Monica Nambeya
Assistant to Executive Director
I first encountered World Vasectomy Day not because I was looking for it, but because my sister pulled me into it, literally. She was participating in one of the poetry competitions and insisted I come along. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I sat in the audience, listening. Really listening. And suddenly I realized, this was the kind of work I wanted to do. The kind of people I wanted to be around. Brave, curious, caring people doing hard, meaningful work.
My path to WVD wasn’t linear, but it feels like the most natural place I could have ended up. I’ve always had a deep well of emotion, empathy, and a stubborn need to show up for people. Maybe that started the night my dad didn’t come home for my sister’s birthday because he had been in a terrible car accident. When he finally returned, he was in a wheelchair, and something in me shifted. I didn’t know it then, but I was learning what it meant to care deeply, to take responsibility for someone else’s comfort, to offer myself as support.
Growing up, I was curious and wild and consistently trying to create something. I’d sneak into the laundry room with scissors and needles, making clothes out of bedsheets and curtains, dreaming of becoming a designer. My mom would get so mad, mainly because when I was quiet, it meant I was up to something. Eventually, I let go of that dream. Zambia didn’t seem like the place where it could happen. But I think the dream just changed shape. Today, I design experiences, organize people, and hold space. I help things move, flow, and fall into place.
Working with WVD means I get to be a part of something bigger than myself, something rooted in care and respect, and in difficult but important conversations. In this work, I’ve found my people. I’ve found a way to give what I have: my voice, my skills. WVD didn’t just give me a job. It gave me a place to grow, to care, to contribute. It gave me a home.
