Climate change is not an equal player; neither is environmental degradation. Research shows that both disproportionately affect populations that are already vulnerable. The effects of floods, fires, heat waves and droughts are all more likely to hit harder in communities living under the poverty line or on society’s socioeconomic fringes. And gender is a critical factor.

Globally, women and girls suffer the effects of climate change more than men. Women and children are 14 times more likely than men to die in environmental disasters. Women also make up the majority of the world’s poor, and they rely more heavily on the environment for their survival. These are all among the reasons why the United Nations says women are key to climate action.

And yet, women are also disproportionately neglected in reporting on climate change and the environment — one global analysis found that women account for just 28% of the voices quoted in stories about climate change. Further research shows a myriad of reasons for this: Women are seen as “less credible” sources than men, men fill the majority of newsroom leadership roles, reporters are influenced by cultural norms that don’t prioritize women’s voices and women journalists face greater safety risks in the field — and online — that often curtail their reporting.

This year, Mongabay’s fourth cohort of Y. Eva Tan Conservation Reporting Fellows comprised a diverse group of journalists from Bhutan, Nigeria and Kenya — all women. This was not orchestrated; each was selected (as all fellows are) on the basis of her talent, ambition, ideas and dedication to environmental reporting. It just so happened that the dynamics of this particular cohort presented a new opportunity to examine this underexamined facet of environmental reporting through an array of gendered lenses. Below, Mongabay’s fellows offer keen insights into the experiences of women facing climate change, socioeconomic hardships and cultural biases in three distinct cultures — exhibiting perseverance that, at times, leads to greater equality and resourcefulness.

(Choki Wangmo reports from Bhutan, Tarinipre Francis reports from Nigeria and Juliet Akoth Ojwang reports from Kenya.)

BHUTAN

Women cordyceps collectors battle uncertainty amid changing climate

LUNGO, Bhutan — Pem Zam stands in the doorway of her newly built stone house, watching the distant mountains that have been both a lifeline and a challenge for her family. The fire crackles warmly inside the house, but outside, the May winds bring snow to the rugged peaks. Her husband, brother and his wife set off in the early morning for Gumna, a high-altitude pass four hours away, with permits in hand to collect cordyceps (Ophiocordyceps sinensis), a rare medicinal fungus that has become a vital part of their livelihood. Pem Zam will join them the next day, but the journey is never easy — especially after the landslide that claimed the lives of 20 of her friends last year.

“I still have nightmares,” she says quietly, the trauma of that tragic day still fresh in her mind. Pem Zam, one of the survivors of the disaster, is haunted by the fear that the mountains could strike again. Her anxiety is a daily battle, but she continues to push forward.

Pem Zam is not alone in this struggle. In the high-altitude regions where she lives, women are often the backbone of their families, tending to livestock, preparing meals and holding their communities together, responsible for caregiving in their households, managing the home. Comparatively, with no time to care for themselves, they face many health problems, including the challenges of menstruation in extreme cold.

Pema Lhaden, 50, has recently hit menopause. She has been collecting cordyceps for more than 15 years, and with age, it is getting increasingly challenging. Besides severe mood changes, she suffers from constant migraines and insomnia that triggers altitude sickness. She is also worried about her three children who are spread across various mountain areas for cordyceps collection. Without a phone network, she worries about the well-being of her 5-year-old granddaughter left in the care of a childhood development center in the village. Meanwhile, her neighbor takes care of her 80-year-old mother. At the last point of the phone network area, she calls her mother: “Please take care and eat well. I will be back soon.” Deep down, she says that she is scared of uncertainty; the fragile life of her old mother.

The weather is unforgiving, the snow knee-deep outside their tents. The thin, bright blue trampoline tents buckle under the weight of the fresh snowfall, their fabric stretched tight. The night had been restless, with loud, crashing sounds waking them — perhaps the glacial lakes above were shifting. “It’s the mountain’s wrath,” one of the women murmurs, a superstition passed down through generations.

“Winter is especially hard,” Pem Zam says, her brow furrowed with concern. “Finding enough feed for the yaks is difficult.” Yak rearing has been a vital part of her family’s life for generations, but climate change has made this way of life more fragile. “Only eight households out of 60 still raise yaks,” she adds.

Untimely snowfall, erratic rain and rising temperatures have tested their resilience like never before. As the fungus depends on cold, moist conditions, the warmer temperatures are shrinking its habitat, and the already fragile ecosystem is further stressed.

Pem Zam continues to climb higher at the base of Masangang, which peaks at 7,194 meters (23,602 feet) in northern Bhutan, in search of a better harvest, but the yields are dwindling. Decades ago, Pem Zam’s father could collect an entire bag in a single day; now, even a good harvest brings only a fraction of what it once did. Reports show that the amount of cordyceps harvested has declined sharply in recent years, and the future of this vital income source is increasingly uncertain.

