Breaking the Grease Ceiling: How Refugee Women in Uganda are Rebuilding Lives Through the Art of Mechanics
In the heart of the Kyaka II Refugee Settlement in western Uganda, the rhythmic clinking of metal against metal and the heavy scent of motor oil have become the soundtrack to a quiet revolution. Among the rows of dismantled engines and grease-stained workbenches stands Elina Iraguha, a woman whose journey from displacement to the driver’s seat of her own destiny is redefining what it means to “learn.” To her five-year-old daughter, Elina isn’t just a mother; she is a student and a pioneer. “I tell my daughter I’m in school, too. I’m learning, too,” Elina says, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and determination. For Elina, the classroom isn’t a traditional one filled with desks and chalkboards—it is a garage, and her curriculum is the complex anatomy of internal combustion engines.
The choice to pursue motor vehicle mechanics, a field historically and stubbornly dominated by men, was a calculated act of defiance for Elina. Born in Rwanda and raised within the confines of Kyaka II since she was just a year old, she has spent nearly her entire life as a refugee. In such environments, career paths for women are often narrow, frequently limited to domestic spheres or traditional handicrafts. Elina, however, saw a different path. “I chose mechanics because I want to earn a living and show that women can succeed in any field,” she explains. Her ambition is not just about personal survival; it is about dismantling the invisible barriers that suggest certain types of labor are reserved for men.
Elina is one of the many women currently enrolled in a transformative vocational training program spearheaded by UN Women in collaboration with Peace Winds Japan. Funded by the Government of Japan, the initiative—known as the “Second Chance Education” intervention—is designed specifically for women living in refugee settlements and their surrounding host communities. The program recognizes a harsh reality: for many displaced women, the traditional window for education closed years ago due to war, poverty, or early marriage. By offering marketable technical skills, the program provides a “second chance” to reclaim economic agency, foster self-sufficiency, and build a foundation of lasting confidence.
The significance of such programs extends far beyond the individual. In the volatile landscape of refugee settlements, where resources are scarce and tensions can run high, economic empowerment is a critical pillar of peace and security. When women gain access to sustainable livelihoods, the benefits ripple through the entire community. Financial stability reduces the likelihood of local conflicts and lessens the desperation that often leads to exploitation. As these women transition from beneficiaries to breadwinners, they become stabilizing forces within their neighborhoods, proving that the path to regional harmony is often paved with economic opportunity.
Among Elina’s peers is Ange Shokano, whose story mirrors the resilience required to survive in the Great Lakes region of Africa. Ange arrived at Kyaka II in 2019, fleeing the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) with her family. Their departure was a desperate escape from a village besieged by armed rebel groups, a common narrative for many of the settlement’s residents. As the second-born of seven children, the weight of family responsibility fell heavily on Ange’s shoulders. While she found the peace in Uganda that was missing in the DRC, opportunity remained elusive. Two years ago, the financial strain on her family became too much, and she was forced to drop out of school when they could no longer afford her tuition.
The transition from student to dropout is often a permanent one in refugee contexts, but Ange’s mother refused to let her daughter’s potential wither. “My mother was the first person to encourage me to join the mechanics program,” Ange recalls. “She said, ‘I don’t have money to keep you in school, but you can go for this training, and this will help you sustain yourself.’” It was a pragmatic piece of advice that shifted Ange’s trajectory from one of stagnation to one of specialized skill-building.
For Elina, the fascination with cars wasn’t born of necessity, but of a childhood curiosity that never faded. She remembers watching men work on vehicles and feeling a sense of profound imbalance. “I used to only see men working as mechanics. How come women can drive—but not repair? I said, ‘What is this!’” she says with a laugh. That early observation eventually morphed into a professional goal. Now, she spends her days studying the intricate components of Toyota Corolla engines, visualizing a future where she isn’t just an employee, but an employer. “I expect a lot from this course,” she says. “I see people with their own businesses because of these skills. My dream is to own my own workshop.”
However, the road to becoming a mechanic is paved with more than just technical challenges; it requires a complete overhaul of internal and external perceptions. Ange admits that she initially struggled with the physical demands of the trade. On her first day, she questioned whether she had the strength required for the heavy lifting. “I was worried about the energy and strength it would take,” she explains. “Then I realized, ‘It’s you that poisons your mind. I can do anything.’” This mental shift was solidified by a practical realization: modern mechanics is as much about tools and technique as it is about raw power. As the saying goes among the trainees: “Changing a tire doesn’t require big muscles—it requires a jack.”
External skepticism proved to be another hurdle. When Elina first informed her father of her career choice, his reaction was one of traditional disbelief. “He said, ‘That job is for men! Leave that job for your brothers!’” she recalls. Undeterred, she asked for a single chance to prove herself. The transformation in his attitude was swift once he saw her in action. “Once he started to see how well I was managing all the repairs, he was so impressed!” While she won over her family, Elina remains wary of the broader community’s perceptions. She notes that women who enter “men’s work” are often labeled as “tough” or even feared. Rather than being discouraged, Elina finds humor in the stereotype, knowing that the quality of her work will eventually be the only thing that matters.
The ultimate goal of the UN Women program is the “multiplier effect”—the idea that investing in a woman is an investment in an entire community. This is already evident in the aspirations of the trainees. After only one month, Ange and Elina have mastered tire and brake repairs. By the time they receive their certifications after six months, they will also be provided with a specialized toolkit to help them launch their own enterprises.
Elina’s vision for the next decade is expansive. She doesn’t just want a small garage; she envisions a massive training center. “My dream in 10 years is to have my own workshop where I can repair people’s cars and train others in the community. It would be a big workshop that could accommodate up to 50 learners, mostly women.” She wants to demystify the trade for other women who might be intimidated by the grease and the gears. “Many women overlook this job because they think it is only for men. And yet it is just a skill. Anyone can learn it.”
Ange, too, is looking toward a collaborative future. She hopes to form a cooperative garage with her fellow classmates, allowing them to pool their resources and expertise. Her advice to other women in the settlement is rooted in the hard-won independence she is currently building. “It’s important for women to focus on themselves. Learn mechanics or hairdressing—whatever skills you need to sustain yourself.”
As the world observes the International Day of Education, the stories of Shokano and Iraguha serve as a poignant reminder that education is the ultimate tool of agency. It is the bridge between being a victim of circumstance and becoming an architect of change. In the dusty landscape of Kyaka II, these women are proving that a “second chance” can be more than just a return to the classroom—it can be a total transformation of identity. As Ange aptly puts it, “Education is the key to the doors that had been closed in my future.” With every bolt they tighten and every engine they revive, these women are not just fixing cars; they are repairing the very fabric of their lives, one revolution at a time.
