me.I sat in the next lesson in utter discomfort, waiting for the bell to ring. The bell would signal lunch break and my freedom from the torment between my legs. I went home, walking slowly out of fear my pad would fall. (Yes. Back then, they didn't have wings).I got home later than usual, ran straight to the bedroom, and picked up my towel. I wrapped it around me and went to the bathroom to bathe. My mom was home that day and knew something wasn't right, but she waited for me to finish before she intervened. I got a fresh uniform out and frantically tried to iron it before time ran out. I only had an hour, and 40 minutes had already gone by."Daughter, come, let's have this talk." I went to where she was sitting, and she finally put it down for me in a way that was so relatable. I felt at ease when I explained my side of things, and she had a good answer that would allay my fears. She gave me a fresh packet of pads as a welcome gift to womanhood. I was happy.My mother told me that periods are a normal part of growing up, something all my sisters had gone through, and nothing to fear. She explained that my body was now capable of becoming a mother, and that menstruation marks the transition from girlhood to womanhood. The blood, she said, was a cushion the womb had prepared in case of pregnancy. Since I hadn’t had sex, my body was shedding that cushion to prepare a new one for the next month.She explained I might feel pain in my lower back and stomach as the uterus contracts, but that I could take painkillers to ease the discomfort. Some days would be heavy, some light, and I might still bleed slightly even after my period seemed to end. She emphasized the importance of hygiene — showering twice a day, wiping properly, and changing my pad every two hours to avoid odor.She showed me again how to place a pad, check it during school breaks, and dispose of it properly without flushing. Finally, she let me skip my evening chores and told me to rest, which made me feel cared for and calm.By the time our talk was over, I was late for school by about 20 minutes. She told me she would speak with my teacher the next day. She allowed me to stay at home and settle in, allowing me to feel at ease. My mother explained the possibility of having cramps and told me to lie down, not to overthink, and to let nature be. I kept running to the toilet to check and change my pad, even when it wasn't used enough.Now, as a grown woman, I’m ready to pass these lessons on to the next generation, so they won’t feel as lost as I once did. I’ll share both the challenges and the beauty of it all, breaking it down so they understand and feel prepared for womanhood.I’ve already started with my daughter. She’s far more confident about her period health than we were and knows she can always come to me with questions.Menstrual education in Kenya has undergone significant improvement. Today, both boys and girls are more informed and supportive, and parents are more open to discussing menstruation and reproductive health. With access to the internet, books, period-tracking apps, and calendars, girls are better prepared than previous generations.A sweet trend among young couples is the "period package" — pads, wipes, painkillers, and treats — bought by boyfriends to comfort their girlfriends during their periods.I encourage parents to learn and talk openly with their children about menstruation. Kids should hear this from someone they trust. If a father feels uncomfortable talking to his daughter, he can invite a trusted woman to help, ideally with him present. Including sons in these conversations can also reduce period stigma and foster empathy.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

KENYA: My Mother Turned My Period Panic Into a Moment of Care

<h2>Menstruation remains a taboo subject for many girls in Nigeria until they open up to an adult they trust: the school nurse.</h2><blockquote>These stories highlight the importance of comprehensive menstrual health education and support within our schools.</blockquote>Menstruation is a pivotal aspect of adolescent girls' lives, yet it remains shrouded in silence, stigma, and misinformation. As a school nurse in Nigeria, I've encountered a spectrum of experiences among students — each shaped by cultural beliefs, health challenges, and access to information. These stories highlight the importance of comprehensive menstrual health education and support within our schools.During healthcare sessions with my secondary school students, I received their consent to share the following stories.&nbsp;Chika's first encounter with menstruation was marked by confusion and fear. At 12, she experienced her first period without any prior knowledge or preparation. Her mother, unaware of the importance of early education on this topic, had never discussed menstruation with her. When Chika got her first period, she thought she was seriously ill and kept it to herself. It was only when she confided in a friend that she learned about menstruation. This lack of preparation led to anxiety and a sense of isolation during her initial menstrual cycles.Amina's experience was marked by severe menstrual pain, known as dysmenorrhea. Each month, she endures intense abdominal cramps that often incapacitate her, leading to frequent admissions to the school clinic. These episodes can last up to three days, causing her to miss classes and fall behind in her studies. Despite seeking medical attention, the pain remains a persistent challenge, affecting her academic performance and overall well-being.In contrast, Ngozi's family adheres to a longstanding tradition of using large tissue paper as menstrual absorbents. Her mother insists on this practice, believing it to be the best method. Despite my efforts to educate Ngozi about modern sanitary products and the importance of hygiene, Ngozi remains steadfast in her family's customs. This situation highlights the impact of cultural practices on menstrual health choices and the challenges of implementing change.Blessing's caregiver, who looks after the 12-year-old girl living with cerebral palsy, didn't realize when Blessing's period started. One day, noticing her stained uniform, the caregiver helped clean her up and provided a sanitary pad. Blessing stayed home for five days afterward, though her mother confirmed she was fine when checked on.Bimbo said her mother has imposed strict dietary restrictions during her menstruation, prohibiting the consumption of groundnuts and sugar. According to her mother, these foods can cause menstrual blood to become heavy and emit an unpleasant odor. Bimbo finds these restrictions burdensome and dislikes the days she menstruates due to the associated dietary limitations and the stigma surrounding her period. She asked,&nbsp; “What is the relationship between eating groundnuts and sugar on menstrual health? Other girls eat groundnuts and sugar, too. Why shouldn't I?”Ifeoma's story is one of silent suffering. She experiences irregular menstrual cycles and often uses unsanitary materials due to financial constraints. Her condition has led to recurrent infections and a sense of shame, as she is reluctant to discuss her situation with anyone except the school nurse. Ifeoma's experience highlights the intersection of poverty, a lack of education, and inadequate access to menstrual hygiene products.These diverse experiences reveal a common thread. As a school nurse, I believe every girl deserves accurate information, access to safe menstrual products, and a supportive environment where menstruation is met with understanding instead of shame.I urge school leaders, parents, and policymakers to prioritize menstrual health education, provide free or subsidized sanitary products, and create safe spaces where girls can ask questions without fear of judgment. Our girls are ready to speak—now we must listen, support, and take concrete action to ensure no girl suffers in silence.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

NIGERIA: Girls Speak Out on the Stigma and Struggles of Menstruation

<h2>After her father helped her with her first period, Nkanghe Sonita Gohla says all parents have a crucial role to play in supporting girls.</h2><blockquote>I'm living beyond the stigma. I'm living beyond the myths. I'm living beyond period poverty. I'm walking in a menstruation-normalized life. – Nkanghe Sonita Gohla</blockquote>I was just 14 years old when I came home from school, went to the toilet to relieve myself, and found blood on my pants. I had no idea what was happening and had never heard about menses. All I could do was throw my underwear in the toilet and pick out a new pair while I added toilet tissue to observe if it would repeat itself.&nbsp;I thought of panicking but had to stay calm because I loved to be called a strong girl. So I returned to the living room, sat calmly, and waited for my dad to come home. When I told him what had happened, he laughed and went out again. Confused, I found more reasons to worry.&nbsp;Fifteen minutes later, he returned with a black nylon and a pack in it. He explained that I was now a woman and would have this experience every month until I got old. He taught me then and there how to use the sanitary pad and sent me to put it on, warning me never to use anything else.&nbsp;When my mom returned, I told her all that had happened, and she went for cloths to give me because that's how she was brought up. She said she didn’t want me to use sanitary pads –&nbsp;that my dad couldn't provide them regularly, especially with my two kid sisters who would join me in the journey later on.&nbsp;I followed my dad's instructions because he was a nurse and I knew he was knowledgeable, but he only gave me the first sanitary pad package. The next cycle, he couldn't give me another due to financial constraints.&nbsp;My mom gave me reusable pieces of cloth without teaching me how to care for them. After each use, I discarded them and went for the next. When she noticed and scolded me about it, my dad stepped in. He found a way to get more sanitary pads for me and made sure I used them correctly.&nbsp;When my mates heard my dad was the one supporting me with my period, I became the laughingstock of my school. My classmates believed that mothers were the ones responsible for handling this aspect of their daughters’ lives and fathers weren’t supposed to be aware or involved.When I spoke with my dad about it, he told me all parents should be involved in that aspect of girls’ lives so the girls can make the right decisions for themselves. I had to stand bolder before my peers in the face of mockery. They finally gave up.&nbsp;With my experience, I became interested in supporting teenage girls as they grew up. I was active in a church group called 3H Girls, where girls of all ages receive social, spiritual, and health education to be better versions of themselves. I finished my secondary education and went into nursing, where I further developed my public health and wellness skills.Starting up my nursing career exposed me to women's health. From there, I set the goal of teaching girls about menstruation and ensuring they expressed themselves freely. I focus on girls’ church gatherings, educating them on menstrual hygiene and self-breast examinations. It’s been heartening for me to see teenagers being curious and able to express their challenges and the stories they hear.I intend to amplify my strategies by reaching out to girls and partnering with organizations with similar goals, reaching many more girls and bridging the gap between menstrual myths, stigma, and menstrual poverty to ensure menstruation becomes a normal part of life by 2030.&nbsp;I'm living beyond the stigma.I'm living beyond the myths.&nbsp;I'm living beyond period poverty.I'm walking in a menstruation-normalized life.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">&nbsp;Learn more.</a>

CAMEROON: Why My Menstrual Experience Motivates Me to Help Young Girls

<h2>Samina Namoji believes education can break the silence and stigma around menstruation.</h2><blockquote>“It is rightly said that to make the change, we must be the change. Hence when I became a mother to two boys, I decided to educate them about periods instead of treating them like a taboo topic.“ – Samina Namoji </blockquote>As we stood in line for our school assembly and the sun shined brightly in our faces, I heard a gasp. "Oh no, look at her dress,” the girl standing in front of me said. “She's got it.” She pointed to a girl a line or two ahead of us, and her friend leaned forward and also gasped. Suddenly everyone whispered and pointed in that direction.&nbsp;Curiosity got the better of me, and I stood on my tiptoes. To my horror, this girl's white PE uniform had a big blood stain on it. Older students jumped into action and informed the teachers, who promptly whisked the girl away. Over the next few days, this incident became a hot topic of conversation. It was also my first introduction to periods.&nbsp;New to all this, I had no idea what had happened or what all the commotion was about. All I could think of was whether this poor girl suffered from a deadly disease and if she would die or overcome it. When I saw her healthy and well a few weeks later, I breathed a sigh of relief.I could only fully comprehend what had happened to the girl much later in my life when I got my first period. As I embarked on this journey and my mom handed me my first sanitary napkin, I remembered when I had stumbled upon her secret ––&nbsp;her stash of sanitary napkins hidden under her clothes. While I was trying to make sense of the sanitary napkin, she quickly pulled it out of my hands and put it away. “This is not something to play with or take outside the room,” she said.I didn’t understand what my mother shrouded in secrecy at the time. But once I got my period, I had the freedom to ask her all the questions I had tucked away for so long. And I asked one after the other!I was mortified when my mom told me she, her mother, and other women used cotton cloths before the sanitary napkin was widely available. After washing these cotton cloths, they hung them in designated areas of their laundry rooms to dry. When I asked her how they managed their periods during school, trips, or special occasions, she smiled and said they didn’t go out during their periods.&nbsp;Menstruation taboos linger today. Some countries prohibit women from attending religious functions and entering places of worship during menstruation.&nbsp;In other places, a menstruating woman moves into a separate room for the duration of her cycle, and someone will bring her a special meal devoid of spices or salt. Scientifically speaking, menstruating women and girls are asked to eat food devoid of salt and spices, as this kind of food can cause water retention in the body, further leading to bloating. It can irritate your stomach and aggravate cramps. But I firmly believe this shouldn't be imposed as a strict law.&nbsp;Elsewhere, people think they can be contaminated just by touching pickles with a menstruating woman. As this food is considered sacred, menstrual blood is believed to contaminate the pickles.It comes as no surprise that girls seldom seek help or support with their periods. Many girls haven’t had the luxury of someone explaining menstruation or how their bodies change during puberty. Rather, people often tell them how impure and sinful they are.&nbsp;It’s taboo to talk about periods. They're called everything from “chums” to “Auntie Flo” to “that time of the month.” Women and girls will simply say, “I have my P.” The challenge lies in overcoming the stigma surrounding menstruation and making people understand that it is nothing shameful but a natural biological process of the human body.It is rightly said to make the change, we must be the change. Hence when I became a mother to two boys, I decided to educate them about periods instead of treating them like a taboo topic. We openly discuss every question they have about the human body, ensuring they get all the correct facts rather than listening to some old wives' tales.&nbsp;Our open conversations have significantly impacted my boys’ perception of periods. My monthly cycles are marked by more empathy and care from them. They don’t shy away from making me as comfortable as possible, taking over my household chores, and giving me more time to rest. I hope and pray that they will continue to shower the same compassion and care to other women around them. If they can do so, I would consider my parenting to be a job well done.&nbsp;Tearing down the stigma surrounding periods starts with proper education. Teaching boys about periods will help them understand and empathize with what women go through during menstruation – for example, many boys think that periods are gross and that girls should control their bleeding. Constructive discussions help eradicate these preconceived notions.&nbsp;When we provide long-term solutions like proper education and a better understanding of menstruation, all people will be able to thrive and not just survive. Nongovernmental organizations must impart proper menstrual hygiene and safe disposal practices at the grassroots level.&nbsp;Schools and homes should be equipped with toilets and proper sanitation to ensure that no girl misses school because of her period. Countries must address the value-added tax levied on tampons and other menstrual hygiene products.Let’s shed taboos and spread awareness in our communities to normalize periods.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);"> Learn more.</a>

OMAN: Why Are Periods Such a Taboo? 

