The Long Road Back to School

In the mountains of Lamgabhi, a young mother walks two hours a day to claim a right that once did not exist. Her journey is the story of a policy — and of what Eswatini's investment in girls makes possible.

The road out of Nolwazi Dlamini's home does not appear on most maps. It begins high in the mountains of Lamgabhi, in south-western Eswatini, and drops through thick bush where the grass grows taller than a person and snakes move unseen. On rainy mornings the path turns to mud, too slick for any vehicle, and Nolwazi picks her way down on the narrow footpaths instead. Further along, she crosses the Ngwempisi River on a footbridge before the land finally levels out toward Inyandza High School.

The walk takes her about an hour and twenty minutes. On the mornings she is running late, she can do it in an hour.

She is 23 years old, and she has been making this journey for years — not because it is easy, but because she decided her story was not finished.

A door that used to close

Nolwazi became pregnant at 17 and gave birth at 18, in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. Her son, Andile, is now five. Like thousands of girls in Eswatini before her, she left school after giving birth — not by choice, but because her family could no longer afford the fees, and because, at the time, no one had told her she had the right to return.

For decades in Eswatini, pregnancy quietly ended a girl's education. Some were sent home formally; others simply disappeared from the register and never came back. Teenage pregnancy still accounts for more than half of all dropouts among girls in senior secondary school, and the country's adolescent birth rate remains one of the highest in the region. When schools closed for nearly 20 months during the pandemic, the pressures on adolescent girls grew sharper still.

What changed for Nolwazi was not luck. It was policy — and the support that turned policy into something she could actually reach.

In 2020, the Ministry of Education and Training introduced the National School Pregnancy Prevention and Management Policy, giving pregnant pupils and teenage mothers, for the first time, a legal right to remain in and return to school. With support from UNICEF and co-financing from the European Union, implementing partners including the Bantwana Initiative and Young Heroes began identifying out-of-school mothers and walking them back through the gates — with bursaries, remedial classes, health support and someone to ask after their children.

"I became hopeful"

The opportunity reached Nolwazi the way most things reach families in Lamgabhi — through a community meeting.

Her mother went and came home with news: an organisation called Bantfwana was supporting pregnant teenagers and young mothers who wanted to go back to school. There would be interviews. Only a few girls would be chosen.

"When my mother came home and told me about the opportunity, I became hopeful," Nolwazi says. "I prayed that I would be among them, and by God's grace, I was chosen. That opportunity changed the direction of my life."

She returned to school in the third term of 2021 and was placed in Form 2. Because she came back so late in the year, she had to repeat the form the following year. She accepted it without complaint. "I understood that it was necessary for my progress," she says.

Going back was harder than the walk. "On my first day back at school, I felt deeply anxious and sad," she remembers. "I feared that my peers would laugh at me, humiliate me, and judge me for becoming pregnant at a young age." In the community, some people had already done exactly that. "Some people laughed at me, criticised me, and said they had expected such a thing to happen to me. Their words were hurtful and made an already difficult situation even harder."

Her mother responded differently. She had been saddened by the pregnancy but never said so harshly. "Instead, she chose to guide me and offer advice."

A family holding a future together

Nolwazi's home tells its own story. She lives with her mother and stepfather and her younger brother in a mud and stick house where the family cooks over an open fire, the woodsmoke curling up through gaps in the roof. Maize cobs are stacked against the wall for the months ahead. Fetching firewood from the nearby forest is one of Nolwazi's daily responsibilities, on top of school and motherhood.

It is not a household with much to spare. But it is one that decided this young mother's education was worth protecting.

Each morning Nolwazi leaves early with Andile, dropping him at a place along the way before continuing on to school. After classes, he returns to his grandparents, who feed him and care for him until she gets home. His father contributes money for food and other necessities. "Their help has made it possible for me to continue with my education while also fulfilling my responsibilities as a mother," she says of her parents.

This is what reintegration looks like in practice — not a single intervention, but a web of support holding steady around one girl: a policy, a partner organisation, a school that opened its doors, and a family that refused to let her drop out of her own future.

The dream she is sewing toward

At Inyandza, Nolwazi found more than a desk. She found her teachers asking after Andile, encouraging her, treating her as a learner rather than a cautionary tale. "Their concern and guidance have helped me feel accepted and motivated," she says.

She also found a sewing machine.

Nolwazi wants to be a fashion designer — to be a tailor, create her own clothing designs, and sell them to earn a living. The school lets her practise on its machines, and while she was in Form 4 she was given the chance to sew garments for Form 3 learners. On the day of our visit, she held up a bright red traditional dress she had made herself, turning it in the mountain light. A skill, practised. A dream, taking shape.

"Designing clothes is something I truly love, and I believe it is where my talent lies," she says. "I am confident that, with the right support and opportunity, this passion can help me build a better future for myself and my child."

"Remember why you returned"

Nolwazi passed her Form 4 examinations and is now progressing through Form 5. She has advice for any girl standing where she once stood, afraid of the walk back through the gates.

"Go back to school if you have the opportunity," she says. "Some learners may laugh at you or mock you, but do not allow their words to define your future. Ignore the negativity and focus on your goals. With time, things become normal again. What matters most is remembering why you returned — to complete your education, pursue your dreams, and create a better life for yourself and your child."

In Eswatini, the reintegration of teenage mothers is no longer a question of whether it should happen. It is the law. What remains is the work of implementation — training more teachers, reaching more schools, and ensuring that no girl has to choose between her child and her classroom.

For UNICEF and its partners, including the European Union, continued investment in this programme is not a request to begin something new. It is an invitation to sustain something that
is already working, and to extend it — to more communities, more schools, and more young women walking their own long roads back.

Nolwazi's road still floods when it rains. She still arrives some mornings wet and muddy and cleans herself up before class. But she arrives. And because a policy was backed by the support to make it real, the road now leads somewhere it never used to: forward.

The school reintegration programme is implemented by the Ministry of Education and Training, with support from UNICEF Eswatini and implementing partners the Bantwana Initiative and Young Heroes. The programme is co-financed by the European Union.