Category: MIL-OSI

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Christophe Premat, Professor, Canadian and Cultural Studies, Stockholm University

Sophie Oluwole (1935-2018) was a Nigerian scholar and the first woman to earn a PhD in philosophy in her country. She not only placed Nigeria’s rich Yoruba philosophical tradition on the intellectual map, she also helped redefine African philosophy, a field dominated by men.

As a scholar of cultural studies with a focus on francophone and west Africa, I recently co-authored, in French, a book called African Intellectual Sensitivities: From Western Discourse to African Voices (1988-2022). One of its chapters is devoted to Oluwole and African women intellectuals.

She did much more than break gender barriers. By placing Nigeria’s Yoruba thought in dialogue with the famed western philosophers like Socrates, she challenged the assumption that African philosophy was merely folklore. To her it was a rigorous intellectual tradition.

Who gets to think?

For centuries, western philosophy presented itself as the universal measure of reason. Beginning with German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831), influential strands of western philosophy described Africa as “outside history”.

The continent was said to lack philosophy because it lacked a written tradition comparable to ancient Greece’s. Rational thought, many argued, needed text.

It was against this assumption that Oluwole built her work. She did not simply ask for African thinkers to be added to reading lists. She questioned the criteria used to define philosophy. In the process, she challenged a long-standing intellectual hierarchy.

A philosopher between worlds

Born in 1935 in what is today Ondo State, Sophie Bosede Olayemi Oluwole came of age during the final decades of British rule and the intense debates that would culminate in independence in 1960.

Like many girls of her generation, she initially trained as a teacher. But her intellectual curiosity pushed her further. She enrolled to study philosophy at the University of Ibadan, then the country’s premier university. It was an unusual choice for a Nigerian woman in the 1960s. She earned her PhD there in 1984.

Pursuing a doctoral degree took persistence in an academic culture overwhelmingly dominated by men. Her path reflects both the new educational opportunities after independence and the structural barriers women still faced in higher education.

Her intellectual career unfolded from the 1970s through the early 2000s, while Nigerian universities were wrestling with their post-independence identity. After 1960, several institutions sought to Africanise curricula and leadership. Yet philosophy departments often remained anchored in European traditions.

Oluwole herself was Yoruba, one of the largest ethnic and language groups in west Africa. The Yoruba were concentrated mainly in south-western Nigeria but also present in Benin and Togo.

Yoruba thinking is structured around a cosmology linking the visible and invisible worlds, ancestors and descendants, individual destiny and communal responsibility. Knowledge is not separated from ethics or spirituality; wisdom is understood as practical guidance for living well within a web of relationships.

She focused on the corpus of Ifá, a vast body of oral literature linked to ethics, cosmology and reflection on human destiny. At its centre stands Òrúnmìlà, a figure associated with wisdom and knowledge.

For Oluwole, Òrúnmìlà was not just a religious figure. He functioned as a philosopher – a teacher of critical inquiry and moral reasoning whose insights were preserved through disciplined oral storytelling.

She drew comparisons between him and the Greek philosopher Socrates. Socrates left no written work of his own. His ideas were transmitted through dialogue and memory. Why, then, should the spoken word disqualify an African thinker from being recognised as philosophical?

The problem, she insisted, was not Africa’s lack of philosophy. It was the narrow definition of philosophy inherited from Europe – one that privileged written texts and dismissed oral traditions as pre-philosophical. By questioning that definition, Oluwole was not only defending Yoruba thought. She was expanding philosophy itself.

The politics of the spoken

At the centre of Oluwole’s work was a simple but disruptive question: must philosophy be written to exist? In her book Philosophy and Oral Tradition (1997), she argued that African oral texts – including myths, proverbs and Ifá verses – contain structured reasoning and critical reflection, and therefore meet the criteria of philosophical thought. Texts are preserved, cited and institutionalised.

She exposed the colonial logic behind this hierarchy. During the 1800s and early 1900s, European scholars often portrayed Africa as a continent of myth rather than reason.

The absence of classical written texts was interpreted as intellectual absence. But storytelling does not prevent intellectual reasoning. Writing does not automatically produce critical thought. By analysing Ifá verses, Oluwole showed that they contain ethical reasoning, reflection on causality (cause and effect) and debate about human responsibility.