How Journaling Gets Me Through

Health

<h2>From growing up with a disability in a rural community to becoming an award-winning advocate, Jemimah Kutata defies societal barriers and transforms lives in Kenya.&nbsp;</h2><blockquote>“Disability is a club that anyone can join at any time. My motto as a woman with a disability is: I am loud, proud, and passionate!” –Jemimah Kutata</blockquote>I'm a&nbsp;woman with a disability who walks with elbow crutches and a leg brace. I come from a marginalized community called the Maasai people, who don’t believe in educating girls. Being a girl with a disability from that community made me a triple tragedy.I was a healthy child until age 5 when my parents took me to the hospital for a cough. After the doctor hit my sensory nerves while giving me an injection, I could not walk or play with other children. Later, I could not collect firewood or fetch water like the teenage girls.Life was unbearable because we did not have physiotherapists and doctors who understood different disabilities. Living in a rural, remote area, many children with disabilities died. My family put up a parallel wooden bar for me to use. In the morning and evening, they massaged me with animal fat warmed by firewood to stimulate my muscles. I dreamed of getting assistive devices.&nbsp;I strongly desired to attend school, so whenever the boys returned home, I would ask them to teach me what they had learned. Since I, as a girl child, wasn't allowed to have a book, I would write down the lessons on the soil. As the years passed, I gradually became proficient in English and learned to write my name.&nbsp;One day, a World Vision officer passed by our home and noticed my intelligence, despite my physical disability that prevented me from walking. The officer urged my parents to send me to a boarding school far from our home. Given our family's status as peasant farmers, finding an organization to cover my school fees felt like a miracle.School life was not easy for me, as I was the only student with a disability. Some students mistakenly believed that I was sick, while others chose not to associate with me out of fear that they might also acquire a disability. I decided to transform these challenges into opportunities. While my peers were waking up at 6 a.m., I made it a point to rise at 4 a.m. This allowed me to shower in a dry bathroom before it became wet and gave me extra time to study.&nbsp;As a result, I gained favor with my teachers, and my academic performance excelled, ultimately leading to my appointment as a class prefect. This accomplishment served as a great source of motivation for me. But unfortunately, fee issues frequently disrupted my education, causing me to be in and out of school. World Vision paid the admission and first-term school fees, and the Christian Children Fund of Australia supported me for two years before the funding ended.I took the knowledge and skills I had acquired home, having learned about the dangers of female genital mutilation. In 1993, I became the first woman with a disability to fight FGM. Our home served as a rescue center for girls with disabilities who could not escape the threat. Despite my own disability, I possess a strong passion for transforming lives. I took a community development and social work course and am still pursuing a degree in development studies to help me serve the community well.&nbsp;In 2005, I recognized that women and girls with disabilities face similar challenges, and I founded a group that eventually grew into a community-based organization called Mona&nbsp;Disabled Women. Mona means together, with Mo standing for Mombasa and representing coastal members and Na standing for Nairobi and representing upcountry members. We train girls on their basic human rights, sexual and reproductive health, and economic empowerment to enable them to be independent. Additionally, we mentor champions who advocate for the rights of women, girls, and children with disabilities.In 2016, Mobility International USA (MIUSA) recognized my work with women in rural and remote areas. They sponsored me for a three-week women's leadership training program in Eugene, Oregon. Additionally, in December of that year, with the support of Christoffel Blindenmission from Germany, I launched a book on inclusion called <a href="https://www.cbm.org/news/news/news-2016/cbm-launches-book-inclusion-counts-the-economic-case-for-disability-inclusive-development-at-the-european-parliament/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">Inclusion Counts</a> at the European Parliament.I am an award-winning disability rights advocate and transformative leader specializing in diversity and inclusion. I am passionate about promoting sex and reproductive health and addressing gender-based violence faced by women living in rural and remote areas.I dream of seeing a barrier-free society for all women, especially those with disabilities. Disability and poverty walk hand in hand, and women and girls with disabilities are at the bottom of the development pyramid. I dream of getting partners to join me in changing the lives of women and girls with disabilities in Kenya. Together, we can achieve this by focusing on capacity building, ensuring their fundamental human rights are upheld, fostering economic and political empowerment, and providing adequate housing, as many currently reside in slums.Disability is a club that anyone can join at any time. My motto as a woman with a disability is: I am loud, proud, and passionate!STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: I'm Breaking Disability Barriers

Let Love Lead: Including People with Albinism

How I Help People with Disabilities Thrive

NIGERIA: My Story Proves We Must Invest in People with Disabilities

CAMEROON: Traveling While Hearing Impaired

CAMEROON: Why We Should Leave No One Behind

INDIA: Creating a More Accessible World for People with Disabilities

DENMARK: Fighting an Uphill Battle Alone

PANAMA: Chronicles of a Resilient Life

CAMEROON: Breaking the Shackles of Disability

INDIA: I Am Powerful, Beautiful, and Paraplegic

US: Reclaiming My Imperfect Brain Through Art

CAMEROON: I Will Not Let Disability Silence Me

CAMEROON: Through Technology, I’m Transforming the Disability Community

CAMEROON: Technology Gives Deaf Girls a Voice

Disability Justice

<h2>Dr. Aninda Sidhana’s journey through infertility, medical trauma, and domestic violence reveals the hidden cost of cultural silence and the resilience it takes to survive.</h2><blockquote>​​"A divorced daughter is far better than a dead daughter—or one who is dying every day in silence.'’</blockquote>Today, my body trembled. A conversation about Diwali (the Hindu festival of lights) and being my niece's birthday brought the memories flooding back. A hematoma appeared again, and with it, a surge so violent I could barely breathe. It was a portal to a time when my body was a battleground, my silence a survival strategy, and my worth measured in injections and expectations.Every morning during those years, I woke to pain. Not just the physical ache from IVF and IUI treatments, but the emotional weight of pretending everything was perfect, that we were the happiest couple. I wore my brave face like armor, moving through the world as if I were just another woman waiting for motherhood. But behind closed doors, I was enduring a quiet war.The pressure to conceive began the moment I got married. My in-laws wanted a child, specifically a male heir or twins, but refused to fund the treatments. In our bedroom, a photo of my husband's child from his previous marriage loomed like a reminder of what I hadn't delivered yet. I was prescribed hCG injections and clomiphene citrate —fertility drugs meant to stimulate ovulation and increase the chances of twins—before we'd even tried naturally. My body was not mine. It was a vessel, a project, a test.When my husband left me at my parents’ house, I told myself it was only temporary, that he was just overwhelmed. But he vanished. I kept up the performance—smiling, saying we were just waiting for the right time. But the truth was darker.One day after he insisted on drinking and driving, I expressed fear. "Home is just 40 kilometers away," I told him. "You can go and drink after reaching." He responded with violence. Bruises bloomed on my thighs. He left me there, and I lied to my gynecologist about the marks, carrying both the bruises and the silence.I found solace in small things, playing with my niece, clinging to moments of innocence.Even my parents couldn't help me; my uncle's battle against cancer consumed them. I went to the procedures alone. I faced hysteroscopy while my uncle—who was like a father to me and had performed my kanyadan (marriage ritual) at my wedding—was critically ill, battling between death and life. My husband would show up for a few hours, then disappear again. I was alone in every sense.The waiting periods after treatments were unbearable. I asked to come home. They said I was "irritating," that I "didn't earn," that I "didn't do anything.", and I was a burden. I was suffocating, but they told me to stay away.I got pregnant twice. Both times ended in miscarriage.The second miscarriage happened two years ago, on Diwali. I discovered a small dustbin filled with used syringes and condoms—evidence of betrayal I didn't fully process in the moment. At first, I didn't understand what I was seeing. As a psychosexual medicine specialist, my clinical mind tried to rationalize it: the syringes for his addictions, the hormonal fog from IVF clouding my judgment. Then reality broke through: Why condoms when I hadn't been here for three months?When I asked my husband to empty the dustbin because it looked embarrassing, something in him snapped. He locked the door, disconnected the intercom, and beat me so badly I bled from my head. It was 3 PM. His parents witnessed it all, just stood there. They didn’t say a single word.There was no humanity in that house. His father brought him a bag full of alcohol to "cool down."His mother came to me every fifteen minutes asking me to cook for him because he was drinking on an empty stomach and might get acidity. I was bleeding from my head, my face swollen and deformed, yet she worried about his digestion.At first, I just cried. I didn’t reply. But when I saw my face in the mirror, blood trickling down, my face deformed, I finally told her, “Please, can’t you see my face is paralyzed and you're worried about his acidity?”They handed him alcohol while I bled. They asked me to cook because "Raja Beta will get acidity." That sentence still echoes in my bones. In India, Raja Beta refers to a son who is pampered and treated like a prince, shielded from responsibility, and excused for mistakes.There are no words for that kind of cruelty, the moment you realize your pain is invisible to those who should protect you.I wasn't just abandoned. I was even forced to get ready for the Diwali pooja. They locked the doors, took my phone so I couldn't run or call for help, as if nothing had happened. I was frozen and numb.When I finally asked for a divorce, they dismissed my injuries. "It was just a hematoma," they said. A 40ml blood collection on the right side of my face that took three months to resolve. His parents told me, "He has an anger issue. We informed you on your second day of marriage. But he's so rich and handsome. Who will marry you if you divorce?”. In India, a divorced daughter is a stigma. “Besides, we chose you because you're a psychiatrist who can take care of both sons." His younger brother had treatment-resistant schizophrenia.At the time, both miscarriages devastated me. Now, I see those losses as a strange mercy. If I'd carried those pregnancies to term, I might have remained trapped in that abusive life forever.My mother-in-law, a renowned gynecologist, never once visited me during treatment. IVF specialists were terrified to take my case because of her reputation. When treatments failed, they blamed my weight and age.. No one considered that my husband's substance use (alcohol, smoking, cannabis) might be a factor. Even when he agreed to a sperm test, my mother-in-law refused to allow it. The blame stayed with me.This was my secret struggle: a life curated for appearances while I endured medical trauma, emotional abandonment, physical abuse, and total isolation. I was scared of a single injection, yet I endured hundreds. I was told I was worthless, yet I kept going. I was alone, yet I survived.Today, when the memory haunted me, my body remembered. It trembled. It froze. But I didn't.I wrote this to unfreeze the silence. To say: This is my truth. I was there. I lived it. And I'm still here. Your pain is real, your story matters, and you are not alone.The most dangerous people are not those who do evil, but those who watch it and call it normal. A narcissist's biggest enabler is often the mother who refuses to see.I dream of turning my life story into a Bollywood film, to show the world that domestic violence is a reality, that divorce is not a stigma. I dream of a world where men are allies, where sons are raised to see women as equals, where men can speak about emotions without shame, and where "Raja beta" culture is replaced with mutual respect.Domestic violence is a pandemic. We only talk about it when it happens to celebrities, but it's happening everywhere. And no caste, creed, educational status, or financial status is spared.A divorced daughter is far better than a dead daughter, or one who dies a little every day.For every woman who's been told to cook while she bleeds. For every survivor who's been silenced by "Raja Beta" culture.This is for you.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

