01 Jul From Darkness to Determination: Fazira’s Journey of Hope in a World Without Sight
In the village of Macheche, Busakira sub-county in Mayuge District, lives Nawanga Fazira—a 19-year-old whose resilience shines brighter than the sun she cannot see.
Fazira is completely blind. A mother of one, she lost her eyesight due to illness as a child, plunging her into a world of darkness long before she could understand what was happening around her. “I don’t remember what colour the sky looks like,” she says quietly. “But I know what struggle feels like, and what determination means.”
Her journey has been anything but easy. Growing up with her disability in a rural community, life presented more obstacles than opportunities. At just 17, a man took advantage of her vulnerability, leaving her pregnant and alone. “He promised to help me, but he disappeared,” she recalls. “It was like my world broke into even smaller pieces.”
Picture 1: Step by Step, Fazira starts the process of making Mandazi
Living under her parents’ roof, Fazira’s future seemed uncertain—until a ray of hope arrived. Act4Africa identified her as a vulnerable young mother and enrolled her in a skills training program under Eye Universal SRHR Project. There, Fazira learned culinary skills, including how to make cakes, samosas, and most importantly, mandazi—local fried bread. She was also introduced to a Youth Savings and Loan Association (YSLA) group called Tulibamukisa, where she began to understand the importance of saving, planning, and financial independence.
But life with a disability is still full of challenges. Fazira, armed only with her sense of touch and smell, wakes up early each day to prepare mandazi. “I start by mixing flour and other ingredients step by step, using the methods I was taught. I can now tell the right texture just by feeling it,” she says with a shy but proud smile. Her mandazi is well-loved in the community—many say it tastes better than that made by those with full sight.
Picture 2: Fazira adds wheat flour into the saucepan that already contains lemon and (cowboy) oil
Yet, behind this success lies silent suffering. “Some people cheat me,” Fazira explains, her voice faltering. “They pay me 1,000 shillings and take more mandazi than they should. Others lie and say they gave me a big note, so I end up giving them change for money they never gave me. When I get home and count what’s left, I realise I’ve worked the whole day for nothing.”
The journey to sell her bread is dangerous, too. She walks alone to Wambete trading centre, navigating the dusty road filled with reckless motorcycle riders. “They don’t see me, and I don’t see them. I just pray each time I set out,” she says.
At home, things aren’t easier. Her sister, who was trained with her by Act4Africa to assist in the kitchen, got married and moved away. Her aging parents try to support her, but they were never trained in culinary skills. “Sometimes when my parents are away, I fear lighting the charcoal stove. I worry I’ll get burned. But if I don’t make the mandazi, there’ll be no food for my baby,” Fazira confesses.
Picture 3: She uses her hands to mix all the ingredients required, using a sense of touch and smell to detect if more of any is required.
Despite these barriers, Fazira is building something remarkable. Her weekly savings have grown from just 2,000 to 6,000 shillings—a small but powerful sign of progress. She has also gained critical knowledge about her sexual and reproductive health rights, allowing her to protect herself and raise her child with greater confidence and care.
Still, she dreams of more. “If my parents could be trained in the skills I have, they would help me better,” she says. “And if I had a wholesale bakery, I could supply shops in my area. I would not have to walk far or risk getting hurt. I could support my child properly.”
Picture 4: With the help from Fazira’s mother, the cutting in shapes and frying processes begins as she supervises and guides the mother in every step.
Fazira’s story is one of heartbreak, courage, and the quiet strength of a young woman defying the odds. Her plea is simple, but powerful: a call for support, not sympathy. With the right tools, training, and trust, she believes she can do even more.
In her own words: “I may not see the world, but I still want to be part of it. I want to work. I want to live with dignity. I want to be seen.”
And with every mandazi she makes, Fazira reminds us that even in complete darkness, one can still rise, one loaf at a time.
Picture 5: After all the steps, Fazira’s yummy Mandazi bread is ready for consumption.