Her work entered into dialogue with broader debates in African philosophy. Thinkers like Benin’s Paulin Hountondji criticised the idea that African philosophy was only a collective worldview. They argued for critical and argumentative traditions. Oluwole demonstrated that such critical reasoning could also be embedded in oral forms.

A trailblazing woman

Oluwole’s work cannot be separated from her position as a woman. Philosophy remains one of the most male-dominated disciplines worldwide.

But Oluwole faced a double challenge. She was a woman in philosophy. She was also an African philosopher confronting Eurocentric standards.

She would become an increasingly public figure, making many TV appearances and speaking engagements, always spurring debate.

Why she matters today

The questions Sophie Oluwole raised remain pressing.

As calls to decolonise knowledge grow, universities around the world are rethinking what they teach. Yet change often focuses on adding authors to the syllabus. The deeper issue concerns the criteria used to define knowledge.

Oluwole’s work invites a more structural reflection. If philosophy is defined too narrowly, inclusion will remain limited. The definition of philosophy itself must be examined.

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Read more: Achille Mbembe on how to restore the humanity stolen by racism

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Her argument also speaks beyond Africa. Many indigenous knowledge systems continue to be marginalised because they are transmitted orally or embedded in ritual and narrative. They are treated as cultural heritage rather than intellectual production.

By defending the philosophical depth of Yoruba thought, Oluwole challenged this hierarchy. She showed that philosophy is not the property of one civilisation. It is a human practice shaped by different media and histories.

– Sophie Oluwole, the trailblazing Nigerian woman who redefined philosophy
– https://theconversation.com/sophie-oluwole-the-trailblazing-nigerian-woman-who-redefined-philosophy-277382

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Ellen Fungisai Chipango, Senior Research Associate, University of Johannesburg

Zimbabwe’s 2019 renewable energy policy envisions a transition to green energy in which women and men participate equally and benefit equitably.

But the real test of this promise lies in whether women and men have equal access to renewable energy and are able to use it for the tasks they most need to accomplish in their everyday lives.

As an energy justice researcher, I wanted to find out how residents, government officials and energy non-governmental organisations view gender (in)equality in the move to green energy.

I chose to interview people from Zingondi (a rural area in the Manicaland province of Zimbabwe) because this area offers a clear case of how renewable energy policy plays out in low-income, rural areas that are not connected to the national grid.

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Read more: Green energy doesn’t benefit everyone: ubuntu ideas can help include more people

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I asked the people I interviewed what a truly equal and equitable energy policy would look like in practice. By equal, I mean giving women and men the same opportunities and access to energy. By equitable, I mean recognising that they often start from unequal social and economic positions, and that women may therefore need additional support (funds, training, or extra decision-making powers) to reach the same level of energy access and benefit as men.

There are about 39 households living in Zingondi. They are not connected to the national electricity grid. To cook, they use fuelwood and what’s left after crops are harvested (biomass). Many families live in thatched mud houses. When I visited, I saw that all families used solar lanterns. Some also had solar panels to charge phones and radios.

My research found that having such limited access to electricity did nothing to change traditional gender roles where women do a lot more unpaid work around the house than men. For example, women remained primarily responsible for cooking on fire. They also had very little control over new forms of solar energy (what to buy and how to fix it if it broke) as these decisions and actions were controlled by the men in the families.

Overall, women saw little change in their economic or decision-making power even though clean forms of energy had come into their lives.

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Read more: How socio-economic conditions shape renewable energy uptake in Zimbabwe

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My findings show that even new renewable energy is never neutral. It is shaped by power: who controls resources, who captures the benefits, and who remains excluded. Achieving gender equality in energy transitions needs more than introducing small solar devices or promising future grid access.

Zimbabwe’s energy policies must move beyond promises of gender equality in energy access and deliver real transformation on the ground. The country’s renewable energy policy commits to gender equality and women’s participation, but pays less attention to whether this is taking place.

If this change does not happen, new energy initiatives will simply prop up existing gender hierarchies which leave women at the bottom, rather than transforming women’s lives.

Solar power in rural Zingondi

Zingondi is a resettlement area (where land was redistributed under the fast-track land reform programme to small-scale farmers) whose households have three hectares of land each.

Most families there depend on small-scale farming to grow food. But they face problems of insecure land rights (they only have temporary licences to occupy the land), political disputes, and limited access to resources to develop their farms.