INDIA: My Secret Struggle with Fertility and Abuse

<h2>From child labor and stolen innocence to university graduation, Eniola Oluranti survived what should have broken her. Now she's using everything she earns to send other children to school.</h2> <blockquote>"I recently settled and made peace with the fact that my childhood was stolen from me."</blockquote>My name is Eniola Oluranti, and this is the story of how I rose above sexual assaults, child labor, childhood trauma, and verbal and emotional abuse to earn a degree from one of the most prestigious universities in Nigeria.I am from what we may perhaps call the most humbling background—we were a family of nine living in just one room. I was only seven years old when my grandmother came to take me away from my parents because of my constant illness. She took me away because she believed that was the only way I could live.My maternal grandmother was also struggling, and the only way we could make ends meet was through her petty trades. She sold seasonal fruits, daily necessities, and any goods she could find to make money.At the age of eight, I was introduced to child labor, too young to understand there was even a word for it, but I remember clearly how my grandmother had me do the same work adults did just to put food on their tables.My routines were simple: either I was doing menial jobs, or I was hawking whatever goods she had to sell.I started school on the condition that I would work each day to earn money for the next day’s schooling. This may sound like an adult's reality, but my grandmother raised and trained me as one. She believed the world was too cruel, and the only way I could survive was if she trained me in that way.I hawked at every corner of my street and its neighboring streets. Some adults were nice, some were mean, some treated me with kindness, but others did not. Some bought from me, and some stole from me. Men old enough to be my uncle or father spanked my butt on countless occasions. Even though they were strangers, they would tell me I was like their child, and claimed they had the right to scold me.This life of hustle and strife went on for a couple of years. My grandmother was a lover of education, but she didn’t have enough to sponsor me through school. It sank into me that if I wanted a quality education, I had to work.My grandmother taught me how to read and write, bought me prose fiction in the Yoruba language, and made me write letters to my father whenever she visited my parents.I didn't get to grow up with my siblings, build family bonds, or share any meaningful childhood memories with them.My grandmother died in 2005, marking the beginning of a life spent moving from one family to another. My childhood and teenage years became even more chaotic. It was much harder to go to school after she died; living with different families was an entirely different experience.My days in secondary school were rough. I won't bore you with details of how I would trek miles to school on an empty stomach, or sit on the classroom floor because I couldn't afford to bring my own chair to school.On one particular occasion, I was raped while trying to look for a job. The man who had promised me work didn't have any job to offer me; he only lured me there to have his way with me. On another occasion, my boss assaulted me in his office, and I lost my job a few days later because I refused to sleep with him.I paused my education for a few years after secondary school to work and save money so I could help set my younger siblings up with vocational skills to empower them. The sacrifice caused me to sweat and bleed, but it was worth it.I struggled to enter university, but the troubles didn’t end there. I worked hard to make ends meet, juggling small businesses to keep myself in school. I received some help here and there, but much of it came with conditions I refused to accept.The sexual assaults didn't stop—they worsened, with lecturers willing to take advantage of the academic power they held.My first semester in my final year was traumatic: a powerful lecturer wanted to have his way with me and threatened to make me fail with everything he had in his power. I went to bed countless nights, soaking my pillows in tears. I could barely eat. I became a shadow of myself. I couldn't tell my friends because I didn't know what would happen if I did.I endured deep emotional and mental torture. I had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for my education to get where I was, and yet a man’s inability to control his sexual urges would have cost me all those years of hardship and hard work.I managed to graduate with my classmates, but it was a war.I have recently settled and made peace with the fact that my childhood was stolen from me.For as long as I can remember, I have taken it upon myself to send a child to school from whatever income I earn. I started by buying basic school materials and later moved on to paying school fees. My goal has always been to make sure that any less privileged child who crosses my path has access to quality education.The greatest step we can all take is to ensure that every child has access to quality education without the barriers I faced.Today, I support three children in secondary school and another in university. While I don't yet have the resources to build the free school I dream of, I have started with what I have.My dream is to build the biggest free school in the world, so that every out-of-school child on the street can have access to both formal and vocational education.Against all odds, I became an education champion! STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

NIGERIA: My War As A Child Laborer

<h2>Born into a culture where female genital mutilation is a rite of passage, Nancy is calling to protect girls everywhere.</h2><blockquote>As I grew older, I realized the severity of this practice and how it strips away our dignity and rights as women.</blockquote>I am a proud Liberian, born into a culture that, unfortunately, has practices that profoundly impact the lives of women. One such practice is female genital mutilation (FGM). In my country, if a female refuses to undergo this procedure, she faces exclusion from the community, and marriage becomes almost impossible.Meeting Fanta Ceesay at the radio show deeply moved me. As she shared her experiences, I saw her determination and resilience. After the show, and with her permission, I captured her story in writing, knowing that her narrative could impact others since storytelling is a powerful tool to connect, heal, and inspire.Fanta was only seven years old when she underwent this harrowing experience. There were eleven girls sitting on a long bench waiting to be called in one by one. She could hear her friends crying and screaming in fear, but she was powerless to do anything.When it was her turn, Fanta entered the room and saw her grandmother and two other elderly women. They covered her face and asked her to lie down. They removed her clothes and began to cut her private parts. The pain was excruciating, and she cried and cried, but no one came to her rescue.After the cutting, the girls were placed in a room together, all of them crying from the unbearable pain. The worst part was that they were all cut with the same knife, and there was no medicine or treatment provided. Fanta watched some of her friends die because they couldn’t handle the pain. Their hands and legs were tied together, and they were left there without any medical care.As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized the severity of this practice and how it strips away Liberian women’s dignity and rights. I am now dedicated to fighting against FGM. This practice has left women like Fanta without the ability to enjoy intimacy, and she feels as though her rights as a woman were taken from her.I hope you can understand the place I come from and the challenges we face. Female genital mutilation is a global human rights crisis. According to the World Health Organization, more than <a href="https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/female-genital-mutilation" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">230 million girls and women alive today</a> have undergone female genital mutilation in 30 countries across Africa, the Middle East, and Asia where FGM is practiced. It is most often performed on girls between infancy and age 15, taking away their bodily autonomy.Despite significant advancements, <a href="https://africa.unwomen.org/en/liberia-marks-international-day-of-zero-tolerance-for-female-genital-mutilation" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">female genital mutilation continues to be a practice in Liberia</a>, especially in rural communities, with more than 50 percent of women and girls aged 15-49 having undergone the procedure. The practice persists in 11 out of 15 counties, particularly affecting girls aged 5 to 14.Beyond the immediate trauma, female genital mutilation can cause long-term physical and psychological harm. The health complications alone cost global health systems <a href="https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/female-genital-mutilation" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">an estimated US $1.4 billion per year</a>, a number that is expected to rise. Many potential female leaders have lost their lives due to this practice. <a href="https://www.birmingham.ac.uk/news/2025/fgm-zero-tolerance-day-a-girl-dies-every-12-minutes-because-of-female-genital-mutilation" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">A girl dies every 12 minutes</a> because of female genital mutilation.&nbsp;FGM is more than a violation — it is a wound carried across generations. Governments must act urgently, enforcing strict laws against the practice and ensuring survivors receive the support they need to heal. Individuals must challenge harmful traditions, amplify survivors' voices, and educate their communities. You can stand in solidarity by sharing stories, advocating for change, and holding leaders accountable.&nbsp;As for me, I will keep fighting. My voice will not be silenced, and my words will continue to carve a path toward justice. Together, we can break the cycle.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

LIBERIA: A Survivor's Fight Against FGM

<h2>After enduring cyber abuse, DeeRuvae reclaimed her power and now shares guidance on how to navigate online violence.</h2><blockquote>I was traumatized, unable to pick up my phone and log into my social media platforms.</blockquote>This year I learned the hard way that our digital world can lack humanity.&nbsp; A couple of months ago I experienced one of the most traumatic events of my life: cyber abuse.Someone created fake social media accounts in my name using my photo and identity and posted threatening messages that appeared to be from me. Because I’m socially active, it was easy for the impersonator to convince others the posts were mine. I was traumatized, unable to pick up my phone and log into my social media platforms. It took a long time to recover from the shame and self-doubt this caused. I found myself questioning whether being social was a crime. The cyberbullying infiltrated every part of my life. It still lingers in my mind, and I’ve only recently found closure.&nbsp;I do not wish that kind of pain on anyone. If you have experienced any type of online abuse, it is important to get support, take care of yourself, and focus on the positive aspects of your life.Cyberbullying can lead to trauma and mental health issues such as body image problems, anxiety, and depression. Feeling anxious or depressed due to online abuse is a normal response to trauma. Remember you are not alone. Allow time to heal.&nbsp;A turning point for me came when a friend recommended I learn meditation. Guided meditations and taking deep breaths helped me manage my negative thoughts. Over time, I retrained my brain to observe my emotions, name them and let them pass.Many people who suffer from online abuse feel they are to blame. But no one deserves abuse. A friend encouraged me to share my experience with my friends and family. I got so much support from them. I was scared that they wouldn’t understand or would judge me for what happened, but they were amazing.&nbsp;If you are going through cyber abuse, as hard as it may be, try not to engage. They say take down all your social media posts and delete your accounts but it doesn't make the bullying go away. Don't give the bully power over your life. Instead, block offensive people. If they are making physical threats, screen shot those comments and report it to law enforcement and the social media platform. Report cyberbullies to your internet service provider (ISP), mobile phone provider (if bullying is via texts or calls), or social media site/app. As it all unfolds, never lose yourself to a cyber bully. Fight for your peace and sanity.Social media has become laden with people sharing false narratives from behind their keyboards. I hope we can create a kinder world where online spaces foster understanding, not harm. We must treat others as we wish to be treated. Cyber abuse can feel overwhelming, but you are stronger than it.&nbsp;STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

ZIMBABWE: Finding Strength After Cyber Abuse

<h2>In a letter to her younger self, Bolutife shares how she chose small acts of courage to reclaim her power.&nbsp;</h2><blockquote>You’ll realize, one day, that the scars you see around you—physical and emotional—are not signs of weakness but of survival.</blockquote>Dear Younger Me,I see you sitting quietly in the corner, pretending not to notice what’s happening around you. The arguments behind closed doors, the whispers about bruises hidden beneath makeup, the silent tears that no one acknowledges. You tell yourself it’s none of your business, that this is just how the world works. But deep down, you know better.Though I’ve written a letter to you before, with the way things are, I feel the need to share these words with you again. Some messages bear repeating, and this one is too important to let fade.Let me tell you something that I wish someone had told you back then: It's okay to be angry. Angry that people are suffering in silence. Angry that no one seems to care. Angry that you feel too small, too powerless to do anything about it.The truth is, YOU ARE NOT POWERLESS.One day, you’ll look back and realize that all those moments of doubt, fear, and frustration were preparing you for something bigger. You’ll find your voice, and when you do, it will be louder and stronger than you ever imagined. You’ll use it to speak out against the things that once made you feel helpless.You’ll learn that activism isn’t just grand speeches or protests in the streets—though those things matter, too. Activism is in the little things: asking a friend if they’re okay, teaching someone to value themselves, refusing to laugh at a joke that belittles someone else. Activism is choosing courage over comfort, even when it’s hard.Of course, there will be moments when you doubt yourself, moments when the world feels too heavy, and the fight feels endless. But you’ll also witness the beauty in the strength of your character—women rising up, communities standing together, stories of survival that will move you to tears and action.You might not be able to change everything, and that’s okay. Changing one person’s story, even if it’s just your own, is enough to start a ripple.So, my dear, speak up, even when your voice shakes. Offer kindness, even when it feels like the world is full of hate. Fight, not just for others, but for yourself—for the life you deserve and the world you want to see.You’ll realize, one day, that the scars you see around you—physical and emotional—are not signs of weakness but of survival. And you’ll understand that survival is the first step to victory.The world needs you. The world needs all of us. And even though it feels impossible sometimes, I promise you this: The light you carry inside you is stronger than any shadow.With all the love and strength I can muster,Your Older SelfSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

NIGERIA: To the Me I Once Knew

<h2>Amid the horrors Sudanese women are facing, Nadra calls for global awareness and action.</h2><blockquote>Perhaps that warm heart of yours ignites the embers of love in our lands.</blockquote>To all women on earth in the 16 Days of Activism Against Violence Against Women:The women of Sudan are enduring one of the greatest holocausts in the history of women in the world. They are being killed and raped, their pregnant bellies left behind. The beautiful ones among them are being sold in slave markets across Africa.The Janjaweed militia has violated their right to life and dignity. These women have experienced horrific violations that we know and do not know of, including starvation, humiliation, oppression, rape, displacement, and the brutal killing of their husbands and grandchildren. They are forcibly separated from their loved ones.This violence cannot be accepted and can only be confronted through the hidden grace of God. In that spirit, I write.To you, my beautiful ladyMy Sudanese ladyThe lady of the women of the earth, with pride and determinationOh moon that has been exhausted by the years with tears and longingOh lampSorry, we have not had enough ink to speakOr insistTo do justice to you or raise your voice in our midstWar is the blackness of our painAnd the beautiful oppression is the voice of wisdom in usAnd you paid the priceA husband and your sonsBurning the entrails of a bodyWeared out by violence and actingDamn and certainWe are not the salt of the earth nor does it cut usWe no longer own anything but a wastelandIt lives in usAnd our helplessness until helplessness is healedIt has crept into usBut we realize that hope is a few secondsTo shine our timeTo forgive the mistakes of lifeTo give you a few bottles of our reassurancePerhaps that warm heart of yoursIgnites the embers of love in our landsIn Sudan, the one countryThe moon of the world and our landsSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