Cordyceps, particularly found at altitudes above 3,800 m (12,500 ft), is in high demand in China for its use in traditional medicine. The value of the fungus has skyrocketed, with prices reaching 2.83 million Bhutanese ngultrum ($34,000) per kilogram in 2022.

The booming cordyceps trade is not without its environmental costs. Overharvesting, coupled with climate change, exacerbates the sharp decline in the availability of the fungus. In upper Paro, once-prime cordyceps habitats have dwindled, threatening the livelihoods of local communities. Chencho Gyeltshen a local leader in the district, acknowledges that cordyceps has become a crucial supplement to yak rearing, but the future remains uncertain.

“We pray that the fungus doesn’t run out,” says Namgay, a concerned collector.
Despite the altitude sickness, the headaches and the persistent coughs, the collectors press on. “There is no getting used to it,” Pem Zam says. “We just have to fight through it.”

NIGERIA

Flooding reveals struggles of women & children

YERWA CAMP, Maiduguri, Nigeria — On the night of Sept. 9, a flash flood drove Hadiza Modu, her husband and their six children out of their home. They spent that night by the road. At dawn, they moved to Yerwa Camp, a temporary shelter provided by the government of Borno state, in the northeastern corner of Nigeria, for residents displaced by the flash floods recorded in an area known as Jere.

The floods came without warning. The Alau Dam in neighboring Konduga had breached its bank and spread to Jere and Maiduguri local government areas. In the following days, up until the Yerwa Camp was closed on Sept. 19, 40-year-old Modu had to find ways to fend for herself and her six children. The camp was at capacity, and with no more room to stay, her husband sought shelter in a mosque, from where he routinely paid his family a visit.

Although this responsibility of fending for herself was not new to the mother of six — she was the primary provider in her family, being married to an older husband who was retired — the situation at hand was unique. The floods had overrun their home, damaging their properties and suspending her cap-selling business. Her family now shared a living space and struggled with thousands of other victims for food brought by relief agencies.

“It was hard to watch over six children by myself in that type of situation. My husband was not with us at the camp, so I had to take full responsibility,” she said of their experience.

“On our first day at the camp, we didn’t eat anything throughout that day. When food came from the NGOs, I would first secure food for my children to eat before I thought of myself. The condition of the camp was very uncomfortable.”

Several studies over the course of many years have recorded how low-income women are some of the most vulnerable to environmental crises like floods. In one of such study, dating to 2013, researchers mentioned that while “gender alone is not a significant determinant of vulnerability to flood impacts … gendered experiences of flood[s] are influenced by gender roles intersecting with place, class and household structures.”

Interestingly, women don’t often recognize this gendered vulnerability. According to the study, “women in general expressed no concern about gendered vulnerability to flooding as most believed flood impacts were gender neutral.” Their views, however, were not supported by evidence of the reality on ground, where the impacts of floods varied among income groups and neighborhoods, and “gender differences were apparent.” Women in the low-income neighborhood studied “recorded higher impacts and slower recovery compared to other social categories of women and men,” according to the study.

The International Organization for Migration (IOM) also reports that “as climate change destroys existing livelihoods, women are more exposed to the risk of being left behind and trapped in dangerous environments.” They are also expected to take care of family and household responsibilities, while men migrate to other places, seeking better livelihood opportunities.

This implies that environmental crises like floods exacerbate already existing inequalities in society. For Modu, it was the continuous sole responsibility of caregiving even in a situation that required more support.

Now, a few months later, sitting in front of what was left of their home, breastfeeding the youngest of her six children, she tells Mongabay that she definitely experienced the floods differently from her husband.

“I did not have the privilege to leave my six children or just hang around. At the camp, my child fell ill, and I did not know what to do. Everywhere was shut down because of the flood. There was no hospital to go to. I assumed most of the responsibility in keeping my family safe during the crisis. I can’t go anywhere freely. I have to always be watching over my children.”

KENYA

Maasai women respond to climate change & culture with innovation

It’s around 10 a.m. in Olooloitikosh village, on the outskirts of Kitengela town, approximately 30 kilometers south of Kenya’s capital, Nairobi. The bleating of sheep and goats and the lowing of cows echo across the landscape’s vast distances.

At the local borehole, a beautiful scene unfolds. Livestock crowd around, drinking deeply from water pans under the warmth of the mid-morning sun. Others graze nearby, their movements accompanied by the gentle tinkling of bells around their necks that create a soothing melody blending harmoniously with the chirping of birds perched in surrounding trees.

This borehole, a lifeline for the community, is more than just a water source. It has become a vibrant gathering place for a group of Maasai women; a hub of conversation, camaraderie and connection.

The Nadupoi Women Group, predominantly composed of elderly women, is dedicated to combating the harsh conditions brought about by climate change on their pastoralist lifestyle. Facing unpredictable weather patterns and prolonged droughts, these resilient women have embraced “climate-smart” agriculture to adapt and thrive.

Rebecca Koising’et, a mother of 11, is the group’s founder. Her motivation stemmed from a desire to empower her fellow women.