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Read more: Green energy for all: Zimbabwe will need a new social contract to roll out projects like solar power

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At first glance, the solar lanterns in every home, purchased by the residents, indicate that universal access to affordable, reliable and modern energy is being achieved. But when I asked women how solar energy had improved their lives, their responses were cautious.

First, many women were still cooking with firewood, because small solar devices can’t power electric stoves. One female participant observed:

When I am cooking using semi-dried wood, no one can even enter the kitchen because of the smoke. It is like a prison cell!

Second, they had little decision-making power over energy:

Solar gives men more power to control us in the home … if it’s not the money to buy the gadgets, such as solar lanterns, it’s how to use them, or it’s about when and where to buy a replacement.

Third, the quality of solar lanterns varied. Families that received remittances from relatives working in South Africa were able to afford higher-quality appliances. But poorer households could not. Cheap solar lanterns often overheated and “blew” after a short time. Paying for replacements placed financial strain on many women.

Fourth, having light at night made the working day for these rural women even longer:

Having a light bulb (solar lantern) means more work to cover, not to relax. The reason is: I am a woman!

Women also reported that their husbands did not allow them to travel to renewable energy meetings where they could learn more about solar power.

Some women hid small amounts of money from their husbands to avoid conflict or to retain some financial autonomy for buying electricity later – known in ChiShona as kusungirira mari muchiuno (“to tie money around the waist”). But because these savings were hidden, the women couldn’t spend them on larger or more reliable solar energy systems.

What needs to happen next

Zimbabwe’s energy transition must make sure that women are not just passive recipients of energy infrastructure but active participants in shaping how energy is accessed, used and managed.

Women begin from unequal positions. So energy policies must tackle the question of the power relations that shape who controls resources within households and communities.

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Read more: Zambia’s forest communities need finance for solar power – so they don’t have to cut down trees to pay for it

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Zimbabwe’s energy policy emphasises women’s inclusion and solar entrepreneurship. However, its largely market-driven approach means that only women who can afford solar systems benefit, leaving off-grid and marginalised communities like Zingondi excluded.

To make the policy truly transformative, the government could take these steps:

• introduce targeted subsidies, micro grants or low-interest loans for rural women

• support community-shared solar schemes

• set quotas for women in resettlement areas to participate in renewable energy schemes

• convene training in local areas where childcare is provided, so that women can participate

• set up mentorship programmes to strengthen women’s leadership and decision-making

• implement regular monitoring to ensure that women not only participate but also gain meaningful control over energy resources.

This is happening in other countries. In rural Bangladesh, women have been trained as solar technicians, and in Nepal, women have taken on leading roles in managing tiny, micro hydro plants.

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Read more: Why renewable energy won’t end energy poverty in Zimbabwe

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In India, government‑linked schemes such as the Ministry of New and Renewable Energy’s Women in Renewable Energy initiative provide training and business support that expand women’s participation in the energy sector.

Unless these changes are made, solar energy infrastructure will expand in rural Zimbabwe without expanding equality.

– Solar power in rural Zimbabwe hasn’t reduced women’s unpaid work: can policy do better?
– https://theconversation.com/solar-power-in-rural-zimbabwe-hasnt-reduced-womens-unpaid-work-can-policy-do-better-276287

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Meg A. Warren, Professor of Management, Western Washington University

Can pastors, imams and rabbis be allies to women and children and help stop gender-based violence?

Many wars have been fought in the name of religion. Much pain and dehumanisation has been inflicted on women and girls in the name of religious culture. So, it wouldn’t be surprising for there to be cynicism about the question.

But, in fact, a growing body of research shows that faith leaders can be powerful allies against social ills like gender-based violence.

As a social-organisational psychologist, I research how people use their strengths and the strengths of their culture to assist those who are suffering in their society.

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Read more: Sexual violence: a weapon of war in eastern Congo for more than 20 years

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My colleagues, Karen Torjesen and Grace Ngare, and I set out to study the impacts of a year-long intervention by religious leaders in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The religious leaders had initiated a programme that they hoped would contribute to social change when it came to gender-based violence within marriage, gender roles in the family, and male allyship in the community.

