The morning began with a hum of connection. Scott from Sulsa Solutions leaned into his webcam, his grin wide. “the note-taking tool for the newsletter is changing the game,” he said, his enthusiasm crackling through the speakers. “And get this: the University of Cape Town’s letting AI loose in term papers.
Imagine that in our classrooms—farmers learning with tech!” The group buzzed, a ripple of possibility threading through their nods.

Then Emma Archer slipped in, her voice a steady anchor from the University of Pretoria. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, brushing off the delay. “

The cold front hit our tomatoes hard, but there’s a spark of hope—saffron.”

She painted a picture of fields dusted with purple, a crop “worth more than gold” in South Africa’s arid stretches. Nancy Ncube’s eyes lit up across the screen. “Namibia could grow it too!” she chimed in, her words a burst of optimism that set heads nodding.

John, ever the realist, raised a hand. “We dug into saffron last year,” he said, his tone measured. “It’s pricey and tricky for newbies, but as we grow, it could shine. For now, the spinach keeps us grounded.” His chuckle softened the pragmatism, and the group smiled—grounded, yes, but dreaming still.

The conversation turned to the soil itself, where stories took root. Mr. Mbatha from Eikenhof spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of a stalled dream. “We’re pushing a youth project, but the landowner’s got doubts we can’t crack,” he said.

“Still, we’re tied to the South African Council of Churches—there’s strength there.”

Bishop Verryn tilted his head, thoughtful. “Let’s get you with Manana from WiARM,” he offered. “She’s wrestled these knots before.” Mbatha’s nod was a silent vow to press on.

The mood shifted as Scott’s tone darkened,

“Food insecurity’s a shadow creeping closer,” he warned

referring to Jack’s shared a report on the WhatsApp group, highlighting the FAO report, he proportion of the population facing hunger.

South Africa surpassed 20 percent in 2024. while Zimbabwe’s at 68% & Malawi 81%. It’s dire.”

John Dearden’s jaw tightened. “We’re in the thick of it,” he said. “But we can be the lifeline.” Silence hung heavy, a call to arms unspoken but felt.

Read the full report 👇

News | FAO | Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations

FAO Newsroom home

www.fao.org/newsroom/en

Bishop Verryn’s own tale came next, vivid as a sunlit field. “I was in Eshowe recently,” he began, his voice rich with pride. “There’s a crew of women there—tough as nails—running a preschool turned farm.

Spinach, onions, sweet potatoes—they’re growing it all.” He paused, letting the image sink in. “They sleep there, guarding their tools, fighting unemployment and addiction with every seed they plant.” A hush fell, reverence for their grit palpable even through the digital divide.

Nancy’s mind raced ahead. “Eshowe’s women deserve a CSI award,” she said, her excitement catching fire. “Funds, recognition—they’ve earned it!”

Smiles flickered across screens, a shared spark reignited.

From Uitenhage, Euodia Volanie’s resolve cut through. “We’re building a training farm for our kids,” she declared. “But we need to register right—government support’s on the line.”

Nancy Ncube leaned in, sage-like. “Go non-profit,” she advised. “No dividends, just pour it back in.”

Scott nodded briskly. “It’s freedom to move fast and do good,” he added, and Euodia scribbled it down, determination etching her face.

Sustainability is key

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Yet light broke through. Emma turned to Euodia. “Dr. Rhoda Malchass—she’s a sustainable ag wizard. I’ll link you up,” she promised.

Judy Bassingthwaighte’s voice rose from Lufarang, soft but fierce. “

Our grannies are magic,” she said.

“They’ve turned RDP backyards into veggie patches—pure heart and hustle.”

Across the grid, Matshedesho Molale piped up from Pretoria, brief but steady. “We’re plodding along here,” he said. “Slow, but we’re moving.” Each voice, a thread in the fabric of this sprawling effort.

As the hour waned, Bishop Verryn’s words wove it all together. “We’re sowing mustard seeds,” he said, his voice a quiet thunder. “Tiny now, but with faith, they’ll tower.” The group lingered on that, hearts full, eyes on the next meet—August 8, just shy of Women’s Day.

Screens blinked off, but the story hummed on: a band of dreamers, planters, and doers, stitching hope into South Africa’s soil, one voice at a time.

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