THE scorching heat felt relentless as Eunice Moyo, an 11-year-old wheelchair user, sat under a leafless guava tree, her stomach rumbling from hunger.

It  had  been  16  hours since her last meal. While her peers were reciting the alphabet and solving math problems, the young Moyo could only dream of going to school.

Moyo’s life took a drastic turn when her visually impaired parents, who once begged on the streets of Zvishavane, relocated to their rural home in Shiku village, under chief Masunda.

The move, intended to ease their financial burden, has instead plunged Moyo deeper into isolation, depriving her of an education she once had access to in town.

“We used to live hand to mouth as beggars, but it seems life has become difficult for everyone,” Moyo’s mother, Agnes Dube, said.

“People can no longer spare even a dollar, and we couldn’t afford our US$15 rent in Maglas (a high density suburb in Zvishavane) anymore. So, we moved back to the village where we don’t pay rent.”

The move, however, brought unforeseen challenges.

The well-wisher, who had covered Moyo's private school fees in Zvishavane, could no longer support her in the rural areas. The nearest school is 15 kilometres away— a distance that Moyo, bound to her wheelchair, cannot navigate.

Even if she could reach the school, the infrastructure is not equipped to accommodate her needs.

“She cannot go to school anymore. In town, although the environment was not ideal, she could at least attend classes. Here, there is nothing for her,” Dube said.

The family also faces social challenges, as their daughter has often been subjected to stigma and discrimination.

“People call her ‘chirema’ (crippled). Even some of our relatives don’t want to associate with her. They blame us, claiming she is bewitched. Back in town, it was different — people were more tolerant,” Dube lamented.

Despite the hardships, returning to town is not an option for the family.

“We have to live with this burden. Town life is too expensive, and this is our only option,” Dube concluded.

The young Moyo’s story is not unique. Across Zimbabwe, many children with disabilities are denied education due to the combined effects of an ailing economy and climate change.

Families are migrating from urban to rural areas, seeking refuge from the skyrocketing cost of living.

However, rural life presents its own set of difficulties, particularly for children with special needs.

Earlier this year, President Emmerson Mnangagwa declared drought a national disaster, stating that at least US$2 billion would be required to assist food insecure families.

In rural communities, food shortages have been exacerbated by a lack of infrastructure to support inclusive education.

Chief Masunda expressed his concern over this crisis, calling for help from well-wishers during a church event where he was a guest of honour.

“There is an issue close to my heart,” he said. We are all facing hardships, but they (people living with disabilities) are suffering even more. Many are migrating from urban areas in search of cheaper living conditions, yet their children cannot attend school because we lack the necessary facilities,” the chief said.

He urged the community and the corporate world to help build an inclusive school for children with special needs.

He said he had already allocated land for the project.

“The school will not only serve my area, but the entire district. The issue of access to education for children with disabilities is a national concern,” chief Masunda added.

Despite the fact that Zimbabwe’s Edu cation Act enshrines education as a fun damental right, and the country is a signatory to regional frameworks like the African Charter on Human and People's Rights, children like Moyo have little hope of realising their dreams.

Analyst Ndanatsiwa Jeka referred to this situation as an "education divide" and called for corporate intervention, particularly from mining companies benefiting from local resources.

“Look at Zvishavane — it houses Sabi Gold Mine, Mimosa Mining Company, Murowa Diamonds, and others. Are we saying these companies cannot build a single inclusive school? This is an artificial education divide that just requires willingness from those with the funds,” Jeka argued.

A report by the Amalgamated Rural Teachers Union of Zimbabwe (Artuz) echoed Jeka’s sentiments.

It said the country is far from achieving inclusive education.

“Schools lack specialised facilities for children with special needs,” the report noted.

Local NGO, Dzidzo, also highlighted the dire situation in Zvishavane.

It said at least 80 children with disabilities were in school.

Of those, 69 were girls, raising concerns about gender equality and the future of these children.

“If a girl child is denied education, we are destroying her future,” Dzidzo’s leader, Mary Chakawa, said.

“This is even worse for girls with disabilities, as society already marginalises them. Education is not just about academics. It is also about teaching them life skills.”

A teacher from a rural school in Zvishavane, speaking on condition of anonymity, acknowledged that schools were ill-equipped to accommodate children with special needs.

“We have a ‘special class’, but it is mostly for slow learners, not children with disabilities. Their needs are not being met. They are just wasting time at school,” the teacher said.

The government claims to have an inclusive education policy on paper, but the reality on the ground tells a different story.

As climate change continues to wreak havoc on Zimbabwe, the future of children like Moyo remains uncertain.

Unicef has identified Zimbabwe as the 15th most vulnerable country to climate change. The organisation has warned that children, who bear the least responsibility for climate change, would bear its greatest burden.

For now, the dream of inclusive education remains just that —  a distant dream for children with disabilities in rural Zimbabwe.

  • Chikiwa is a 2024 Womentorship fellow. This article was published with support from Friedrich Naumann Foundation through its Womentorship Fellowship Programme targeting young and upcoming female journalists. The programme was designed in 2021 after a realisation that female journalists occupy a few leadership positions. Its objective is to capacitate female journalists to ensure gender balance in the newsrooms, while creating a safe space for them.