Our study found that faith leaders could indeed be activated as champions of positive social change. They can activate entire communities – men and women – to come together to address gender-based violence. We found that the ripple effect can endure and extend well beyond initial efforts.

A history of violence

The Second Congo War (1998–2003) was one of Africa’s deadliest civil wars, claiming as many as 3 million lives.

Systematic rape was wielded as a weapon of war. The DRC earned the unfortunate label of “rape capital of the world”. Internally displaced women and girls were viewed by armed militia as soft targets.

From the 2000s, boys in the DRC who had been recruited as child soldiers were returning home as young adults. They had been taught that women were no more than “spoils of the war”.

Without the support of therapy, they had to reintegrate into their families and live among their mothers, aunts and sisters, and start their own families. Predictably, gender-based violence was rampant.

Ending it was a clear goal for the health and stability of civil society.

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Read more: I was a child soldier – here’s what it’ll take to protect young lives in conflict zones

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At the same time, women were reluctant to report the men who raped them. In addition to cultural norms of silence and shame around sexual violence, they did not want to have their brothers, sons and husbands locked up in prison. The community had to find another means to restore women’s safety and well-being while also protecting the fabric of their society.

In a context of crumbling infrastructure, the people who truly understood the extent of the rape and violence against women were not the police or other authorities. Rather, it was the quiet presence of the church pastors and the wives of the imams that the women confided in.

The pastors and imams decided to use their influence to teach congregants about healthy interpersonal relationships – where respect, gender equity, nonviolence and empowerment were key.

The Tamar Campaign

In 2013, their three-year initiative, the Tamar Campaign, was delivered directly and through spin-off efforts to more than 30,000 people across multiple cities and villages in the DRC. Participants each attended the programme for about a year.

Created by the Fellowship of Christian Councils and Churches in the Great Lakes and the Horn of Africa, this was an interfaith, inter-organisational effort to combat gender-based violence through the use of scriptures and the engagement of communities. It was named after the story of the rape of Tamar in the Old Testament – a common thread across Christianity, Islam and Judaism – in which a daughter of King David was raped by her brother.

Because of toxic gender norms around what it meant to be a man, the men returning from war had not learned how to identify their own emotions, how to speak about their emotions, or how to see the emotions of others and work with them.

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Read more: The war after the war: How violence is passed down through generations

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The goal was to use stories from scripture as the entry point to teach men how to be better allies to women and girls. In the story of Tamar, for example, rape combines elements of incest, domestic violence and the conspiracy of men. When Tamar sought help after being raped, she was told to be quiet. This displays the culture of silence around such acts.

In each monthly session run by the faith leaders, scriptural stories were introduced as an entry point to openly discuss gender-based violence within a mixed-gender setting. They lifted the shroud of silence in a sacred and safe space, often a house of worship. Next, participants discussed gender-based violence in their own families and the community. They talked about how they could become agents of change.

In the process, in monthly group sessions of 25 or so people, the programme sought to teach socio-emotional skills, detoxify notions of masculinity, deepen understanding between men and women, strengthen their relationships, and develop action plans for healing, repair and allyship.

The study

My research team evaluated the effectiveness of this intervention four years later. In a field study, a survey was given to Tamar participants, and matching control groups in North and South Kivu.

We found that those in the programme had a 50%-85% lower incidence of violence, with larger drops in violence in North Kivu compared to South Kivu. It was a dramatic success story.

This tremendous drop in violence happened after many earlier interventions to address the problem had failed. Typical advocacy-based interventions failed because women worried that even if they became better at advocating for themselves, the fabric of society would disintegrate – the women would be beaten, ousted from their community, and lose their children. Their only choice seemed to be silence – unless the intervention wasn’t about the women at all, but about turning the men into their allies.

My team studied the results, including the effects on the participants’ marital relationships. We found, amazingly, that their relationships were better than when women had remained silent. There were accounts of women and men communicating and dealing with emotional issues with respect, rather than derision.

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Read more: Women activists in the DRC show how effective alliances can be forged

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Long after the funding had ended, other groups and communities who had heard about the programme borrowed the Tamar curriculum, with positive results. The allyship was still spreading and still having an impact. Community members were intervening when they saw violence occur among their neighbours or their extended family. They were being allies out in the world, not just for their own partner or immediate families.