SUDAN: A Message of Solidarity for Sudanese Women

<h2>Already in 2024, Kenya has recorded four femicides. As activists urge the government to step up, Lucy Aoko unravels the tragedy of Scarlet Wahu's death.</h2><blockquote>In honoring Scarlet's memory, Kenya takes a collective stand against gender-based violence, vowing to create a society where every Scarlet can thrive without fear of becoming another victim of femicide.</blockquote>In the early days of January 2024, Kenya found itself grappling with the chilling reality of another femicide, as <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2024/jan/18/femicide-in-kenya-a-national-crisis-say-rights-groups" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Scarlet Wahu</a>, a vibrant soul with dreams and aspirations, became the tragic victim of senseless violence. Scarlet's story echoed through the corridors of grief, leaving behind a haunting silence that called for justice and systemic change.Scarlet, a young professional with a zest for life and a heart full of dreams, met a fate that no one could have foreseen. As the news of her untimely death spread, it cast a somber shadow over the nation, prompting a collective introspection into the pervasive issue of gender-based violence that had claimed yet another life.Scarlet's friends and family, left to grapple with the void she left behind, rallied together to ensure that her memory would not be overshadowed by the darkness of her final moments. They painted a vivid picture of Scarlet's life — a woman who dared to dream, to love, and to live fully. Her vibrant spirit became a rallying cry for change, a poignant reminder that femicide wasn't just a statistic but a brutal force robbing society of its brightest stars.In the midst of grief, a groundswell of activism emerged. Scarlet's tragic fate became a catalyst for renewed efforts to address the root causes of femicide in Kenya. Activists took to the streets, online platforms, and public spaces, demanding justice for Scarlet and for all the women who had fallen victim to gender-based violence. The hashtag #JusticeForScarletWahu trended across social media, amplifying the call for accountability and systemic change.As the nation mourned Scarlet's loss, there was a collective reckoning. The Kenyan government, under mounting pressure from activists and citizens alike, initiated a comprehensive review of existing laws and policies related to gender-based violence. The justice system pledged to ensure that those responsible for Scarlet's death would be held accountable, signaling a commitment to break the cycle of impunity that had allowed femicide to persist.This story is a testament to Scarlet Wahu's indomitable spirit and the resilience of a community determined to transform tragedy into a catalyst for change. In honoring Scarlet's memory, Kenya takes a collective stand against gender-based violence, vowing to create a society where every Scarlet can thrive without fear of becoming another victim of femicide.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);"> Learn more.</a>

KENYA: Justice for Scarlet Wahu 

CYPRUS: I Escaped Abuse and Now I Am Thriving

I Won’t be Silent About Gender-Based Violence

How My Organization Curbs Violence Against Girls 

INDIA: If Not Now, Then When?

MEXICO:  How I Help Teen Girls Thrive After Trauma

INDIA: Human Trafficking in India’s Assam

How I Convinced a King to Decry Domestic Violence

Gender-based Violence

<h2>Mercy almost gave up her dream when her parents dismissed her passion for food science as “not a good course.” But three years later, she walked away with her diploma and a deeper belief in the power of choosing yourself.</h2><h2> </h2><blockquote>"This was my life, my choice. Walking into my first class felt like home. I remember thinking, 'This is it. This is where I belong.'"</blockquote> For as long as I can remember, I have been curious about how things work. As a little girl, I would ask endless questions that often made my teachers sigh or smile in amusement.“Why does bread rise? ““How does milk turn into yogurt? ““Why does chocolate melt in my hands but stay solid on the shelf?”To me, science was magic! You could learn how to do it yourself. I loved discovering something new, looking closer at the everyday things people took for granted, and realizing there was a whole world of wonder behind them.By the time I finished high school, I knew I wanted a career in food science. It felt like the perfect blend of my passions: science, discovery, and creation. I could imagine myself working in a lab, developing new products, finding healthier solutions, and making something people could hold, taste, and enjoy.But the day I told my parents my decision, the excitement I felt met a wall I did not expect.My father said it wasn't worth it, my mother started to doubt, and I joined college months late. I almost gave up my dream before it even began.He looked at me and said, "That's not a good course." His words hit me like cold water.My father, who had always been firm but fair, had dismissed my dream in one sentence. He said I should choose something more "practical," something that guaranteed a well-paying job and respect in society.At first, I thought my mother would come to my defense. She had always encouraged my curiosity, letting me spend hours in the kitchen experimenting, even when it meant extra mess. But this time, she didn't smile. She told me she wasn't sure food science was the right choice either.It was like watching my two pillars of support crumble. And for a while, I felt myself crumble with them.Their doubts became my doubts. Maybe I was being naïve. Maybe I should pick something safer, something they approved.I hesitated.I delayed joining college, telling myself I was just "thinking it over," but deep down, I knew I was afraid—afraid of going against their wishes, afraid of failing and proving them right.Months passed, and I watched friends move on with their studies while I stayed stuck in the same place. I smiled and said I was fine, but inside, I felt restless. My dream hadn't died. It was just waiting for me to be brave enough to choose it.In September 2022, I finally took that step. I applied for a diploma in Food Science and Processing Technology. When my acceptance came, I felt a mix of joy and anxiety. I knew my parents weren't entirely convinced, but for the first time, I decided their approval wouldn't be the deciding factor. This was my life, my choice.Walking into my first class was a moment I will never forget. The smell of the lab, the gleam of the stainless steel equipment, the notebooks filled with formulas—it felt like home. I remember holding my pen and thinking, This is it. I'm where I belong.But the journey wasn't easy. There were days when the workload felt overwhelming, moments when the technical content seemed too much to handle. On some evenings, I would sit with my books open, the voices of my parents echoing in my head: "It's not a good course."What kept me going was the same thing that started this journey—my passion. Every time I learned something new, every time I solved a problem in the lab, every time I understood a process that had once been a mystery to me, I felt a spark of joy. I started working on projects that pushed me beyond my comfort zone, including developing almond milk-flavored yogurt for my final year project.Slowly, my confidence grew. I began to see my choice not as a risk, but as an investment in myself. My classmates became friends, my lecturers became mentors, and I started to envision my future not in the abstract, but in vivid detail.And then, in July 2025, the moment I had been working toward arrived.Standing there with my diploma in my hands, I felt a wave of emotions—relief, pride, and quiet triumph. I thought about the young woman in 2022 who almost gave up her dream because the people she loved most didn't believe in it. I wanted to tell her,“You did it. You proved to yourself that your dreams are worth the fight.”Choosing food science wasn't just about choosing a career. It was also about choosing myself.It was about learning that my dreams don't need anyone's approval to be valid.It was about standing firm in my passion, even when the people I wanted to please didn't understand it.Today, I'm not just a Food Science degree holder. I'm a woman who knows the power of listening to her own voice.I know now that passion is worth more than fear, and that doubt—whether from others or myself—can be overcome with persistence.To every woman reading this, I want to say: your dreams are worth protecting.Even when they seem too small or too unusual to others, they matter because they matter to you. There will be voices that try to talk you out of them. Some will come from strangers. Some will come from the people you love most. But at the end of the day, you are the one who has to live with your choices.Don't let fear, doubt, or disapproval take away the life you were meant to live.Step into it. Own it.And when you finally cross that finish line, the victory will be yours—completely yours.Because the day you choose your dream is the day you begin becoming yourself.I call on communities, families, and institutions to believe in and support young people’s dreams, especially women in science, because their courage today shapes the solutions of tomorrow.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

KENYA: The Day I Chose My Dream

<h2>In a letter to her World Pulse sister Susan Khasoa, Faith Mwende expresses gratitude for her mentorship.</h2><blockquote>Step outside that comfort zone, learn that code, and be inspired as I did. A feeling of giving up may loom, but step forward anyway.</blockquote>It has been a humbling journey of learning and growth. While the road ahead may seem long, I walk with an unwavering belief that I’ll make it one day. I envision the day I write my story as a testament to the power of human connection and shared experiences that shaped our connection, serving as a pivotal juncture and setting the stage for personal growth.Amid the setbacks that defined my recent years, a dialogue emerged within me, a conversation with the shadows of adversity. Seeking guidance, I turned to this amazing, intelligent lady, driven by her passion for empowering youth, my mentor, Susan Khasoa. As we celebrate global sisterhood and the collective power of World Pulse, I’m thrilled to celebrate her. Sometimes, we sadly forget to appreciate and wonder if we are becoming less human. Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. I may not yet be where I want to be, but I’m thankful to her because I’m not where I used to be.Life begins with one step outside the comfort zone, that faith of taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase. Pride is a piece of us that holds us back until we realize that we need help sometimes. January 19 still lingers in my mind. I reached out for guidance, and she was so friendly, pleasant, and easy to talk to. We met by chance and became friends, and now our destiny keeps us close to each other. After I shared my aspirations and fears, she said, “Adversity is a stern teacher, but it molds character and resilience. Embrace the challenges, for they have the power to shape a future beyond your current imagining. Her words are a beacon of hope amid my uncertainties.She introduced me to coding, a path that would redefine my identity. I embarked on a journey of reshaping my future. It’s a journey of resilience and self-discovery. It’s a testament to my ability to overcome the shadows of the past and forge my own path. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She thought I could do it when I felt coding was a daunting task reserved only for the tech wizards. She believed in me when I feared not being smart enough, an overwhelming number of coding languages, the fast-paced change in tech, and giving up on the way. She encouraged me that coding can be challenging, but it's more accessible than it looks with the right mindset. Her words weaved encouragement into the fabric of my evolving journey.She tells me that learning to code is a journey, so to be patient with myself, stay curious, and not be afraid to make mistakes. As I faced the crossroads of my academic pursuits and personal struggles, the dialogue with my mentor became a compass, guiding me toward newfound determination. The journey is never-ending. There will always be growth, improvement, and adversity. Transformation is a process, and as life happens, there are many ups and downs. It’s a journey of discovery; there are moments on mountaintops and moments in deep valleys of despair. I’m focusing on the journey, not the destination. Joy is not found in finishing an activity but in doing it.Step outside that comfort zone, learn that code and be inspired as I did. A feeling of giving up may loom, but step forward anyway. I accept failure. Everyone fails at something. But I can’t accept not trying –&nbsp;failure is part of the process. You just learn to pick yourself up. It’s a memory that tells us that what we’re now striving for was once nearer and truer and attached to us with infinite tenderness. Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up. I like to strive not because there are any guarantees of success but because striving is the only way to keep up with life. But we must not live on hope. Let's step beyond expectations and remain resilient.Coding requires empathy, practice, and willingness to invest time and effort. It has made my life more fulfilling. Learning something each day about how to juggle the game is fun. I am most grateful to Susan for her unconditional love and support.Graduating from university and becoming a tech wizard seems like a far-fetched dream, but one day, I will live that dream. I will ensure everyone feels valued and heard, recognizing everyone matters, especially those who need support the most. I will keep making music that carries the secret that pure human connection is liberty. I will turn off the sounds that drag people down to the pit of despair.I genuinely appreciate Susan's thoughtfulness in making this connection happen. It is an excellent opportunity, and I'm excited about its potential. I look forward to more guidance and support. Your support means a lot to me, and I am committed to maximizing this opportunity. I’m lucky to call you a friend. Words aren’t enough to express my gratitude for all your guidance. I never thought I’d have so much fun learning coding.To read Susan's letter to Faith, <a href="https://www.worldpulse.org/story/a-letter-to-faith-igniting-a-spark-in-the-digital-age-64532" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">click here. </a>STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller! <a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Learn more</a>.

