Author: Henry Mitchel Bensley
Photo: Courtesy of Henry Mitchel Bensley
In the urban settlement of Sammanthranapura on the edge of Colombo, live women whose work and resilience too often go unseen. Many are raising children on their own. Some are widows. Others are the sole providers for their families. They lead their households with very few resources to support them.
I came to know this community almost by chance. On my journeys from my hometown to Colombo, I would take a quieter road to avoid the traffic, one that crosses a bridge near where the Kelani River meets the sea. From the bridge I could see the crowded rooftops below, the murky colour of the water, and the garbage drifting along its edge. Each time I passed, my curiosity grew. One day, I simply stopped. I remember feeling nervous and out of place, a university student wandering into a community that was not mine. But curiosity carried me forward, and in time I chose to base my undergraduate research in that very community.
What I learned was that this place was born of displacement. Sammanthranapura, known locally as Summitpura, was established in the 1970s, when families relocated for development in the city were resettled on low-lying land beside the river. Decades later, geography still shapes their lives. Bordered by water, the community lies in one of the most flood-prone parts of Colombo, and floods in the Kelani basin have grown more frequent and intense over the years, a vulnerability that climate change is expected to deepen. When the water rises, it is often the women heading these households who carry the heaviest burden: protecting their children, salvaging what they can, and rebuilding, again and again.
I spent time in their homes, and I listened. One mother who earned a little by selling wade, a fried snack, told me she often skipped meals so that her children could eat. She was not alone. When women like her sought the social protection support meant for them, many described barriers from discrimination to processes they had little means to navigate. In Sri Lanka, one in four households is headed by a woman, and these households tend to experience higher levels of poverty and marginalization.
But these women were not waiting to be rescued. They knew exactly what they needed. What was missing was someone willing to ask, and to listen.
So I kept returning.
My first work there was with the children. Through an initiative we called Edutainment Uplift, we used games, storytelling and creative activities to keep children engaged with their education, which matters in a place where some leave school early to earn a living. Over time, I came to understand that a child's future cannot be separated from her mother's circumstances. That understanding led me back to the women.
Working alongside them, we established a women's society and supported its official registration. That step changed everything. Registration turned an informal group of neighbours into a recognized body, one that could engage with state institutions, access support, and be heard in decisions affecting them.
From there, the women led the way. They chose livelihoods they could pursue within their own community, alongside their caregiving responsibilities: sewing, and preparing food to sell, like pittu, roti, string hoppers and short eats. My role was to connect them with officials and resources, and to support their confidence in speaking for themselves.
Today, the society has grown and secured government support. Women who once depended on irregular daily wages now earn their own income, and their children are continuing their education. The mother who once skipped meals now runs her own small food business, and she speaks at community meetings. That, to me, says everything. These women take part in decisions they were once excluded from. They see themselves as leaders, because they are.
New challenges still arise, but each time, the women face them together, and we find a way through.
Through Meraki Sri Lanka, a youth-led initiative I co-founded, I now carry these lessons into broader work on gender equality, mental health, and the human dimensions of climate vulnerability. My journey with the UN Women 30 for 2030 Network has strengthened this path. The support of fellow cohort members in Sri Lanka and the initiatives of young leaders across the region continue to inspire my own. And Sammanthranapura remains my foundation: it showed me what lasting change looks like.
To governments and institutions, I would say this: design programmes not only for women in vulnerable circumstances, but with them. The women living closest to the rising water understand its risks best. They should help shape the response.
And to other young people: our role is not to be the central figure in someone else's story.
Find the people in your community who are already working to build a better life.
Ask them what they need.
Then help them achieve it.
That is what leadership looks like.