“I started this group in 2013 to unite women to help each other during challenging times,” Rebecca explains. “In our culture, women have no say, and everything belongs to the husband.”

As Maasai tradition dictates, husbands are expected to provide for their families, which fosters a dependence that often leaves women unable to meet their personal or immediate needs. Despite protections under the 2010 Constitution, which guarantees every person, including women, the right to own property, traditional practices still dominate — especially in rural areas, where women are often excluded from decision-making, which reinforces systemic inequality.

Additionally, in this community, women are traditionally allowed only to sell the milk from their cattle, a livelihood severely impacted by recent, frequent droughts. These prolonged dry spells have caused significant losses, with many community members seeing their herds decimated. The situation is particularly dire for widows, who not only lack large cattle herds but also face the added burden of having no husbands to support them or pay their children’s school fees.

By creating this group, currently at 28 members, Rebecca sought to challenge these cultural norms, offering women a platform to gain independence and address their needs collectively.

Group projects

The Nadupoi Women Group embraces a variety of agricultural and livelihood projects — fish farming, crop cultivation, beekeeping — to improve their community’s resilience against climate change. The women work on a 3-hectare (8-acre) parcel of land granted by the Kajiado county government.

The women’s fish farming was greatly impacted by a prolonged drought between 2020 and 2022. After facing water scarcity, the group sought help from the Safaricom Foundation, which installed a solar-powered pump that pulled water from an underground reservoir, ensuring a steady supply for their fish pond and other farming projects. Thanks to these efforts, the group has successfully harvested and sold fish four times, generating profits along the way.

“In our pond, we reared tilapia, a delicacy for many Kenyans and a favorite among hotel owners. We sold the fish at market rates, and during our previous harvests, a kilogram fetched 250 Kenyan shillings [about $2]. We sold around 200 fish per harvest, earning a modest profit,” said Jane Parletuan, the group’s secretary.

Some of the proceeds were reinvested into the project, including the purchase of fish feed. Yet, despite their achievements, she noted that prolonged droughts posed significant challenges. Reduced water levels in the pond led to fish suffocating, and the group was forced to refill the pond every two weeks, further straining their resources.

The group also grows crops using climate-smart practices, including crop diversification and drip irrigation, to grow beans, kale and a variety of indigenous vegetables such as the African nightshade (Solanum scabrum). With the current short rains season, the group has already harvested old crops and tilled the land in preparation for new crops such as onions and beans. The group exclusively uses organic fertilizer, such as manure, for its cost-effectiveness and environmental benefits. “We use organic fertilizer for our farm. Members willing to contribute suggest the amount of manure they can provide for the project. The only expense we incur is transporting the manure from their homes using hired pickup trucks,” Jane explains.

Furthermore, the women also practice beekeeping, selling honey packaged in branded 400-gram (14-ounce) tins. However, the initiative faces challenges due to frequent dry spells. “Unless there is water here and in the Olooloitikosh River, the bees cannot survive. Drought also means there’s no nectar from flowers for the bees to feed on,” says Clarice Moipoi, a group member.

Benefits and challenges

When successful, the project’s profits are shared equally among members at the end of the year. Maria Kitiyo, a widow and mother of 11, credits the group for enabling her to pay school fees for her children. “If it weren’t for this group, where would I have gotten the money to do so?” she asks. Similarly, Hellen Makui, also a widow and mother of nine, values the unity fostered by the group. “Whenever one of us has a problem, we help each other out.” This unity has helped members settle pending medical bills for themselves or their family members.

The group practices table banking, with members contributing 1,800 Kenyan shillings (just under $14) monthly. For those unable to meet this amount, an alternative contribution of 800 shillings (about $6) is allowed. Loans are issued based on need, with a manageable interest rate of 5%. From the monthly contribution, 1,000 shillings ($7.75) from each member is saved in the group’s bank account while the remaining 800 shillings from each member is shared among two members of the group in a merry-go-round type of format each month. Remarkably, the women say no member has defaulted on loan repayments.

But there are always significant challenges, including crop theft due to the lack of fencing around the community land, where their projects sit. They also lack basic infrastructure such as toilets at their meeting point, affecting their monthly gatherings. And there is a need for milk-producing goats, which would provide sustainable income, especially for elderly members during dry seasons.

Despite these hurdles, the Nadupoi Women Group exemplifies the power that women can generate — for themselves — through unity and collective effort. Their initiatives and unwavering support for one another have laid the groundwork for a sustainable and prosperous future, embodying the true essence of “Nadupoi”— to prosper.

Banner image: Members of the Nadupoi Women Group gather for a photo in Olooloitikosh village, Kajiado, Kenya. Image by Juliet Ojwang for Mongabay.

Citations:

Ajibade, I., McBean, G., & Bezner-Kerr, R. (2013). Urban flooding in Lagos, Nigeria: Patterns of vulnerability and resilience among women. Global Environmental Change, 23(6), 1714-1725. doi:10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2013.08.009.