This offers one example of how cultural phenomena like religion can be a resource to combat large, complex and entrenched societal problems. Congolese participants were drawing on their strength, building relationships, prioritising healing, and thinking in the long term to shift a toxic culture from the inside out.

– Faith leaders joined the fight against woman abuse in the DRC. Did it help?
– https://theconversation.com/faith-leaders-joined-the-fight-against-woman-abuse-in-the-drc-did-it-help-277270

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Mziwandile Sobantu, Professor, University of Johannesburg

South Africa’s new democratic government inherited a 1.5 million housing backlog in 1994, which it has been struggling to close. The current national deficit stands at 2 million.

The 2025 White Paper for Human Settlements records that government has delivered 5.2 million houses and housing opportunities (units or subsidies) since 1994. But rapid urbanisation, population growth and the pace of housing provision by government have meant that there’s still a shortfall.

Many of the people who face housing challenges are women who bear full responsibility for childcare and families. In two of the province’s main metropolitan areas, Ekurhuleni and Johannesburg, four in ten families are headed by women. Many have to resort to inadequate housing in informal settlements and backyard dwellings.

We are social work research academics who recently explored what housing means to female-headed households living in a low-income community in Kathrada Park, Johannesburg. Rather than treating housing only as shelter or physical asset, the study examined how women experience and interpret their homes in the context of their everyday lives.

The findings show that housing is not just about having a roof overhead. It is also about dignity, control, emotional security and belonging. These meanings are shaped by women’s life histories, including migration, widowhood, divorce and caregiving roles. They also challenge narrow policy definitions of what constitutes adequate housing.

Understanding housing through people’s lived experiences is critical in a country where women increasingly shoulder the responsibility of sustaining families.

Housing is a basic right and human need which is enshrined in South Africa’s 1996 constitution. The International Bill of Rights cites adequate housing as a measure of social progress as well as a commitment to build the economy.

Women in Kathrada Park

In urban areas such as Kathrada Park in Johannesburg, women head households under conditions shaped by gender inequality, economic precarity and social responsibility. Unemployment, particularly for Black women, remains very high in the country.

Our study was based on interviews with eight female heads of households aged between 37 and 71. Qualitative research with smaller samples allows researchers to gain in-depth descriptions of whatever they are studying. All were single women heading households, had lived in Kathrada Park for at least two years, had their own accommodation, and were engaged in either formal or informal livelihood activities. Some were supporting children, adult dependants or grandchildren.

Rather than focusing only on material conditions, we asked a simple but powerful question:

What does a house mean to you?

Their responses revealed three closely connected themes: dignity and self-worth, safety and security, and livelihood.

Theme 1: Housing as dignity and self-worth

For many participants, having a house, however modest, was a source of pride. In a society where women heading households may be stigmatised or blamed for poverty, a home symbolised responsibility, achievement and resilience. One woman explained:

…you get dignity when you live in a house.

For her, housing was not only about protection from the elements, but also about being respected by her children and by others in the community.

Small acts of homemaking such as painting walls, planting a garden or keeping the space orderly carried deep emotional meaning. These practices were ways of asserting identity and self-worth in contexts marked by exclusion and hardship. Housing was not only about ownership or tenure; it was about being able to say: I am a capable woman, providing for my family.

All participants emphasised that, despite raising children on their own, their families had shelter and a home, could use flushing toilets, and had access to water and electricity. These basic services, often taken for granted elsewhere, gave them a strong sense of pride and self-respect.

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Read more: Health risks at home: a study in six African countries shows how healthy housing saves children’s lives

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Theme 2: Housing as safety for women and children

Safety emerged as a central concern in participants’ lives. South Africa experiences high levels of crime and gender-based violence. Participants spoke about fear of break-ins, violence and insecurity while also describing their homes as offering some degree of protection.

As one woman put it:

It’s a pity that our community is not safe. You just have to live and pray that nothing will happen to you till the next day. A good house is very important here.

For these women, housing represented a fragile but crucial buffer against exposure to danger. It provided a place where children could sleep behind locked doors, where families could retreat from public risk, and where a sense of control, however limited, could be maintained.

This highlights an important reality: even poor-quality housing can improve safety and wellbeing compared to homelessness or informal living arrangements. For female-headed households, the home often functions as the primary line of defence against vulnerability.

