In the heart of the Kyaka II Refugee Settlement in western Uganda, the rhythmic clink of metal against metal serves as an unconventional lullaby for progress. For Elina Iraguha, a mother of a five-year-old daughter, these sounds represent far more than a simple repair job; they are the soundtrack of her transformation. When she drops her daughter off at school each morning, she does so with a sense of shared purpose that bridges the generational gap. She tells her child with pride that she, too, is a student, immersing herself in the complex, grease-stained world of motor vehicle mechanics. In a region where gender roles are often rigid and traditional, Iraguha’s choice to pursue a career in a male-dominated field is a radical act of self-reclamation. Her motivation is simple yet profound: she wants to earn a dignified living and prove, through the grit of her own hands, that the boundaries of female capability are non-existent.
Iraguha’s journey is part of a larger, systemic shift happening within the refugee and host communities of Uganda. Born in Rwanda and raised in Kyaka II since she was only a year old, her life has been defined by the status of a "refugee," a label that often carries the weight of limited opportunity. However, through a strategic collaboration between UN Women and Peace Winds Japan, supported by funding from the Government of Japan, that narrative is being rewritten. The program, a "second chance education" intervention, is designed to provide women with marketable vocational skills that do more than just put food on the table—they foster a sense of agency, self-sufficiency, and long-term security.
The intersection of education and economic empowerment is a cornerstone of regional stability. In environments like refugee settlements, where resources are scarce and the trauma of displacement lingers, the promotion of sustainable livelihoods is a vital tool for peace. When women gain the ability to generate their own income, the ripple effects are felt throughout the entire community. Tensions over resources often diminish, and the internal harmony of the settlement is strengthened. As these women become independent, they don’t just accumulate wealth; they reinvest it. They pay for their siblings’ education, they open small businesses that employ others, and they serve as living blueprints for younger girls who might otherwise believe their futures are pre-written by their circumstances.
Among those carving out a new path alongside Iraguha is Ange Shokano. Shokano’s arrival in Uganda in 2019 was marked by the shadows of conflict. Her family fled their home in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) to escape the relentless violence of armed rebel groups. As the second-born of seven children, the pressure to contribute to her family’s survival was immense. For a time, it seemed that her potential would be stifled; two years ago, she was forced to drop out of school when her family could no longer afford the tuition fees. In many stories, this is where the education ends, but Shokano’s mother saw a different opening. Recognizing that traditional schooling was currently out of reach, she encouraged her daughter to embrace the mechanics program, viewing it as a practical ladder toward independence.
For Iraguha, the fascination with automobiles wasn’t a byproduct of necessity, but a lifelong curiosity. She recalls watching men work on engines when she was a young girl, wondering why women were deemed fit to drive the vehicles but supposedly incapable of fixing them. This perceived disparity struck her as illogical, fueling a desire to bridge the gap. Today, she looks at the engine of a Toyota Corolla not as a mystery, but as a challenge she is fully equipped to meet. Her ambitions are not modest; she envisions a future where she doesn’t just work in a garage, but owns one. She sees herself as a business owner, a mentor, and a leader in her community.
The transition from a domestic or academic setting to the grease-slicked floor of a workshop is not without its psychological hurdles. Shokano admits that her first day of training was clouded by self-doubt. She looked at the heavy machinery and the physical demands of the job and wondered if she had the strength to keep up. However, she soon realized that the greatest obstacle wasn’t her physical stature, but the mental barriers she had internalised. "It’s you that poisons your mind," she reflects. She learned quickly that mechanics is less about raw "muscle" and more about the intelligent application of tools. As Iraguha famously puts it, changing a tyre doesn’t require a specific gender or massive strength—it requires a jack and the knowledge of how to use it.
The social barriers, however, proved slightly more stubborn. Iraguha’s father was initially a vocal skeptic, clinging to the outdated notion that mechanics was "men’s work" and suggesting she leave the heavy lifting to her brothers. It was only after he witnessed her technical proficiency firsthand—watching her navigate complex repairs with precision—that his skepticism turned into admiration. This pattern of "seeing is believing" is a common theme for women in STEM and vocational trades. While the broader community might still whisper that women in these roles are "tough" or even intimidating, Iraguha meets these stereotypes with a laugh. She understands that her success will eventually silence the critics. The quality of her work is the only argument she needs to win.
The program is structured to ensure that this training leads to immediate, productive employment. After a six-month intensive course, the participants earn certified credentials. Beyond the diploma, they are provided with a specialized toolkit, ensuring they have the literal "tools of the trade" to start their own enterprises immediately. Shokano and Iraguha are already looking ahead, discussing the possibility of forming a female-led garage collective. This collaborative model would allow them to pool their resources, share the workload, and create a safe, empowering space for other women to seek repairs or training.
Iraguha’s ten-year plan is a testament to the transformative power of vocational education. She envisions a massive workshop capable of accommodating 50 learners at a time, with a specific focus on recruiting women. She wants to dismantle the idea that mechanics is a "job for men" and replace it with the reality that it is a "skill for anyone." By offering this training, she hopes to provide others with the same "key" that she and Shokano have found.
As the world observes milestones in global education, the stories of these two women serve as a poignant reminder that learning is the ultimate catalyst for gender equality. It is the foundation upon which agency is built. For Shokano, the training is more than a vocational certificate; it is the unlocking of a future that had been prematurely shuttered by poverty and war. "Education is the key," she says, her voice echoing the sentiment of thousands of women in similar positions. "Education is the key to the doors that had been closed in my future." Through the grease and the gears, these women are not just fixing cars; they are repairing the trajectory of their lives and driving their entire community toward a more equitable horizon.
