The morning mist hovered over the banana groves around the village of Nyangezi in South Kivu, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo — but it slipped away by the time Angélique Mwa Namupopa first placed her foot on the small plot of land that would change her life.
Holding the official land certificate in her hand, she knew, as she had never before, that she owned something real. Not just a plot of soil, but the seeds of dignity, safety, and choice.
For decades, in the DRC’s rural heartland, land inheritance traditions and customary law meant that women worked fields, bore harvests, and fed families — yet rarely owned the ground beneath their feet.
One recent study found that while women farm many of the plots, they hold less than a quarter of land ownership. In this terrain of deep-rooted norms and marginalisation, poverty and gender-based violence (GBV) often walk hand in hand.
But now, women in Nyangezi and beyond are forging a new path: by securing land titles, they are not only sowing crops but also cultivating courage.
A Certificate And A Shift In The Home
After receiving her official land certificate, Angélique’s life began to visibly change. Her confidence grew, and she radiated a new sense of contentment that those around her could easily notice.
In her community, such transformation is often seen as a sign of well-being and emotional peace. Her husband also recognised the shift — their household dynamic had improved, their meals were regular, and the tension that once hovered over the family had eased.
The field she now legally owned became not only a source of food but also a symbol of independence and mutual respect within their home.
Less hunger. Fewer insults. A household shifting gently from male dominance to shared purpose. And with that, the tools of empowerment — land, income, respect — begin to align.
But this wasn’t a gift. It was hard-won, through a concerted effort led by Women for Women International (WfWI) and their partners: training programmes for women and male community leaders, radio broadcasts, and men’s discussion groups.
The initiative aimed not only to change legislation but also to reshape community attitudes. Through training sessions and discussions, participants learned that women’s right to own land is supported by regional, national, and international frameworks — and that traditional customs should not override these legal protections.
By early 2022, the impact was already visible: 145 women had obtained customary land titles, with many others in the process of doing so.
This marked the beginning of a profound transformation, where each woman gaining ownership signified the start of a new chapter in social and economic empowerment.
Land Rights Mean Safety From Violence
In eastern DRC, the link between insecure land tenure and gender-based violence is stark. When women do not control land, they remain vulnerable — to eviction, to being stripped of assets if their husband dies, and to “economic violence” in which denying access to land becomes a tool of abuse.
Customary traditions often restrict women’s claims to land, and conflict-driven displacement has only deepened the problem. Tens of thousands of women face violence, trauma, and loss of livelihood simply because they lacked ownership or recourse.
By mapping land rights, issuing certificates, and engaging men in dialogue, programmes like WfWI’s simultaneously advanced land ownership and reduced GBV. In one region, community leaders who attended training began surrendering land to their wives — “a change in heart and practice,” advocates say.
The Larger Terrain: Law, Custom, And Conflict
The DRC’s 2006 Constitution guarantees gender equality, but formal law often falters when confronted with entrenched local custom.
A major barrier is that much land governance in rural Congo rests within customary systems — village chiefs and traditional councils — rather than formal state structures.
Yet even at the national level, change is underway. In July 2025, the DRC passed its first-ever national land-use planning law, explicitly recognising customary land rights and promoting inclusive participation, creating a legal foundation that could support women’s land access in the years ahead.
Conflict further complicates the landscape. In the east, the advance of the M23 rebel group and other armed actors has displaced hundreds of thousands, ravaged farmland, and exposed women to violence and dispossession. In such conditions, land rights are not just economic tools — they are shields for survival.
Ground-Level Stories, Big Transformations
Back in Nyangezi, Angélique cleared her 70-by-60-metre plot, planted maize, beans, and manioc, and began harvesting roughly every three months.
She says: “Now I have a good harvest … enough to feed my family.” The difference ripples: her children can go to school; her husband speaks differently; violence in the home has diminished.
Beyond individual households, a shift is taking root. One village chief, previously opposed to women’s land ownership, participated in training and ended up giving land to his wife — and encouraging other men to follow.
In Land Reflection Groups, both men and women learned about rights, GBV, and inheritance — 85 percent of members showed improved understanding at the end of the project.
In short: land titles are not an end in themselves. They are a gateway to change — in who decides, who farms, who earns, and who teaches the next generation.
What It Could Mean For The Future
When a woman in rural DRC says “this land is mine,” the implications stretch beyond her field. It means she has collateral, dignity, and recourse. It means her children inherit more than fear. It means community norms shift, slowly but surely.
The new national land-use planning law offers promise: if implemented well, it may further entrench inclusive land governance and protect rights for women, communities, and customary users alike. But implementation will be key. Customary practices may not change overnight, and conflict remains a potent threat to all forms of security.
There is, however, plenty of reason for cautious hope. The Nyangezi model demonstrates that tangible progress can be made when focused on the local level — grounded in training, inclusive of men and women, respectful of tradition while challenging its inequities.
As Angélique stands in the first blush of harvest, she is not merely tending crops. She is harvesting possibility. Her story is a quiet revolution: land as power, dignity as share, the future as something she and her children will build — not beg for.
At a moment when the world’s attention often turns to conflict, exploitation, and despair in the DRC, the work of women like Angélique offers a different lens: one of agency, resilience, and hope.
When land rights expand, so too do the roots of justice and peace. And if women can anchor themselves to the soil, then perhaps the whole community can rise.
Sources:
Positive News
Minority Africa
Women for Women
Refugees International