Theme 3: Housing as livelihood

Housing was also closely linked to livelihood and economic survival. Several participants used their homes to grow vegetables, support small-scale food production, or supplement household income in other ways.

One woman explained:

This garden is helping us so much. At least my kids at the creche get to eat greens every day, which is good. And it keeps us busy.

Her home enabled both food security and daily activity. Other participants highlighted the importance of location. Being close to schools, transport routes, or informal work opportunities made daily survival possible.

Housing was therefore not only a place to live, but a base from which women sustained their families economically. This reinforces the idea that housing cannot be separated from broader questions of poverty, care and economic inclusion.

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Read more: South Africa’s addressing system is still not in place: a clear vision is needed

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Women and disadvantage

Across many societies, women remain disadvantaged in three interrelated dimensions: limited access to education, lower economic returns for heavier workloads, and persistent barriers to socioeconomic mobility. These inequalities have direct consequences for housing outcomes, often resulting in inadequate housing or, in some cases, the absence of stable shelter altogether.

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Read more: South Africa’s low-cost housing model is broken – study suggests how to fix it

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For many female-headed households in South Africa, housing is the difference between vulnerability and survival. It is a place of safety in an often-unsafe world, a space of autonomy following loss or separation, and a foundation from which women care for children, elders and themselves. Yet access to quality housing and property has long been skewed against women in many developing societies, undermining not only their right to shelter but also their access to safety, security, piped water, electricity and sanitation.

Our findings show that for women who head households, housing is not simply about shelter. It’s about the possibility of belonging in a society marked by inequality and uncertainty.

Contributor Lydia Mmola was a postgraduate student when this study was conducted.

– What does a house mean to you? We asked some women who head households in South Africa
– https://theconversation.com/what-does-a-house-mean-to-you-we-asked-some-women-who-head-households-in-south-africa-275012

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Elizabeth Hull, Senior Lecturer in Social Anthropology, SOAS, University of London

The South African government makes a great deal of the fact that it supports women’s empowerment in agriculture.

But does it?

As an anthropologist, I’ve been engaged in long-term ethnographic research in KwaZulu-Natal since 2007, focusing mostly on rural food systems and food-based livelihoods and before that on health care.

We conducted research into the Isibonelo Cooperative, a small-scale women-led farming cooperative in KwaZulu-Natal. We found that weak governance and old infrastructure had led to women’s dispossession from the land they had farmed for decades.

This isn’t happening through formal dispossession, but because failing irrigation infrastructure is making farming impossible. Old and damaged equipment, high operating costs, and institutional barriers interact to limit the viability of smallholder farming on South Africa’s smallholder irrigation schemes.

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Read more: Rural women farmers in South Africa: how global promises aren’t translating into support on the ground

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The inability of the women to farm has significantly affected their wellbeing, and that of their families.

Women make a substantial contribution to smallholder farming in South Africa. They have the skills and determination to farm. But they depend on adequate water infrastructure and functioning institutional arrangements to make it happen.

The collapse of farming in Makhathini

The Isibonelo Cooperative is a small-scale women-led farming cooperative in KwaZulu-Natal. It belongs to the Makhathini Irrigation Scheme, situated in the north of the province near the borders of Eswatini and Mozambique.

Cooperatives have long been promoted in South African policy as democratic, entrepreneurial entities that facilitate inclusion of women and youth. In practice, they are often fragile, state-dependent institutions that manage resource sharing in precarious circumstances.

We initially chose Isibonelo for our research due to its long-term success at growing food and supporting local families and markets. Until recently, it was successful compared to many cooperatives.

The Makhathini Irrigation Scheme was established in the 1970s by the then apartheid government. The government forcibly resettled local residents to make way for the scheme and in collaboration with chiefs, allocated newly formed 10ha plots to male farmers. Women were excluded from the process.

A group of women organised themselves and successfully applied for a shared plot, which they subdivided into individual plots or “gardens” of 0.2 hectares each. Some of the women were local residents while others were new arrivals who had been forcibly expelled from their homes on white-owned farmland as part of a notorious process of mass evictions carried out by the apartheid regime.

The women continued to grow food into the democratic period after 1994. And its success attracted attention.

