Professionals and researchers must not only study cities from afar, but also experience their complexities first-hand. As part of the Urban Management and Development (UMD) Master’s programme, students have the opportunity to conduct fieldwork during their thesis that bridges theory with practice. In this blog, UMD student Helene shares her reflection on her thesis research in Zambia.
What first drew me to this topic wasn't just academic curiosity; it was something deeply personal. Bridelia Forest Management, the forest restoration project at the heart of my thesis, was founded by my family, rooted in our shared commitment to sustainability and long-term land stewardship. My father has been working in Zambia since the 1990s, and over the years I've travelled there nearly a dozen times. At this point, Zambia truly feels like a second home.
Zambia, located in southern Africa, is a country of extraordinary ecological richness and resilience. Its Miombo woodlands, one of the largest tropical dry forest ecosystems in Africa, are central to both environmental and community well-being. Yet these landscapes are under growing pressure from deforestation, shifting agriculture, and rural poverty.
For my Master's thesis, I set out to explore a simple but urgent question: Can forest restoration empower women? I focused on Bridelia as a case study in Forest Landscape Restoration (FLR), examining how such projects could contribute not only to reforestation but also to gender equity and local agency.
A day in the field
I spent a month in Zambia in May. Most of my days followed a gentle rhythm: I would wake up around 8:30 am, have breakfast, and head to Bridelia’s project headquarters. From late morning to early afternoon, I worked on my thesis, transcribing field notes, conducting interviews, and refining my research framework, often from the boardroom where staff and local collaborators would pass through.
While I occasionally travelled to restoration sites, the bulk of the coordination and dialogue took place from this central hub. Evenings were reserved for writing, reflecting, and sometimes chatting with my father, exchanging thoughts on the day’s discoveries. It was an unusual but meaningful blending of personal and professional worlds.
One of the most impactful moments of my fieldwork was a participatory workshop I co-designed, titled “Women, Forests, and Empowerment.” Held on-site at Bridelia, the workshop brought together local women to reflect on their roles in forest restoration and to explore what empowerment means in their everyday lives.
Instead of relying on formal interviews, I employed visual and participatory tools, such as community mapping, storytelling, and sketching, to create a more inclusive space. This approach was critical, given that many participants had limited formal education. The atmosphere was open, collaborative, and often profoundly moving.
What stood out most was the way the group setting fostered connection. Women shared not only their challenges, such as time scarcity, land access, and social norms, but also their dreams and strategies. Beyond being a great source of information and data collection, the workshop became a space of mutual recognition and understanding. It fit perfectly with the spirit of empowerment, offering not just insights but also a moment of reflection and solidarity for everyone involved.
Reflecting
This experience taught me that empowerment is rarely linear or easily defined. I arrived in Zambia with a clear framework and guiding questions, but what unfolded in the field was more nuanced and layered than I had expected.
Facilitating the workshop and speaking directly with women involved in restoration revealed to me that empowerment often takes quieter forms: the act of saving seeds, managing small incomes, or envisioning a future beyond current limitations. One of the most valuable lessons was learning to hold space for both voice and silence. Some women shared their hopes with ease; others left their “Seed of Change” blank. These silences were not empty; they spoke to structural constraints, emotional weariness, or cultural hesitations.
My perspective shifted. I no longer see FLR as just an ecological intervention; it is a social process, one rooted in dignity, care, and the redistribution of power and voice. As a researcher and as someone personally tied to Bridelia, I’ve come to understand that my role goes beyond observation. It’s about listening deeply, amplifying others’ visions, and remaining accountable to the communities driving the work on the ground.
