When the environment suffers, women are often the first to feel it and the last to be seen

For a long time, I thought drought was about dry rivers, dusty roads, and failed harvests. Then I began to notice something else.

Every time the rains failed, it was women who seemed to carry the heaviest burden. Women walking farther for water. Women worrying about what their families would eat. Women stretching scarce resources until there was nothing left to stretch.

The drought affected everyone. But it did not affect everyone equally. That was the moment I began to understand that climate change is not only an environmental crisis.

In many communities like mine, it is also a women's issue.

I grew up in a semi-arid part of Kenya where people have learned to live with uncertainty. We watch the skies closely. We celebrate every good rainfall. We know what it means to wait for clouds that never arrive.

As a child, I noticed the dry riverbeds, the dusty paths, and the struggling crops. What I did not notice was the quiet burden carried by the women around me. I did not notice it because they carried it so naturally.

My mother was one of them.

When water became scarce, she was the one who worried first. When food supplies ran low, she was the one who figured out how to make what remained last a little longer. When the sun became harsher and the land became drier, she continued working because life did not pause simply because conditions had become difficult.

Over time, I began noticing the physical toll. The long hours under an unforgiving sun. The constant exposure to heat. The exhaustion that settled into the body after years of outdoor work.

I remember watching my mother's skin become increasingly affected by the sun. What started as occasional irritation became something she lived with for years. Sunburn, dryness, and discomfort became normal because there was little information available about skin protection and even fewer resources to prioritize it.

In many rural communities, conversations about skincare are often seen as luxuries. People are focused on survival.

On water.

On food.

On livestock.

On making it through another dry season.

Protecting skin from prolonged sun exposure rarely makes it onto the list.

Yet the sun leaves its mark.

Not only on the land but also on the women who spend countless hours working beneath it.

As I grew older, I began seeing similar stories around me. Women walking long distances in search of water. Women tending farms despite rising temperatures. Women carrying firewood under intense heat. Women whose days begin before sunrise and end long after sunset.

Climate change was never an abstract concept for them.

It was not a headline.

It was not a conference discussion.

It was daily life.

The more I observed, the more I realized that environmental change often reaches women first.

When drought strikes, women are often responsible for finding alternative water sources.

When harvests fail, women are often expected to stretch limited food supplies.

When families face hardship, women frequently absorb the additional emotional and physical burden.

The crisis may belong to everyone.

But the weight is not always shared equally.

Yet whenever I think about the women in my community, I do not only think about hardship.

I think about resilience.

I think about my mother.

I think about the countless women who continue showing up every day despite challenges that would overwhelm many people.

Women who keep families together.

Women who adapt when conditions change.

Women who find solutions where resources are scarce.

Women who continue planting seeds even when rainfall is uncertain.

Their strength inspires me.

But strength should not be mistaken for endless capacity.

Women should not have to carry the burden of environmental crises alone.

Sometimes when we talk about climate change, we focus on temperatures, drought statistics, and environmental reports.

Those things matter.

But climate change also has a human face.

It looks like a mother shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun as she walks home carrying water.

It looks like a woman wondering how she will feed her family after another failed harvest.

It looks like years of physical strain etched quietly onto a person's body.

That is why environmental health and women's health cannot be separated.

When the environment suffers, women often suffer alongside it.

And when women thrive, communities thrive too.

If we want healthier communities and a healthier future, we must invest in climate solutions that recognize and support women. We need reliable water access, climate-resilient livelihoods, environmental education, and stronger support systems for rural women who stand on the frontlines of environmental change every day.

Because communities and countries, and ultimately the world, are only as strong as the health of their women.

And in places like mine, the climate crisis has a woman's face.