Between 2011 and 2018, my research collaborator, Khulekani Dlamini, and I conducted ethnographic research with the Isibonelo Cooperative. It was successfully producing food for families and regional markets. It operated effectively under modest conditions, providing its members with a structure for productive activity, household improvement, and local sharing of labour and resources. But in 2018, farming activity ceased due to broken pipes. Despite repeated efforts by members to raise the issue with authorities, water supply to the gardens has not been restored.

As a result, the cooperative’s agricultural operations have halted almost entirely.

A wider problem

The problem is far wider than this scheme alone. In 2007, over a third of South Africa’s 317 smallholder irrigation schemes were inactive. Recent studies suggest that the revitalisation of schemes has been sporadic, and they remain inhibited by structural problems. These include market access, access to credit, physical infrastructure and governance of the schemes. Beyond Makhathini, farmers have abandoned plots due to difficulties accessing water.

Yet the absence of comprehensive recent data inhibits a clear understanding of the scale of the problem.

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Read more: Big irrigation projects in Africa have failed to deliver. What’s needed next

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In some cases, a focus on expensive technology upgrades has necessitated high yielding commercial production to ensure financial viability. In turn this has led to the unintended demise of smallholder projects. Across Makhathini and other schemes, cost recovery is low as farmers struggle to pay for operational bills in a context of intermittent and unreliable water.

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Read more: African land policy reforms have been good for women and communities – but review of 18 countries shows major gaps

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Impact on local economies and food security

The schemes are a vital part of the local economy. Before farming was interrupted, the cooperative was more than a means of survival. It enabled women to improve their homes, feed their families, engage in urban markets, and maintain some economic independence in a region with high unemployment and limited formal opportunities.

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Read more: Feeding Africa: how small-scale irrigation can help farmers to change the game

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To understand what had changed, Dlamini returned to Makhathini between 2022 and 2025 to interview 11 cooperative members, their relatives and neighbouring farmers.

They reported that the collapse of farming has led to loss of income, food insecurity, household debt, mental health challenges, and a decline in local cooperation including food sharing and stokvel (informal saving club) participation.

Rising prices have compounded these problems. One member told us:

Today we are buying everything that we used to grow for ourselves… We never bought vegetables (previously), but today we are buying from other farmers and in shops at high prices.

Home extensions initiated by farming income stood incomplete. One member had moved away from the area, troubled by poultry theft and no longer able to farm. Some found work cutting grass as part of government employment schemes or selling clothes door-to-door. Others relied on borrowing from local store owners. One member stated her challenges candidly:

I am struggling to buy enough food for my grandchildren and I am always in debt.

The group has made repeated efforts to raise the issue with relevant authorities. But water supply to the gardens has not been restored. The lack of clear accountability for infrastructure maintenance, coupled with a fragmented governance environment involving traditional leaders, municipal authorities and parastatal entities, contributes to inaction.

Today the gardens are overgrown. The women are still waiting for water. The impact extends to future generations as opportunities to pass valuable farming knowledge and skills to younger family members dwindles.

What needs to happen next?

Political attention focuses on the speed and scale of land transfers as part of the government’s flagship land reform programme. But apartheid era irrigation schemes also deserve much greater attention. Targeted and appropriate support could enable recovery.

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Read more: Land reform in South Africa: what the real debate should be about

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For this to be sustainable, the focus must extend beyond technology fixes to address deeper problems in the governance of the schemes. These must tackle how top-down management has impeded the potentiality of smallholders.

There is an urgent need for irrigation infrastructure to be repaired and restored on plots where smallholders have the potential to return to farming. Rainwater is unreliable and other water sources are far too limited to grow food without irrigation.

Local governance structures must be better coordinated by clarifying the role of scheme management bodies, municipal officials, traditional leaders, and provincial departments. Farmers will then better understand who is responsible for water, maintenance and dispute resolution.

The voice of farmers, especially women and cooperatives, must be strengthened through improved local liaison structures and strengthening procedures for maintenance requests.

Training and support must be developed that is tailored to both group-level and individual needs, recognising that individual production affects group-level viability and developing finance models that accommodate this uncertainty.

Khulekani T. Dlamini was a co-researcher and contributed to this article.

– Women farmers in South Africa pay the cost of broken irrigation systems – the story of one cooperative
– https://theconversation.com/women-farmers-in-south-africa-pay-the-cost-of-broken-irrigation-systems-the-story-of-one-cooperative-271855