A Testament to Sisterhood and Connection on World Pulse

<h2>Mentor Susan Khasoa reflects on her mentee Faith Mwende’s career path in tech and offers her support for the journey ahead.</h2><blockquote>The world awaits your voice, your skills, and the impact you will undoubtedly leave. And know this: you have a champion cheering you on every step of the way.</blockquote>Dear Faith,&nbsp;On January 19, a message on World Pulse sparked a connection that transcended distance and circumstance. You, Faith, a freshman yearning to carve your path in the tech world, reached out for guidance. In you, I saw not just a stranger seeking advice, but a kindred spirit, a sister I never had. At that moment, on that virtual platform, our journeys intertwined.Your desire wasn't simply to learn a skill; it was to make a difference, be heard, and leave your mark on the world. This resonated deeply. I knew then that I wouldn't just offer guidance but encouragement, a cheerleader by your side.The path you've chosen, Faith, is not without its challenges. Obstacles will arise, and moments of doubt may cloud your vision. But remember the fire that burned bright in your initial message, the determination that fueled your late-night coding sessions, and the joy that erupted with each conquered concept. Use these challenges as stepping stones, not roadblocks.While advice is valuable, it's crucial to forge your own path and weave your unique story into the fabric of the tech world. Embrace your individuality, boldness, and unwavering spirit. Let your light shine, refusing to dim it for anyone.As you delve deeper into programming, the triumphs you've shared, from mastering the intricacies of Python to conquering the elusive hash key, are testaments to your perseverance. Remember, big and small victories are not just personal achievements but beacons of hope, inspiring others to chase their dreams.I envision the day you write your story, Faith, not just a chronicle of personal growth, but a testament to the transformative power of human connection. Your journey from a curious freshman to a tech whiz will serve as an inspiration to countless others.So, dear Faith, fly. Fly on the wings of your dreams, embrace the challenges, savor the victories, and never lose sight of the spark that ignited our connection on that ordinary day. The world awaits your voice, your skills, and the impact you will undoubtedly leave. And know this: you have a champion cheering you on every step of the way.With unwavering belief and heartfelt admiration,Your Mentor on World PulseTo read Faith’s letter to Susan, <a href="https://www.worldpulse.org/story/a-testament-to-sisterhood-and-connection-on-world-pulse-64533" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">click here</a>.&nbsp;STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility or even be our next Featured Storyteller! <a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: rgb(18, 6, 56);">Learn more</a>.

A Letter to Faith: Igniting a Spark in the Digital Age

Education

<h2>As sexist behavior among political candidates in the Philippines makes headlines, Lylinaguas says misogyny on the campaign trail threatens women and the future of democracy.</h2><blockquote>It is time to hold these candidates accountable with votes, voices, and vigilance. Because when misogyny wins, democracy loses.</blockquote>Throughout the local and national election season, public scrutiny of the&nbsp; candidates was rampant — not just for their platforms or policies, but for their views on gender and the treatment of women. Once again, male candidates made headlines not for their leadership potential, but for their sexist behavior and demeaning statements toward women.In 2019, a celebrity-turned-politician drew criticism after his former partner accused him of using their past relationship as material for a campaign “skit.” On stage, he and another candidate joked about fooling her into falling for him. Instead of addressing serious issues, he used his platform to mock a woman’s emotional experience for political gain. Though he apologized and said he only has respect for her and will always respect the mother of his son, the “skit” was done in poor taste.Fast forward to the current campaign season, and the pattern only worsened. One candidate, already under fire, was issued a show cause order by the Commission on Elections (Comelec) after saying that single mothers who still menstruate could have sex with him once a year — a vile remark that trivializes both women’s reproductive health and their dignity. Just days later, the same candidate received a second order for body-shaming a former female staff member. In a twisted attempt to deny accusations of being a “maniac,” he called her onstage and insulted her body size, saying that someone like her wouldn’t be hired by a “maniac.”Such language and behavior not only reveal a deeply ingrained misogyny, but also normalize the objectification and ridicule of women in the public sphere.Unfortunately, he’s not alone. Another male candidate from the provinces was likewise called out for discriminatory remarks — this time about women in the nursing profession. In a translated statement, he claimed that only “beautiful women” should become nurses because “ugly” ones would worsen a sick man’s condition. He further contended that their supporters would “wreak havoc” in the area if his son lost in the election. These statements earned him his own show cause order from the Comelec, citing violations related to discrimination, harassment, and incitement of violence. His defense? That he was taken out of context.Another candidate showed disdain toward his female rival by calling her “laos” — an obsolete has-been — and said he wasn’t afraid of her. He went on to mention two younger female celebrities, saying he would be scared if the two were to run against him in the elections.His statements reduce women’s worth to their youth and appearance, not their qualifications or leadership abilities.The Comelec has since reminded the public that gender-based harassment, bullying, and discriminatory behavior constitute election offenses. Comelec Chairman George Garcia emphasized that citizens, not just institutions, must demand accountability by filing cases against violators instead of passively waiting for government action.These incidents are not isolated lapses in judgment. They are symptomatic of a much deeper problem — a political culture that continues to tolerate, even enable, misogyny and gender discrimination. When those aspiring to public office belittle, sexualize, or mock women without fear of consequences, it sends a dangerous message: that sexism is acceptable as long as you have power.This must change. The fight against gender discrimination is not just a women’s issue — it is a fight for a just, inclusive, and respectful society. Elections are a reflection of the values we uphold. If we allow misogynistic candidates to rise unchallenged, we reinforce the systemic barriers that continue to silence, marginalize, and endanger women in every sphere,&nbsp; especially in politics.It is time to hold these candidates accountable — not just with show cause orders, but with votes, voices, and vigilance. Because when misogyny wins, democracy loses.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

PHILIPPINES: Misogyny on the Campaign Trail

<h2><img src=""><img src=""><img src="">After supporting her mother through widowhood, Ruth Okoirhon calls for widows’ recognition and support.</h2><blockquote>Society doesn’t talk about widows’ silent grief and loneliness. We fail to see their financial challenges and regrets. –Ruth Okoirhon</blockquote>My mother became a widow in August 2021 after my father died, a death I still grapple to accept. He was a good father and man. I replay his eulogies in my head.&nbsp;My mother shared 44 years with my father. She married in her early twenties, which was the norm for my region. Women married early to give birth, raise children, and care for the home. It was taboo for them to pursue other desires.&nbsp;Before my father died, I often met widows as a development professional focused on gender rights and capacity development. Our conversations made me sense their loneliness, grief, and unmet needs. These women had unfulfilled dreams that felt difficult to achieve.They served their families as dutiful wives. Some of them did not go beyond primary education. Interestingly, their reality differed from their imagined careers.Some lost their husbands early in the marriage and endured untold gender-based violence until their children came of age to defend them. Many agreed to become full-time housewives with the understanding their husbands would support them financially. This mutual agreement backfired when their husbands died, leaving them without financial resources or knowledge. Some said their in-laws treated them poorly while their husbands were alive and became harsher after they died.Widows struggle to begin anew. They often lack academic or professional qualifications, funds, and support systems. They may also face ageism, cultural and religious barriers, emotional and psychological challenges, and other gender-based limitations.No woman goes into a marriage prepared for widowhood. Emotions don’t allow them to have hard conversations, asking whether they are well-equipped to face life alone when their significant other dies. But death is inevitable.In my mother’s case, I realized I had to step up with additional support to make her comfortable, even if it wouldn't fill the vacuum my father’s death caused. I visit her as often as possible, communicate with her constantly on the phone, and take her to the hospital for routine checkups. My siblings and I do our best to keep her happy and engaged.Realizing that my mother still nursed unrealized ambitions in her sixties was revelatory. I recall her saying she dreamed of becoming a teacher before marrying. She also wanted to become a seamstress at one point; before she became pregnant. Instead, she became a great wife and mother, and her dreams took a back seat. Don’t get me wrong, this is not a bad outcome, but the focus of my story is unfulfilled dreams.&nbsp;My mother eventually ran a business that supplied food and other household items for many years, tapping into her entrepreneurial skill. Now, her children are all grown up and chasing their goals. The man she loved has died while she is a grandmother trying to figure out her next plan.I suspect she has some regrets, even if she wouldn't openly admit them. She says her most prized possession is her family, and she wouldn't trade them for anything. This is comforting, but it didn't stop me from asking her, "Looking back, would you say you are happy with how your life turned out?” –&nbsp;a question I often ask widows. She admitted that she regretted not becoming a teacher.Society doesn’t talk about widows’ silent grief and loneliness. We fail to see their financial challenges and regrets. Do we pay attention to their challenges and needs, especially the ones they struggle to verbalize? Do we acknowledge that widows exist?Somehow, people just assume widows survive. International Widows’ Day is not enough to address widows' challenges. This is another marginalized group whose issues should be on the front burner.You can take action by advocating for widows’ rights and calling the government’s attention to their needs. Donate to organizations that cater to widows and children, help those treated unjustly to seek legal redress, and support their children’s education.&nbsp;Additionally, push for policies that consider their rights, especially if you have access to the legislative arm of government. Push for the eradication of harmful cultural practices against widows. Inclusive policies for widows are necessary in every culture and country. Let us wield our power positively, shine a light on widows’ varying challenges, and take the necessary actions to alleviate them.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(17, 85, 204);">&nbsp;Learn more.</a>

NIGERIA: Shining a Light on Widows’ Grief and Unfulfilled Dreams

LIBYA: My Journey to Promote Human Rights

Why We Must Use Our Voices to Defy Our Government

<h2>Religious clashes in India disrupted Naheda Shaikh’s life 20 years ago. After a hijab ban in schools sparked protests in 2022, she says students must learn to coexist in peace.</h2><blockquote>“We should embrace religious diversity by teaching tolerance and freedom of choice.”</blockquote><blockquote>Naheda Shaikh&nbsp;</blockquote> I started the new year with hope. With a peaceful mind, I switched on the television to watch the news. On the screen, a girl walked on a college campus shouting, “Allah ho Akbar.” My eyes fixated on the TV as I wondered what had happened. That’s when I learned Muslim girls had been banned from wearing the hijab on the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial College campus in Karnataka, India. The news station was covering their protests. Hindu boys stood in counter protest of the Muslim girl, waving a saffron flag and shouting “Jai Shri Ram.”&nbsp; I was shocked to see young people fighting like this in 2022. It took me back to 2002 when the communal riots – religious violence between Hindus and Muslims –&nbsp;shook my community. I was 22 and unable to complete my one-year fashion design course due to the clashes. My commute was 50 kilometers every day, and my instructors told me not to come to class because it was too risky for me as a Muslim woman. The riots broke my dreams and destroyed my plans. These unsettling memories from 20 years ago resurfaced as I watched girls face discrimination while undertaking their education. The clashes in January broke out at Mahatma Gandhi Memorial College after right-wing Hindu students at the college demanded authorities order Muslim girls not wear the hijab. Many of these students believe that Muslim women have been coerced into wearing the hijab by their families and culture, while many Muslim women like me see wearing the hijab as a personal choice and an expression of our religious traditions. During the past couple of months, the clashes gradually spread all over the state. As a result, the government of Karnataka issued an order stating that students must wear uniforms at schools where dress policies exist and no exception could be made for wearing the hijab. Several colleges cited this order, denying entry to Muslim girls wearing the hijab.&nbsp; As news spread, protests by Hindu and Muslim students erupted across Karnataka. The&nbsp; government closed local high schools and colleges for three days for fear of violence. By then, the issue had become national and reached the high court. In mid-February, the high court temporarily ordered all students and teachers to remove hijabs and burkas outside the schools and leave them on the gates.&nbsp; The high court’s ruling sent a message that the hijab is not an essential practice of Islam.&nbsp; It is not only a matter of wearing a cloth; there are the psychological effects this ban has on young people who want the right to choose how to observe their religious traditions. As time has passed, the hate between Hindu and Muslim young people in this region has only intensified. As a Muslim woman, I have never worn a hijab. Still, the ban affects me. If someone puts pressure on you for your personal matters, it is mentally distressing. I wouldn’t want to be forced to wear a hijab while wearing comfortable clothes, just as I wouldn’t want someone wearing a hijab to be forced to take it off in front of others. I think the hijab ban is not only an issue of dress choice but a way of marginalizing specific communities. These communities are not allowed to do what they want, which also happened in 2002 when Muslim people were asked to leave their places, unable to work, and forced to move away.&nbsp; I reached out to a few experienced professionals on this topic, to help make sense of what is happening and to contextualize the court’s decision. “The hijab ban further marginalizes a minority community,” says Midhat Moini, a Unicef consultant. “As a development professional, I feel it is a move which will further alienate a sizable section of the society and ensure they cannot participate in mainstream education. As a feminist, I am appalled. For heaven’s sake, when will we stop patronizing women? When will they have the autonomy to choose for themselves? When will the society clergy people or government and men in general stop deciding for us? It’s tiring and sad.” “The hijab may not be essential to participating in Islam,” says Gazala Shaikh, an international development professional. “But banning it to appease the majority is surely an essential element in the disintegrating values of the secular fabric of India, which has had a myriad of hues living together in harmony.” When Dev Desai, an activist and trustee of the <a href="https://www.anhadindia.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">ANHAD</a> organization, visited families in Karnataka, girls shared how they had worn the hijab since their childhood and felt comfortable in it. The families did not believe it was the courts’ place to intervene in something that personally affected them. Dev says that the situation became worse when political parties became involved and started provoking students.&nbsp; ANHAD stands for Act Now for Harmony and Democracy, an Indian socio-cultural organization established in 2003 as a response to the 2002 Gujarat riots. Organizations like ANHAD advocate that schools should teach students to coexist in peace – not violence.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I know ANHAD from 20 years ago during the riots when we fought to get our rights. I found the organization to be supportive as we faced these difficult issues. Years later, I’m happy that so many young people are involved in the organization and advocating for inclusion. Isha Memon, a media professional and Muslim woman, discusses how traumatic something like the hijab ban can be to young people. “Overnight, you are trying to uproot a tradition,” she says. I agree with Isha that you cannot banish a practice like wearing the hijab, especially so quickly. It’s a fundamental part of who people are and how they practice their religion.&nbsp; We must embrace religious diversity by teaching tolerance and freedom of choice. Girls will have to continue fighting for their rights. This fight will give them strength and courage to stand in front of anyone, whether an individual or a community, and demand inclusion and the respect we deserve. <a href="https://www.worldpulse.com/en/voices-rising/story-awards" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">STORY AWARDS</a> This story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">&nbsp;Learn more.</a>

