Online Reporter
Victor Maphosa
Mashonaland East Bureau
The dust from the Mbare roads clung to her white socks and shoes as she walked home, her blue satchel — emblazoned with the words “Good Student” — bouncing gently on her back.
Inside were her books, a lunchbox with leftover biscuits, and a drink bottle. Nine-year-old Mitchell Damba (not here real name) was carefree, her only worry the slight scolding she might get for her dirty uniform, a scolding that would always end with her mother’s warm smile and a clean set of clothes waiting for her the next day.
But as she approached her gate, her playful stride faltered. A sombre crowd had gathered in her yard. Confusion turned to dread when a relative, eyes brimming with tears, knelt to hug her tightly.
Weaving through the hushed crowd, she found her father. His face, usually so strong, was filled with tears. He squeezed her hand and lifted her into an embrace. Searching for answers — and for her mother — Mitchell slipped into her parents’ bedroom. It was empty. The bed was neatly made.
Her father met her in the doorway. “Mitchie,” he said, using his affectionate name for her. “Your mother passed away a few hours after you left for school.”
The world shattered. The crowd, the tears — i t was all because her mother was gone. At just nine years old, Mitchell stood at her mother’s graveside at Mbudzi Cemetery, watching as the earth swallowed the only constant source of love she had ever known.
In the weeks that followed, the relatives and neighbours returned to their homes, leaving Mitchell alone with her grieving father. She was his only child, and she looked to him to be her anchor. The cheerful Grade 3 learner became withdrawn, smiling only for her father, unaware of the storm brewing behind his own sad eyes.
The love and attention she desperately needed were brief. A year after burying his wife, Mr Damba packed his bags. He left for South Africa with promises to send money.
For a while, he did. Then, the calls became less frequent. The money stopped. The texts ceased. He vanished into silence, as if he had never existed — as if his daughter did not exist.
Mitchell was sent to Murehwa to live with her ailing grandmother.
“Some people told us he is alive, married and has two new children,” Mitchell said, the pain still fresh in her voice seven years later. “It hurts me a lot because after my mother died, I had only him. He is the only parent I have, but he is enjoying himself somewhere, and I am wallowing here in poverty.”
Her grandmother worked hard, scraping together fees to keep Mitchell in school until Form 2. When her health failed, the money vanished. Mitchell was forced to drop out. Idle and desperate for escape, she found friendship with two other girls on the same destructive path.
“We started spending most of our time drinking any kind of beer,” she recalled. “We were on top of the world and uncaring.”
Their days were spent at beerhalls and nightclubs. Their nights were spent in cars and lodges with men who paid them for sex. At 15, Mitchell became a commercial sex worker, using the money to buy clothes and a fleeting sense of independence.
“We did not care about ourselves at all,” she said. “It was just peer pressure.”
The turning point came on an ordinary day in Murehwa. Mitchell was at a tailor’s shop when she met a neighbour, Mrs Fungai Rwizi, a mentor with the National Aids Council’s (NAC) Sista2Sista programme.
“The mentor was surprised, but happy to see me,” Mitchell said. True to her word, Mrs Rwizi visited Mitchell’s grandmother and invited the young woman to join the programme.
“I agreed,” Mitchell said. “I went to a session and I enjoyed it. From the first day I attended, I never looked back.”
The Sista2Sista programme, which has 50 girls in Murehwa, provides education on the dangers of HIV, early marriage, and substance abuse. More importantly, it teaches income-generating skills, offering a path out of desperation.
“We aim to reduce the spread of HIV,” said Mrs Rwizi. “Once they are financially empowered, they can easily decide on having safer sex and can afford to buy anything that they want.”
For Mitchell, the lessons were an awakening. She stopped going to the business centre. She stopped answering her old friends’ calls. She started going to church.
“I realised where I went astray,” she said. “Sista2Sista programme has taught me how to earn money decently.”
Now 19, Mitchell runs a poultry project. She buys clothes for herself and her grandmother and even purchased a cellphone with her earnings. She has been tested for HIV and knows her status. While the money isn’t enough to send her back to school, her dream remains alive.
“My wish is to go back to school, complete my secondary school and become a nurse,” she said with determined hope. “I am willing to go back because I have always been a bright student.”
Her message to other girls is a warning born of experience: “Peer pressure does not have boundaries. It is so delusional and one can go completely astray. Choose friends wisely.”
And to parents, especially her own, she has a plea from a heart that has known too much pain: “Why did my father abandon me? I am his blood. I just wish to see him again. I miss him.”
Through the intervention of a caring mentor and a structured programme, a life that was nearly lost to trauma and neglect has been reclaimed, offering a powerful testament to resilience and the critical need for support for vulnerable young women.
Marondera-based professional counsellor Mr Clyde Tsiga of CEE TEE and Associates emphasised the importance of parental guidance.
“Parents or guardians must always impart teaching, correct information and knowledge to their children as they grow,” he said. “This foundation is crucial for building resilience and making positive life choices,” said Mr Tsiga.
