In a small village in Zimbabwe, a woman once sat quietly at the edges of her family’s decisions, her voice barely counted in matters that shaped her home. For years, her worth was measured by silence and dependence, a reflection of the deeply rooted traditions that kept women out of the center of economic life.

Today, that same woman moves through markets with her own vehicle, carrying not just produce but a newfound sense of authority. The hum of her electric tricycle is more than mechanical—it is symbolic. It signals a turning of wheels long denied to her, wheels that now carry dignity, respect, and the power to provide.

This is not simply a story about technology. It is about transformation. A reminder that when people—especially women—are given the tools to move freely, they also move the boundaries of what society once told them was possible.

Breaking Barriers in a Patriarchal Landscape

In many rural parts of sub-Saharan Africa, women were long excluded from visible, income-earning roles like operating public transportation. The result was a cycle of invisibility: their labor remained confined to the home, their contributions unacknowledged, and their voices absent from community decisions. The arrival of electric tricycles has begun to dismantle that barrier. By stepping into spaces once dominated by men, women are not only earning an income but reshaping the cultural script that defined what they could or could not do.

This transformation is deeply personal. “My husband now looks up to me to take care of a large chunk of expenses, including buying furniture and other assets,” said Anna Bhobho at a village market where she delivers crops for farmers in Wedza distric. The act of driving a tricycle may seem ordinary elsewhere, but here it carries profound weight. It gives women the ability to generate income, to negotiate, and to stand as equals in conversations that once excluded them.

The respect that follows is tangible. “Even my husband and in-laws have more respect for me now. No one used to listen to me, but now I have a seat when important decisions are being made,” Bhobho explained. What began as access to mobility has turned into authority, legitimacy, and recognition. A tool as practical as an electric tricycle has become a quiet revolution, shifting power dynamics in homes and communities where silence once defined a woman’s place.

The Power of Mobility for Africa

Mobility for Africa turns a simple machine into a pathway for inclusion. The Hamba tricycles, whose name means “go” in Ndebele, run on solar charged lithium ion batteries and were first piloted in 2019 through a lease model that kept costs within reach. Groups of women could lease a vehicle for 15 dollars a month, and today many join a lease to purchase program that builds ownership over time. After roughly 100 kilometers, a depleted battery can be swapped for a fully charged one for 1 dollar, which keeps trips predictable and earnings steady. In Wedza, women receive training in safe driving and route management, and the company sets a clear target for participation, aiming for 70 percent of beneficiaries to be women. As of the latest reporting, around 300 women across Zimbabwe are part of the program. These are design choices, not slogans, and they explain why a vehicle has become a livelihood tool, not a luxury.

Carlin Thandi Ngandu, the group’s community engagement coordinator, put the mission plainly: “We are providing rural communities with affordable transport solutions, especially to women. Most of the women spend countless hours trying to reach the markets, the hospitals and also the water sources, so the tricycle has just improved the last mile mobility because most of the women could not get to the market on time and they could not afford some of the transport costs that were being charged to hire a vehicle to go to the market.”

Transforming Daily Life and Local Economies

The impact shows up first in time saved, then in money earned. With reliable transport, farmers reach buyers before the sun turns produce to waste, and services that once felt out of reach become part of the weekly routine. “I get better prices because now I reach the market on time with my tomatoes still fresh. Even the children now know they can rely on me for school fees,” said tomato farmer Hilda Takadini, describing how access to a local tricycle service changed her margins and her confidence. In Wedza’s shopping center, women queue with vehicles that can carry up to 450 kilograms and travel at speeds of about 60 kilometers per hour, ready to haul bricks, groceries, firewood, and passengers to places that regular cars cannot easily reach.

These trips do more than connect fields to markets. They shorten the distance between households and essential services, which keeps money circulating locally. Shopkeepers see steadier foot traffic, perishables arrive in better condition, and families plan around predictable transport rather than chance and long walks. Even those who do not own a tricycle feel the shift. Hiring a neighbor for a quick run to a clinic or collection point replaces hours of manual hauling, and that saved effort can go into tending gardens, caring for children, or running side businesses. What begins as movement becomes momentum, and that momentum builds small but steady gains for entire communities, one load at a time.

When Wheels Save Lives

Health care changes when care can move. In Wedza, a volunteer community health worker named Josephine Nyevhe uses her tricycle to turn waiting into action. She meets mothers on the roadside, weighs children with a sling scale hung from a branch, records growth, offers nutrition guidance, and refers urgent cases to the clinic. What was once a long walk and a missed day’s work becomes a reachable appointment, and children get seen before small issues turn severe. The vehicle becomes a reliable bridge between home and formal care, especially for families who cannot afford to lose hours on the road.

Emergencies make the difference even clearer. “I am on 24 hour standby. I get calls during odd hours and have to rush people to the hospital. Sometimes it’s a pregnant woman who would have otherwise given birth at home in unsafe conditions,” Nyevhe said, describing the countless urgent trips she has made to the clinic. She has also recounted specific rescues that depended on speed and access. “The other day I got a call to attend to a pregnant woman. I’m there to respond to emergencies, so on that day, I used my Hamba tricycle to rush her to the clinic where she got assistance.” Each trip is practical, not symbolic. A mother arrives in time. A child’s weight is recorded. A referral is made. In places where distance once decided outcomes, wheels narrow the gap.

Challenges on the Road Ahead

Progress travels the same roads as daily life, which means it meets the same obstacles. In Wedza and similar districts, heavy rains turn dirt tracks into rutted corridors that test suspension and skill, slowing trips and straining equipment. Some men still resist the sight of women running routes and earning publicly, a social headwind that can make each workday a negotiation for space as well as for fares. These frictions are not theory. They are reported realities in the communities where the tricycles operate, and they shape how quickly economic gains translate into durable change.

Keeping vehicles reliable is its own hurdle. Rural transport lives or dies on maintenance, spare parts, and dependable charging. Mobility for Africa addresses this by servicing Hambas at swap stations and preparing each vehicle for off road conditions, but the scale of need in vast rural areas demands deeper infrastructure and financing beyond any single enterprise.

Policy support matters too. The United Nations Environment Programme is backing the introduction of electric two and three wheelers across nine African countries, while specific partnerships like the initiative in Nigeria that provides electric three wheelers to women show how targeted programs can widen access and lower costs. These regional efforts signal a path forward. When national frameworks, local operators, and community acceptance line up, mobility becomes more than a pilot. It becomes a system.

Steering Toward Shared Futures

The image of women lined up with their Hambas at the Wedza shopping center is more than a snapshot of rural Zimbabwe. It is a portrait of possibility. Each tricycle represents miles of saved labor, hours reclaimed from endless walking, and choices widened for families who once felt boxed in by distance and tradition. What began as a pilot project has grown into a shift in mindset—mobility proving itself to be as much about dignity as about transport.

The journey is not without its bumps. Roads wash out in the rains, and old attitudes do not vanish overnight. Yet the direction is clear. When women are trusted with tools that expand their reach, communities feel the effect in stronger markets, healthier households, and new models of leadership. Mobility becomes the hinge on which opportunity swings open.

For readers far from Wedza, the lesson is both simple and profound. Empowerment does not always arrive as a grand policy or sweeping reform. Sometimes it looks like a modest machine powered by the sun, quietly reshaping who gets to speak, who gets to decide, and who gets to move. If a tricycle can help rewrite the roles of women in a Zimbabwean village, then the question lingers for all of us: what resources, what access, what chances could we extend in our own communities to unlock voices still waiting on the sidelines?

Change does not ride in on a single wheel, but it can start with three.

Featured Image from Mobility for Africa

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