INDIA: Wearing a Hijab is My Choice and My Right

Human Rights

<h2>On World Mental Health Day, a Nigerian writer Abigail D. Etukudo returned to the bridge where strangers once saved her life. With puzzles in hand, she turned an almost tragic event into a memory of gratitude and defiance.</h2><blockquote>"I am lost, but I am willing to find myself again.”</blockquote>On June 25, 2025, I walked to a pedestrian bridge in Abuja with one goal in mind—to jump. I stood on the bridge, mentally calculating how to get it done such that it would be completely fatal, with no chance of survival. Then I remembered squatting, taking in the hustle and bustle going on around me.I was lost. I had had enough of life with its ups and downs. I just wanted freedom from all the pain and suffering. I chose death for myself. I was ready. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer. As I began to untie the ropes that stood as barriers, I began reminiscing about my life.I had failed at everything. A writer, widely praised but whose writing nobody was willing to pay for. A creative with a wide range of knowledge, yet forever broke because nobody saw the financial value in anything I offered. My talent's value is free. Everything I have to give, everyone wanted it for free.As I untied the ropes, I began to feel the release. It's going to end. It's over. You won't be irrelevant anymore. You won't be treated as irrelevant anymore. It's over.Earlier in the day, I had left a note in my small cubicle that I had called home for five years. It was the only place I could be happy. I thanked it for hiding my pain and shame. My home. Where I could just lie down and sleep.At some point while untying the ropes, I froze! Is this it? Are you sure you really want to do this? Then the memories came flooding back. All the abuse, the betrayal, the disappointments, the shame, the constant begging for food, the serial journey to nothingness.I am nothing. I have never been anything. My digital footprints were all over the internet—begging to be loved, to be accepted, to be helped, to be relevant. Everywhere, I cried.That realization gave me even more motivation. The ropes proved a little too difficult to untie, but I was determined...so determined that I didn't notice the curious gazes around me.I was just a human being who wanted to find rest. Years of labor with nothing to show for it had turned me into an object of mockery. I didn't even know who I was anymore. My writing talent became my greatest albatross. I hated it! Why have a talent you can't use to feed yourself? Imagine begging for food to eat every day.The shame of it alone. The pain of rejection.The taste of constant failed promises.It was too much. The more I untied the ropes, the more I knew jumping was the only choice left for me.Then the intervention came. I was angry. I was pained that the ropes had kept me a little longer. If not for the ropes, I would have been off that bridge long before anyone noticed. As the passers-by tried to pull me away from the bridge, I took a deep breath (the deepest I had ever taken), hoping it would be my last, and I lurched forward.I could hear the panic that followed as hefty men scrambled to pull me back. Then I screamed in anger. I didn't want to be saved. I saw them as my enemies. They wanted to keep me back to continue the suffering. It had taken me days of mental exercise to get to the stage where I was ready to jump, and these people dared to stop me. I hated them. I hated them so much.They were only trying to help. My mind was thinking of the next way to escape them. They knew! They kept a watch over me. Eventually, I was taken to the police station, where I was kept for three days before I was released.Back to misery. Back to the life I didn't want to live anymore. I have struggled in these four months. It's even harder because now I am also living out of respect for the people who saved me. But I am back to nothingness. No job. No relevance. Just every day waking up and wondering, “What am I going to do?” It's a hard life I have.So when, in September, I applied to attempt a Guinness World Record for ‘most speeches in 48 hours’, I never expected anything to come out of it. My reason for applying was to have an opportunity to find myself again, through speaking for an uninterrupted period of time. On World Mental Health Day (October 10, 2025 ), I decided to face my fear of that bridge. I went back there with a puzzle (one other thing I love doing), and I spent hours on that bridge to wipe away the horrid memory of June 25. I was also able to personally thank the people who saved me (without telling them that I wish they had not). I would have passed them on the street and not have known who they were. To be honest, they didn't recognize me, either.It was a mixed bag of emotions for me because the issues that pushed me to the bridge were still there. I didn't see my being alive as victory...I actually saw it as torture. I lost everything. The will to write and to read—the two things I never thought I would lose. No matter how much I explain, nobody understands. You see, waking up every day with no plans, no agenda, is one of the most gruesome things that could happen to a human being.I was gone. The person I knew was gone. The writer was gone. I had nothing. Nothing to give me joy.The email confirming acceptance of my application came a few days after I revisited the bridge. I think this World Record attempt has given me something to look forward to. Though it's really hard because I am about to do something that is so taxing, and doing it while I am at my lowest ebb might just be a great wonder.I am lost, but I am willing to find myself again, and I believe this crazy task will help me find who I am, to rediscover what I love, and set my life on a path to get out of this quagmire....hopefully.Every suicide prevention website I visited or article I read during my turbulent times encouraged speaking out about what one was feeling, and so I did. However, what I often got as a response was either pity, judgment, uncomfortable silence, or outright rebuke.I am of the strong opinion that suicide is highly preventable, but if we really want to prevent it, we need to be less focused on procedural advocacy and more focused on being empathetic humans to each other by listening to understand the situation. On the bridge, though I spoke no words, I received empathy. I was lucky, but not everyone will be lucky enough to have intervention in the nick of time. Sometimes, intervention could be a little too late. The goal should be prevention, not intervention. Reach out to people struggling with mental health issues before they're standing on a bridge.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.

NIGERIA: Surviving the Bridge

Survivor Stories

CAMEROON: Let's End Period Poverty 

NIGERIA: Here's How to Address Menstrual Poverty

<h2>As a woman living with Sickle Cell Disease, Ayuk Besong Anne-Chantal says we can better advocate for girls with unique menstrual development.</h2> On World Menstrual Hygiene Day 2022, there were numerous messages on the need for education, access to menstrual hygiene kits, and an end to the stigma around menstruation that keeps girls away from school. But I noticed one message was missing: the importance of menstrual health education or counseling for late bloomers, especially for girls with rare diseases or special health conditions such as Sickle Cell Disease (I call them warrior girls). Sickle Cell Disease, or SCD, is a genetic red blood disorder that children get from both parents. The disease makes the red blood cells sickle or deform to take a c shape, which makes it difficult for these cells to flow through the veins. The result is debilitating pain and a lack of oxygen to various parts of the body. This in turn can stunt growth and even cause organ malfunction — and in the worst-case scenario, death. Delayed growth and puberty is often overlooked in the list of Sickle Cell Disease complications. For girls, it may include late menstruation. The lack of education in this area for warrior girls is often devastating. Imagine being an 18-year-old warrior girl who has not yet started her period, taunted by schoolmates who have had theirs. Imagine this young warrior girl growing up believing that she will not menstruate because of Sickle Cell. Then years later, it eventually happens, and she is unprepared. The beginning of a girl's period is usually a time of stress and anxiety. Imagine that time for a girl who is already stressed about not having enough blood because of the genetic red blood disorder she lives with. For such a person, losing blood that they do not have is worrisome. This is precisely what I and many women living with Sickle Cell who are my age have gone through. In my case, menstruation was a nightmare that made me decide to block it out of my mind. It was not because it was painful, but more because it did not arrive when it should have.&nbsp; While my secondary schoolmates were already sharing tips on using a tampon or a pad, I had nothing to show. No blood, no breasts. I felt hurt by other girls who told me not to change in the same washrooms as them because they were not sure I was a girl. I felt humiliated by the older girls’ jokes about my flat chest and skinny body. This torture went on from secondary school through university.&nbsp; Imagine the relief I felt when my period finally showed up halfway through university. But my joy was short-lived. It came when I had no female support — my mum had died several years before and my sisters were grown and far away. There was no internet like there is now that permits girls to easily access information. I still remember the lady who helped me during my first period. She was in her final year at the same university. She not only saved me from lots of embarrassment and mishaps but also became an honorary sister. She taught me about periods, how to buy my first pad, how to act in class if it started, and how to hide a pad in the side pocket of my school backpack.&nbsp; But even with that, I lacked the knowledge to manage my periods and health. Each period was a nightmare as I feared my body was losing the seven grams per deciliter (g/dL) of blood I had been surviving on most times. I learned to manage this alone as I grew up, got periods, and endured Sickle Cell crisis episodes.&nbsp; Even now, I am still learning. I felt I should leave a word for the late bloomers like me: <ul><li>Do not worry. Your period will come, and when it does, your experience will be unique, like the warrior you are.</li><li>Do not fear losing a bit of blood. If you feel unwell, don’t be afraid to seek medical assistance.</li><li>Get counseling and tips from other lady warriors. No topic is taboo in the Sickle Cell Disease (SCD) community.</li><li>Get medical advice on managing your period and health, especially in a Sickle Cell crisis.</li><li>Get education on what menstrual hygiene products are out there and which one best suits your period.</li><li>Finally, smile. You are beautiful, even if that menstrual period is late. Let no one tell you the contrary.</li></ul> I hope that in creating these messages and working on these issues, menstrual health champions will factor the needs of this group with unique menstrual development into their outreach. We can ensure no girl is left behind regarding menstrual hygiene education, access to menstrual hygiene kits, and support. <a href="https://www.worldpulse.com/en/voices-rising/story-awards">STORY AWARDS</a> This story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard. Share your story with us, and you could receive added visibility, or even be our next Featured Storyteller!<a href="https://worldpulse.crunch.help/leadership#storyteller-badges">&nbsp;Learn more.</a>

CAMEROON: Menstruation and Sickle Cell

CAMEROON: My Period Story Will Change Perceptions

Menstrual Health

#WeAreJaneRoe: Our Bodies Are Not a Battleground

Stop Controlling Us. Respect Abortion Rights.

