Binga South- The air in Lubanda is thick with a fine, red dust that clings to everything—the leaves of the sparse trees, the weathered school benches, the bright uniforms of the children sitting in rows under the relentless sun. But on this Prize Giving Day, something else hangs in the air, palpable and potent: hope.

It is here, at Lubanda Primary School, a place where challenges are as common as textbooks are rare, that Fanuel Cumanzala, the Member of Parliament for Binga South, chooses to plant a flag for the future.

His message, delivered under the fitting theme “Education – The Key to a Brighter Future,” is not a distant political promise, but a raw, communal prayer and a battle plan rolled into one.

“Mwapona buti moonse,” he begins in Tonga, a greeting that settles over the community like a familiar shade. The occasion is a celebration of academic excellence, but Cumanzala quickly broadens the canvas. “Today, we gather to celebrate excellence — not only of those who will receive prizes, but of every learner who has worked hard this year.”

Honouring the Builders, Acknowledging the Sacrifice

His speech is a tapestry woven with threads of gratitude, hard truths, and unwavering conviction. He turns first to the teachers, the “builders of our future,” who work “tirelessly, often under difficult conditions — with limited resources, large classes, and long distances to walk.” His “Twalumba maningi” is a heartfelt tribute to their quiet, persistent heroism.

Then, to the parents, his voice softens with understanding. He speaks of the maize, the fish, the goats sold to buy a uniform or pay a fee. “Please know that your sacrifices are not in vain,” he assures them. “Each child who goes to school carries your hopes — the hope for a better life, a stronger family, and a brighter Binga South.”

The Unlocking Key

Addressing the pupils directly, his tone becomes an intimate exhortation. “Education is the key to your future,” he states, his words simple and direct. “It is the bridge from poverty to opportunity, from ignorance to understanding, from dependence to independence.”

He does not shy away from the stark reality they face: the long distances, the hunger, the scarcity. But he meets it with a counter-charge of defiance: “You are stronger than your challenges. Great people often come from humble beginnings. Never let your situation limit your dreams.”

A Clarion Call for the Girl Child

In a moment that draws nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd, Cumanzala makes a stand that is both cultural and progressive. “I want to take a moment to speak about something very close to my heart — the education of the girl child.”

He confronts the barriers head-on: early marriages, poverty, entrenched bias. “Let me say this clearly: Every girl child has the same right to education as every boy.” Then, he deploys a powerful, familiar maxim with fresh urgency: “When we educate a boy, we educate one person — but when we educate a girl, we educate an entire nation.”

His plea is direct: “Do not marry off your daughters too early.” And to the girls themselves: “Do not give up. Be proud of who you are… Know that your dreams are valid.”

In Zimbabwe’s rural areas, the marginalization of girls in education creates a devastating pipeline from childhood directly into entrenched adulthood hardship.

The statistics are stark: in 2023 alone, 4,557 girls dropped out of school due to pregnancy, with the overwhelming majority—3,942—coming from rural schools. This figure represents a single year and one cause within a much larger crisis.

A broader view shows that in 2021, 8,000 more girls than boys left secondary school, a disparity that has been widening.

This exclusion is rarely a simple choice. It is driven by deep-seated socio-cultural and economic pressures where families with limited resources often prioritize educating sons, viewing daughters as a financial burden to be resolved through early marriage or sending them to work as domestic helpers.

The immediate consequence is the abrupt end of formal learning, but the true cost is paid over a lifetime.

The adulthood that awaits these marginalized girls is one of severely limited horizons and compounded risk. Denied an education, they are funneled into a cycle of low-skilled, insecure work and early motherhood, which perpetuates intergenerational poverty.

Research consistently shows that dropping out of school correlates with dramatically worse life outcomes. Compared to graduates, dropouts face significantly higher rates of unemployment, reliance on government assistance, and encounters with the criminal justice system.

For women, the economic consequences are particularly severe, as they are often confined to traditionally female vocational paths with lower pay and prestige. The promise of an educated girl—to marry later, have healthier children, and make stronger decisions for her family—is extinguished.

Thus, the classroom doors that close in rural Zimbabwe don’t just shut out a student; they lock out future economic stability, health, and empowerment for an entire generation of women.

From Promise to Policy: An MP’s Commitment

Moving from inspiration to action, Cumanzala outlines his parliamentary mandate: improving crumbling infrastructure, securing learning materials, and advocating for scholarships, particularly for girls from impoverished families. “No child should drop out because of poverty,” he asserts, framing education as “a right, not a privilege.”

He calls on the entire ecosystem of leadership—headmen, councillors, elders—to make education the constant drumbeat of community conversation.

Planting Today, Harvesting Tomorrow

As the speech draws to a close, he returns to the children, urging them to dream beyond the horizon of their village. “If you want to be a doctor, study hard in science… If you want to be a leader, start by being honest, disciplined, and respectful.”

His final gift is a Tonga proverb, a grounding seed of wisdom for a community deeply connected to the land: “Nchobyala nchicho ncotebula.” “Let us plant well today so that we harvest good results tomorrow.”

The applause that follows is not the polite kind. It is the sound of a community recognising its own reflection—its struggles, its sacrifices, and its stubborn, dust-defying hope.

In the heat of Lubanda, Fanuel Cumanzala did not just give a speech. He tended a garden. And in the eyes of every child clutching a prize or simply a dream, you could see the first green shoots pushing through.