Mulanje, MALAWI - In 2024, Enifa Mangwani was just 17 when her village was struck by flash floods.

It had rained relentlessly through the night. Thunder rolled over the hills, keeping families awake and afraid. Close to midnight, loud bangs echoed from the mountain that bordered the village. For those who had lived there long enough, the sound carried a chilling meaning: a mudslide was coming.

Panic spread quickly. People fled their homes, scrambling for higher ground. Enifa ran for her life, not knowing where she was headed or whether her family was safe.

“I just ran as fast as my legs could carry me,” she recalls. “When I finally stopped, I was alone in the dark. I didn’t know if my family had survived or if the mud and floods had already destroyed our home.”

Cold, exhausted, and soaked from the rain, Enifa faced another fear: where to spend the night. The only place she could think of was her boyfriend’s village, several kilometres away. She walked through the storm until she reached his home, trembling and drained.

“We had been in a relationship for a few months, and I trusted him,” she says. “His parents also knew me well.”

That night changed the course of Enifa’s life.

Exhausted and seeking comfort, she slept in her boyfriend’s bed. Later, they had consensual but unprotected sex.

“At that time, I didn’t know any way to protect myself from pregnancy,” Enifa says quietly.

A month later, she found out she was pregnant.

Her parents were devastated. Enifa was about to complete her primary school education. With both her and the boy still minors, her parents felt they had no option but to send her to her boyfriend’s home.

“I didn’t want to get married,” she says. “But I was pregnant, and I had to follow what my parents decided.”

While her boyfriend continued with school, Enifa stayed at home. In early 2025, she gave birth to a baby girl.

Motherhood came with lessons she had never expected. During her antenatal visits, Enifa learned about family planning and how to protect herself from sexually transmitted infections.

“I wish I had learned all this earlier,” she reflects. “My friends are still in school. I am at home, taking care of a baby.”

Still, Enifa has not given up on her dreams.

She hopes to return to school when her child is older. To make that possible, she has chosen to use family planning.

“I don’t want to get pregnant again, not now,” she says. “I am still young, and I want to go back to school.”

Enifa uses a long-acting injectable method and visits Mulanje District Hospital every three months for her dose. She says the method works well for her.

“I don’t have any problems with it,” she explains. “I will continue using it until my child is old enough for me to return to school.”

On the same day Enifa visits the hospital, many other women and girls are also there for family planning services. Among them is 18-year-old Eliza Matumba, a mother of one who also dreams of returning to school.

“I have been married for a year,” says Eliza, who dropped out of school in Standard Five. “My husband doesn’t work, so we agreed that family planning is important. We can’t manage to have more children now.”

Like Enifa, Eliza has chosen the three-month injectable.

I started with pills, but I would forget to take them. This method is easier for me. It helps me plan my life better.”

For girls like Enifa and Eliza, access to family planning is more than a health service. It is a chance to pause, to plan, and to hold on to the hope of a different future.

By Joseph Scott, Communications Specialist