CAMEROON: Sex Education Could Have Prevented My Unsafe Abortion

Our Abortion Stories

16 Days 

<h2>Leonida Odongo shares the challenges grassroots organizations face in a funding system that prioritizes rules over impact.</h2><blockquote>Where is justice when your practice is a barrier to the marginalized and those living in vulnerable situations?</blockquote>The Weight of Rejection“We regret to inform you that your proposal did not go to the second stage. We received a lot of proposals and worthy causes, but unfortunately, yours was not among them. This does not mean that we don’t acknowledge the great work you are doing. Please keep checking our website for upcoming opportunities.”I’ve received several emails like this, and the feeling is far from pleasant — especially on a Monday morning when it has the power to ruin your entire week. For any program officer or fundraiser, this is one of the most dreaded messages to receive. After spending hours, days, or even months researching, writing, and burning the midnight oil, it all ends in a rejection.Barriers to Entry for Small OrganizationsFor small or up-and-coming organizations trying to get their footing in the development sector, fundraising, staffing, and organizational development are major challenges. The trend has always been to fund large or already established organizations while new ones are often left behind. Funders also look for organizations that have structures in place.Many small organizations engage in great work with a high impact. Still, because they lack structures, they do not have the most current financial statements and have not documented their work in glossy papers or updated their website. These organizations may not be on X, Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok, but the transformation they are carrying out at the grassroots, where the real problems are, is enormous.Misaligned Expectations and Unrealistic TimelinesMany development partners come to organizations with already framed mindsets, bringing pre-conceived objectives, projects, and activities without truly understanding the local context or the community's priorities. As a result, sometimes organizations write proposals that are misaligned with the funder's expectations. When funders issue calls for proposals, these organizations often miss out because their work doesn’t match the funder’s criteria. The sad reality is, how do you align to something that you have no prior information about? This is like going on a journey to an unknown destination.The rigorous process organizations must go through to secure funding is another difficulty. When funders announce a call for proposals, small, newly formed, grassroots, or community-based organizations often respond to the best of their ability — or that of their lean teams. They often receive a regret letter, which rarely includes the reasons for rejection. This lack of feedback makes it difficult to learn from the experience and avoid the same mistakes in the future.The Feedback GapThe typical response is often, "We are unable to provide reasons why your proposal was not selected for this round of funding" or "We received many applications." For some development organizations, the call may be public, but they may already know who they plan to fund. Responding to such proposals can be a time-consuming exercise with little to no results.&nbsp; You might be lucky to receive a letter of regret, but sometimes, you don’t get any response.The process of sifting through proposals and sending feedback takes anywhere from months to a year. Sometimes, you end up writing a proposal and forgetting about it because of a lack of feedback. If only funders could tell you the proposal's outcome within the first two to three weeks, this could save many staff and organizations the anxiety of a long wait.&nbsp;I once wrote not one, not two, but countless concept notes and proposals. I was optimistic that I had done the research properly, only to get feedback six months later that our proposal did not get through.Unethical Practices and ExploitationThen, there is the notorious group for which you write a proposal or concept. They receive it and do not give any feedback, even acknowledgment of receipt, only for you to learn about a similar project being implemented. This is unfortunate but the reality for many. Once they receive your proposal, some funders go as far as publishing the proposal on their website. Why publish a proposal on your website that you never funded? One organization once did this to a proposal I had written, and I sent them an email demanding the proposal to be pulled down from their website because they never funded me. Why should they showcase my proposal on their website?Urgency Versus BureaucracyWhen small organizations settle to write proposals, they do this with the hope that they will get funded to carry out activities. Most of the activities done by small organizations are often impactful to many people and can be a lifeline for many households. Can you tell a rumbling stomach to wait? Can you tell families unable to pay school fees to wait? Can you tell a woman needing an urgent response to gender-based violence to wait?&nbsp;These are issues that need to be handled immediately. Yet by the time you write a concept, it gets accepted, and you write the full proposal, how many mothers have been disinherited from their land? How many children have dropped out of school? How many household members have gone to sleep hungry?Imagine for a moment how waiting for a donor to respond or communicate the outcome of a proposal would affect the hopes of women, children, and communities.Resource Gaps in Marginalized AreasThe requirements put forward by some organizations during calls for proposals are another nightmare. Some insist that you have to have an online account, which is difficult to fill out. Sometimes, as an organization, you don’t have Wi-Fi and depend on tethering from your phone to the laptop to get internet, or you don’t even have a laptop and have to go to a cyber café. The organization is based in the village where the nearest place with electricity is the shopping center, where you have to walk for an hour or two without. Imagine the agony of writing a proposal in such a situation.Sometimes, the call for proposals demands that you have documents that are not easy for some organizations to access. Some organizations are not formally registered, but funders demand that organizations be funded previously to show their capacity to handle money. Others demand that you have a bank account and audit financial accounts for the last three years, whereas in some cases, you must have physical structures such as an office and functional financial systems. Some even go as far as asking for online financial systems such as QuickBooks.&nbsp;You are required to have all these documents, and yet you have never secured any funding, and your account since inception reads zero. The money you have been using to run a few activities here and there comes from the pockets of group members who have foregone some of their basic necessities to contribute towards the group. Woe unto you. If a donor comes for due diligence and finds you don't have an office, you will be automatically disqualified.Exclusion by DesignI know of many organizations that are not registered and doing great work. One, for example, has a tree in a church compound in Machakos – a semi-arid region. This group of women is expected to compete for the same funding as large organizations with multi-storied offices and staff protected from the scorching sun by the hum of a fan.For the women meeting under a tree who do not have funding to pay for rent, the rainy season means their office expires, and they must wait for some other appropriate time to meet. How on earth do you ask for a registration certificate for a women's group that meets in a windowless, mud-floored room? How do you ask such a group for their annual report for the last three years? When Nduko, the chairwoman of the group, cannot even write her name, how can she write about the challenges facing the local women and the best strategies that can address these challenges?The demand put forward by funders sometimes makes people give up. For example, some online forms are lengthy and must be filled out from start to finish, or you risk the entire proposal disappearing. Woe unto you when you forget the password and struggle before you can return your document and continue with the application.There is another category of funders who cannot fund an organization they are unaware of. They bluntly communicate on their website they do not accept unsolicited applications. Fundraising is competitive and difficult for organizations in the Global South. As a funder, you close your doors, citing unsolicited applications, and yet on your website, you indicate you fight for social justice. Where is justice when your practice is a barrier to the marginalized and those living in vulnerable situations?#ShiftThePower: A Call for ChangeIn an ideal situation, real #ShiftingthePower would entail funders being less rigorous in their calls for proposals. Consider that not all organizations have audited accounts and annual reports. In some organizations, members do not know how to read and write.There should be both online and offline applications. Not all places have access to internet connectivity and electricity. In some parts of Africa, we only see electricity in the shopping centers, and our phones – popularly known as Katululu – do not even have basic WhatsApp.Respecting Local KnowledgeAllow people to write proposals in the best way they can. Many proposals demand the use of English, French, or Spanish. In rural villages, people do not even speak Kiswahili, the national language.Have in place systems that accommodate diversity. Make fundraising less complex. Funders should not just fund large, already-established organizations. Make deliberate efforts to go to communities where the most marginalized are, talk to them, and hear their views. The locals have solutions to most problems they go through.Tailor calls for proposals in collaboration with communities and not a top-down approach, which contributes to further oppression of an already vulnerable group. Respect for local realities is key. Let communities have a voice and decision-making power. Respect their knowledge and input, and collaborate with the community. You will see the best proposals developed –&nbsp;proposals that respond to needs.In many communities, poverty unfortunately has a female face. Many women, due to various challenges, are unable to run their organizations effectively. This is one reason why more support should shift to the grassroots: This is where the bulk of the transformative work is happening and where the real problems are.Time to Act: The Power of Grassroots TransformationFrom a personal perspective, #ShiftThePower means changing from the savior mentality to collaboration with communities so that the most muted voices and the poorest have their voices heard. It is about putting the last first. It is about respecting local realities and not having a preconceived mindset on how a project should work. It is about respecting the inputs of grassroots people, and lastly, shifting the power is about changing the top-down practice to meaningful participation of project participants.The power that needs to be shifted in the development sector is in funds, resources, practices, skills, and mindsets. The shift from large organizations being the only ones funded and small organizations being erased from the funding landscape. Shifting the power means respecting the humble beginnings of organizations and nurturing them to realize social justice. Shifting the power is also about funders coming to the ground to learn from funding recipients and understand their terrain and the challenges they face.#ShiftThePower is also about allocating more funding to Global South organizations, particularly women-led grassroots organizations or women and youth-focused organizations. It is about responding to all the letters of inquiry. It is about how philosopher Mao Tse Tsung put it: “Go to the People.”&nbsp;There is no better time to#ShiftThePower than now when the world suffers from poly-crises.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse Story Awards and the #ShiftThePower campaign, a collaboration between World Pulse's Research and Evaluation Group and the Co-Design Collaborative at the University of Arizona. This campaign called on women to share their insights and recommendations related to shifting power. <a href="https://www.worldpulse.org/story/-67915" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Learn more and read the report.</a>

KENYA: From the Roots Up, Now is the Time to Shift the Power 

<h2>Ikirimat says communities are challenging the status quo and shifting power dynamics to create lasting change from within.</h2><blockquote>Progress is only possible when people have access to knowledge, a voice in decision-making, and the agency to control their own lives.</blockquote>Let’s be honest: Have we granted local communities, organizations, and individuals a say in shaping and implementing projects that directly impact their lives? This is the foundation of the “Shift the Power” movement.&nbsp;Everyone seems to agree that the time has come for more ownership for the Global South and local leadership. But in reality, that’s easier said than done. What will it take for this call to be heard?The realism today is that crises cut across the world, ranging from climate change to harmful cultural practices and gender injustice to economic inequities, and this has continued to create a harmful imbalance. In all these crises, women and children continue to be the most affected. Yet the people who are least affected by crises have the most significant say in how to solve them.&nbsp;The end user barely has a say in the conversation and decisions regarding aid. International organizations and donors hold significant influence over development initiatives. It’s the reason we are calling for power to shift today.Notably, grassroots leadership and local civil society networks are growing, with women at the helm and more agency for local communities to decide their future development pathways. To some extent, communities are taking control of how stakeholders engage with them. People are owning the processes — involved at every stage of every initiative — and also the results of their work.I refer to one of many testimonies highlighting the impact that 26 women with disabilities from the Pajulu group in Arua, Uganda, have experienced. They have risen from exclusively depending on handouts from international organizations to today generating income for their families’ livelihoods. They say this was because they have been intellectually and economically empowered.&nbsp;An initiative four women started, a Voluntary Saving and Loan Association, with nurturing and support, has grown their seed capital to 10m Uganda shillings and greatly improved lives.&nbsp;&nbsp;Over the years, Uganda has seen the launch of several innovative initiatives aimed at achieving gender equality, some of which have been successful. These include efforts to economically empower women through skill-building, seed funding, and social norm changes within communities using Gender Transformative Approaches (GTAs) such as SASA! Together, a community mobilization strategy to prevent violence against women and interpersonal violence. The acronym stands for the four phases of the approach: Start, Awareness, Support, and Action.&nbsp;After years of community transformation work, people are now taking ownership and responsibility and exercising their agency. This presents a valuable opportunity to shift the power intentionally.Let's focus on resourcing women-led initiatives and efforts that center on women's issues as the top priority of their agenda because this will create a ripple effect and development impact on the communities.As communities increasingly contribute their own resources to address local challenges, they require additional resources, which can be achieved by shifting power. The resilience of communities leading change in their own lives cannot be overstated as a key factor. Many resources need to be recognized, but this calls for collective advocacy and messaging. Let’s come together to build our collective power and amplify our voices in one unified effort.Let’s engage in conversations with large donors. Let’s identify allies who influence the dominant system and who can hold those spaces for us where the emergent side is illuminated.Focusing on homegrown solutions and investing in community-led initiatives is a powerful strategy for creating lasting change. We can shift power dynamics by generating, integrating, and amplifying knowledge rooted in real-world practice. Empowering individuals and communities with the tools and autonomy to shape their futures fosters accountability and speaks to the core of true progress. Progress is only possible when people have access to knowledge, a voice in decision-making, and the agency to control their own lives.On the other hand, let's continue questioning our own practices. Many of us have grown comfortable and complacent because we live within the system we aim to change. It’s time to have open conversations about the complacency we experience within ourselves. It is time we walk the talk and shift power from within. By deepening our practice, we challenge ourselves to reflect on our own power, not just demand the same of others.Let’s create a space for deep listening, where we build a strong constituency and empower communities to determine how resources can be shared and distributed. It’s equally important to focus on the dynamics of power relationships to enhance inclusion. To successfully shift power, we must identify innovative ways to engage a broad audience. #ShiftThePowerSTORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse Story Awards and the #ShiftThePower campaign, a collaboration between World Pulse's Research and Evaluation Group and the Co-Design Collaborative at the University of Arizona. This campaign called on women to share their insights and recommendations related to shifting power. <a href="https://www.worldpulse.org/story/-67915" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Learn more and read the report.</a>

