A safe space in Rehoboth

The story of Lighthouse Ministry begins with co-founder Gerlinda Shipipa-Bruijnes, who first arrived in Rehoboth from the Netherlands 15 years ago for a short internship. She did not plan to stay. But something about the place – and more specifically, the children – shifted that trajectory. “I lost my heart there,” she says. “I saw how children were growing up and how little investment there was in helping them reach their potential.” She returned to the Netherlands to complete her studies, but the decision to come back to Namibia was already made. The day after graduating, she was on a plane.

Years followed in Windhoek, where she worked for a similar child-focused initiative and met her husband, Kenneth, from Namibia. However, the pull towards Rehoboth remained. Eventually, the newlywed couple relocated and began opening their home to children in the neighbourhood. “You would find children everywhere: in the living room, the kitchen, the yard…” she recalls with a laugh.

What began informally soon outgrew their home. The need was too visible, too constant. With support from board members in Namibia and the Netherlands, Lighthouse Ministry was formally established six years ago. The name was chosen to reflect what they hoped it would become: a beacon in a place where many families navigate daily uncertainty.

For a while, the work continued from their home. Then came the turning point: a five-hectare plot near Block E was offered to the organisation, opening up space for something more structured. From then on, programmes began to multiply.

Today, the centre offers a wide range of support, from structured learning and after-school care to youth mentoring, social work and home visits. One of the centre’s vital initiatives is a support group for pregnant teenagers – young girls navigating adulthood long before they should have to.

In 2025, another significant shift came when the land was officially donated by its Dutch owners, securing the future of the site and allowing for long-term planning. New classrooms are now in development, intended to replace the current outdoor learning areas where children sit beneath shaded nets that offer little relief from Rehoboth’s persistent wind and heat.

Each day, around 80 children pass through the centre. For many, it is the only place where they can pause, where childhood is not interrupted by responsibility. They receive a warm meal, often their only one of the day, along with time to read, play and learn.

Learning here is deliberately orientated around play. “Everything we teach, we teach from the principle of play,” Gerlinda says. It is an approach designed not only to educate, but to reawaken curiosity in children who have often fallen behind or disengaged from formal schooling.

Alongside educational support, the centre introduces conversations that rarely happen elsewhere: about emotional awareness, physical boundaries and personal safety. In a context where genderbased violence and domestic abuse are present realities, these lessons carry immeasurable weight.

There is also space for creativity and sport, for structure and routine, for simply being a child. Before leaving, children are given fruit and a small food parcel for breakfast the next day, along with basic toiletries – practical gestures that extend care beyond the centre.