UGANDA: Let’s Change the Game and Shift the Power Balance 

#ShiftThePower

<h1>Katrina Khan Roberts reflects on the complexities of gender and digital life.</h1><blockquote>"The person I am—on and offline, to myself and to others—cannot be defined by labels."</blockquote>I've found myself being labelled in so many ways: daughter, wife, mother, advocate, artist, writer, volunteer... Too many to list. I've found myself labelling myself as well: anxious, contrite, selfish, too much, too little... I think of these labels as knives cutting away parts of my identity, whittling me into a shape sometimes different depending on the angle you look at me from. Sometimes I feel like they are pencils of different colors, the pigments blending and shifting depending on who is holding them. I wonder which pencils should matter more, the ones I hold or the ones others swipe and wield.Now there is a new type of swiping happening. As a millennial, I remember living in a time without the internet being a daily necessity. The screen time I had was one hour per day after school to watch cartoons. In my youth, I learned exponentially and developed alongside the internet. I was there to listen to the whisper of people online grow to the deafening roar we hear today. I was able to happily meander through the burble of MySpace and Hi5 and then suddenly I reached the hurricane tossed sea of social media today.The person I am, on and offline, to myself and to others, can't be defined in labels. I reminded myself recently to not be swept away in the torrent of what I see online, of the worry of needing to be perceived by eyes separated from me by a screen. Humans are amazing, but I feel like we have complicated this entire lived experience. I now hope to reconnect with nature more than anything, craving simple pleasures, good quality basic needs and spending time and being present with my little ones.Sometimes, the scroll and swipe catch me though. I seek inspiration from other women I see online, but sometimes I find self doubt. Other times I find a shocking jealousy that I didn't know I had inside. The difficulty comes when those ugly feelings carry beyond the screen and into my real life.There are so many stories, and the internet offers access to all of them. The key is to manage what influences you and your life. Your labels, hashtags, and sense of self-worth don’t have to be tied together; they can all mix into the same pot, simmering and swirling in the heat of transformative communication.Women are already given so much to shoulder and carry. Sometimes the burdens become part of our bodies and minds. We will always continue the battle between other and self.Today, I chose to see the brighter side of the screen. We don't know what the future will bring, if it will be more outside or in. All I know is that we will be human and to be human is to feel. I hope we can put these feelings into communicating a better future that is more inclusive, kind and inspiring. We can build it together, one word at a time. STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO: The Roles Women Play, the People Women Are

<h1>In Zimbabwe, street harassment doesn't end on the sidewalk—it goes viral. Pretty Moyo exposes this growing digital violence and calls for urgent action.</h1><blockquote>“As women, we need to come together and use the same social media platforms to raise awareness about how damaging this toxic culture has become in our country.”</blockquote>Imagine walking down the street in one of your favorite outfits — nothing extravagant, just something comfortable for the scorching midday heat. Suddenly, everyone is staring at you as if they’re seeing something shameful or disgusting. Before you even figure out why they’re behaving this way, a group of men starts following you, whistling and throwing dirty comments that penetrate deep inside you, like multiple nails being hammered directly into your heart.&nbsp;The worst part is that their phone cameras are pointed directly at you as they film you. The looks on their faces show they’re having one of the best moments of their lives. A few minutes later, you’re trending on all social media platforms.&nbsp;This is not a hypothetical scenario, but a frightening reality for thousands of women and girls living in Zimbabwe. This kind of behavior has become somewhat of a “norm” among Zimbabwean men who feel they have the right to impose their opinions on what women should wear. Whenever men come across a woman in attire they deem inappropriate or not aligned with their ideals of modesty, they start whistling and beeping their car horns to drive attention toward her. They throw nasty comments, which sound as bad as insults, and film the helpless woman before posting her on social media.&nbsp;From what I gather, the majority of Zimbabwean men view this harassment as a form of entertainment, making fun of women they think are dressing “provocatively.” “She has no respect for herself.”“She’s asking for attention.” “She thinks she’s in the West.”These are the types of comments flooding the comment sections whenever such a video is posted. Others mock the woman’s body structure, make lewd comments about her appearance, and occasionally, some women join in, saying she deserved it. This form of harassment has become so ingrained in our country that even women no longer feel the need to stand up for themselves. Instead, some have turned into abusers just like the men.The disturbing part isn’t just the viral videos, but the overwhelming sense of powerlessness and injustice. The fact that men can follow a woman down the street, film her without consent, and use her body to fuel her online humiliation without any consequences is a chilling reminder of the digital violence women face. Sometimes, the harassment doesn’t stop in the comment sections. Some women receive messages from strangers threatening rape, as these men feel she’s “asking for it.” This has devastating consequences for women, leading to depression, anxiety, mental health issues, and shame. While the problem is huge, it can be put to an end. Zimbabwean women can regain their confidence, power, and pride. Action must be taken, and it must start now. As women, we need to come together and use the same social media platforms to raise awareness about how damaging this toxic culture has become in our country. Government must put in place laws and policies that explicitly prohibit this kind of online harassment, and the criminal justice system must take immediate action against any violent videos posted online. Those responsible for posting such videos should face criminal charges. Social media platforms must enforce policies that prohibit the posting of videos that involve harassment, where a woman is filmed and posted without consent. Any comments linked to harassment should also be prohibited, with users facing deactivation of their accounts. Men need to be held accountable for their actions. These actions won’t just protect us, but also our daughters and future generations.Everyone has the right to wear whatever they feel comfortable in without fear of harassment or judgment. No one has the right to film another person and post them on digital platforms without their consent. Zimbabwean women have the right to walk freely on the streets without any men passing nasty comments about their bodies or their looks. All of this can be achieved if we, as women, work together as one.&nbsp;STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

ZIMBABWE: When Street Harassment Goes Viral

<h1>Hande Neslişah Uzun reflects on the power of digital connections to ignite movements.</h1><blockquote>“The systems that oppress women in one country are the same systems that silence journalists, criminalize refugees, and exploit the vulnerable elsewhere. Our battles are not separate—they are one.”</blockquote>There was a time when I felt alone in my fight for justice. I saw the stories of Özgecan Aslan, Gauri Lankesh, Daphne Caruana Galizia, Sabeen Mahmud, Marielle Franco, Miroslava Breach, Reza Barati — lives lost to oppression, truth crushed under the weight of power. I carried their stories in my heart, but my voice felt small, my impact uncertain.Then, I found a circle of voices and a movement for change at World Pulse. When I connected to this space, I realized I wasn’t alone. I stepped into a digital space where words became activism, where stories were not just told but acted upon. Women from every corner of the world—activists, journalists, survivors, leaders—were here, amplifying voices that society tried to silence.I started sharing the stories that haunted me. Stories of women who resisted, who were taken too soon. I wrote about femicide in Turkey, murdered journalists in Mexico, the silencing of truth-tellers in Pakistan, and the brutality faced by refugees seeking safety.And something incredible happened: People listened and responded. They shared their own stories. Suddenly, these women were not just statistics or news articles. They were part of a global movement demanding justice.Through World Pulse, I connected with women who had lived through violence and fought back. I met survivors, journalists, artists, and educators. And these connections changed me.When I wrote about femicide in Turkey, women from Mexico, India, and Brazil reached out, sharing their own fights against gender-based violence. When I wrote about Reza Barati and the suffering of asylum seekers, refugee advocates from Australia and Europe connected with me, sharing ways to support displaced communities.I realized that while our struggles seemed different on the surface, they were deeply interconnected. The systems that oppress women in one country are the same systems that silence journalists, criminalize refugees, and exploit the vulnerable elsewhere. Our battles are not separate.Through World Pulse, I have embraced my role as a storyteller. I write not just to inform but to inspire action. I amplify the voices of those the world tries to erase, and I connect people who can turn awareness into activism. I document injustice so that it cannot be ignored.But I am also a connector. I bring people together across borders, and I believe in the power of shared voices and networks that transform individual fights into global movements.Through World Pulse, I have found a sanctuary where words are not weapons, but bridges and where solidarity overcomes isolation.Encouragement, care, community, solidarity. These are the values that can transform our online spaces into places of healing and action.To you—who feels like your voice is too small, your impact too little, your fight too exhausting—I want you to know this: You are not alone.The world may try to make you feel powerless. They may tell you that one voice cannot change anything. But every movement started with one voice. Every change was once just an idea, whispered by someone who refused to stay silent.So tell your story. Write, speak, create, resist. Find your people. Build your circle of voices. And know this: The world needs you. Your voice matters. And together, we are unstoppable.STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

TURKEY: Our Struggles and Stories are Interconnected 

<h1>As a child growing up in Nigeria, Gold Firstman hawked bread and dreamed of a better life. Now, she navigates digital spaces to unlock opportunities—for herself and the next generation.</h1><blockquote>I&nbsp;know what it’s like to be that young student, staring at a screen, desperate for an opportunity to change their story.</blockquote>I was the girl who hawked bread under the scorching sun in Port-Harcourt, Nigeria, weaving through traffic, calling out to strangers,hoping to sell enough to bring something home. I was the girl who walked miles just to get to a cyber café because back then, there was very poor electricity and no WiFi. Still, I refused to let a bad network and poor infrastructure bury my dreams.I was the girl who sat in front of a desktop computer, staring at job postings in countries I had never been to, wondering if a girl like me born into struggle could ever have a chance.Before I knew how to maximize online spaces, I tried a chatting site called To-Go, but it didn’t do much for me. Then, I turned to Facebook to connect with friends, but I still didn’t find what I was looking for. So, I started using Google to search for opportunities. I created Yahoo Mail and Gmail accounts so that I could receive updates about scholarships as a young undergraduate.One day, I stumbled on the Chevron Scholarship during one of my countless Google searches. I was excited, but I couldn’t do much from my small phone; I walked to a cyber café and spent hours browsing all the requirements. With the help of the experts, I applied and waited.&nbsp;I still remember the moment I got the news. I sat there, staring at my name on the school's notice board, my heart pounding. Me? A girl from a struggling home? Chosen? It was at that moment I realized the power of the internet. If I could find this, what else could I discover? What other doors could open?Out of 1,500 students, only two of us knew we were awarded the scholarship due to limited access to the internet. That scholarship funded my four-year university degree.Fast forward to 2020, when I began to be active on LinkedIn. At first, I didn’t know what to post, so I simply read what professionals were sharing. I wanted to understand how they thought, what they talked about, how they built careers online. I was searching for something — anything — to help me move forward.One day, while browsing the internet, I found a site offering free Virtual Assistant training for young people in Africa. I enrolled, determined to use the internet for good. I learned how to use Google tools, manage emails, organize data, and assist busy professionals remotely. It was a whole new world for me.I started talking about what I could do on LinkedIn. At first, it felt strange, almost like shouting into the void. But then, people started noticing. My inbox began to fill with messages. "Can you help me with this?""Are you available for work?"Before I knew it, I was working with professionals from different parts of the world, all from my small corner in Nigeria.Then, one day, I saw World Pulse on my feed. A platform where women could share their stories, connect, and inspire each other. I joined, and for the first time, I didn’t just read about other people’s journeys, I shared mine.That single act changed my life. I got my first podcast appearance through World Pulse to share my story on the Empathy Youyou Meme Show hosted by Mimi Nicklin. I have connected with women from different countries, each with their own struggles, triumphs, and lessons. Reading their stories daily gives me strength, reminding me that my journey, no matter how small, was part of something bigger.Today, I source opportunities online and share them with teenagers. I now know how to use Google search effectively, and I help young girls discover websites where they can learn valuable skills. I run a WhatsApp community where I share resources, job leads, and opportunities to help others grow.I have had the opportunity to join a team that taught young people about the power of the internet in a program called ICT Evangelism for Teens and Children. I’ve also joined several movements dedicated to helping people make good use of the internet — because I know firsthand how life-changing it can be.We are bringing the world together through the use of digital space for good.But one of the things I am most excited about is my latest project — EduLift for Indigenous Teens. I have written the plan, structure, and budget for this project, and now I am actively looking for sponsors and partners who believe in this vision and want to help me pilot this initiative.EduLift exists to bridge the gap for indigenous secondary school students and university freshmen in Nigeria who struggle with financial limitations.Our goals are simple: Help students fund their education; equip them with high-income skills (like Virtual Assistance); provide access to scholarships (local and international); and support them academically through online tutoring.&nbsp;I know what it’s like to be that young student, staring at a screen, desperate for an opportunity to change their story. I know what it means to feel stuck, to have potential but no access. I know what it's like to lose parents and even an older sibling to HIV/AIDS. And this is why I won’t stop.I didn’t back down when I was selling bread in traffic. I didn’t stop when my small phone couldn’t handle the scholarship portals. I didn’t stop when I had to walk miles to a cyber café just to send an application.I’m just getting started. I believe in the power of online spaces and the power of education. These spaces allow us to speak up, to source relevant information, and to take action. I see this on World Pulse: I read about so many women who are leading initiatives, and it inspires me to keep going with mine.If you are overwhelmed, remember that you can find guidance in digital spaces. And with the rise of AI and other tools making it easier than ever to connect and find what you need, now is the time to take advantage. Get online, read stories, stay connected and stay motivated. Keep going. Because the world is waiting to hear your story.&nbsp;﻿STORY AWARDSThis story was published as part of World Pulse's Story Awards program. We believe every woman has a story to share, and that the world will be a better place when women are heard.&nbsp;

NIGERIA: From Breadseller to Digital Trailblazer

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