Kanaklata stood where women don't belong - and changed everything

Originally published in BSS News. Click here to read the original Stories

On her first day selling vegetables in the local market, people did not look at Kanaklata Mondol's produce. They looked at her.

Some laughed. Some whispered. A few openly questioned why a woman from Gunari village was standing in a marketplace meant for men. In that moment, the challenge was not salinity, not cyclones, not crop failure. It was power and gendered norms.

"Every day I went to that market, I felt like I was committing a crime," Kanaklata recalls, sitting in the modest concrete room adjacent to her home. "But I kept going. I had nothing to lose."

Gunari village in Sutarkhali Union under Dacope Upazila sits in the southwest coastal belt of Bangladesh - a region that has borne the brunt of climate change for decades. This area was severely affected by Cyclone Aila in 2009, according to the government and UN assessments conducted at the time. Since then, rising soil salinity and recurring climate shocks have continued to undermine agricultural productivity across the region.

But climate stress did not affect everyone equally.

For women like Kanaklata, it intensified unpaid labour while keeping them economically invisible. Homestead gardening was socially acceptable. Public selling was not. Markets were male spaces. Income decisions were male domains. Women could produce, but they were not expected to price, negotiate, or transact.

That was the structural barrier she faced.

Breaking the Ground

At 35, Kanaklata cultivated vegetables in her yard using traditional methods. Yields were low due to saline soil and limited technical knowledge. Production barely covered household consumption. Whatever surplus remained was sold informally to neighbours, generating minimal cash income.

She did not enter markets. She did not negotiate prices. She did not influence larger household financial decisions. Her labour sustained the family, but her economic identity remained confined to the home.

"I used to give everything to my husband - the little money we made," she says. "I never knew how much things sold for or what we could afford."

In 2021, everything changed.

Kanaklata joined a Women Livelihood Group formed under a coastal adaptation initiative focused on gender-responsive approaches. The entry was not individual charity. It was collective organisation.

Through the group, she received training in homestead gardening, sesame cultivation, and aquageoponics techniques designed for saline-prone environments. She learned to align crops with seasonal calendars and maximise every usable corner of her homestead. A small pond beside her house became a productive aquageoponics unit - a system combining fish farming with hydroponic vegetable cultivation that thrives even in saline water.

More importantly, the group created a platform for women to discuss production, pricing, and market systems together. It shifted her from isolated labourer to member of an economic collective.

"We used to sit among ourselves and talk about what we grew, what sold, what price we should ask," she says. "That was new. Before, we never spoke about these things."

Confronting the Backlash

Technical skills increased output. But productivity alone does not dismantle norms.

The real turning point came when Kanaklata decided to sell directly at the local markets of Kalinagar and Nalian, located on either side of her village. Entering those markets meant crossing an invisible boundary. The backlash was immediate.

People questioned her character. Some implied that women who sit in markets lose respect. Others mocked her ambition. Normative sanction embedded in the marketplace seemed designed to send her back home.

"My own neighbours would laugh at me," she remembers. "They said a respectable woman doesn't go sit in the market like a man."

Her husband, though not actively opposing her, offered no encouragement. "He didn't stop me, but he didn't support me either," she says. "He just watched."

She did not retreat.

Twice a week, she carried vegetables and fish to market. Each visit required negotiation not only with buyers, but with social scrutiny. She faced comments, stares, and cold shoulders. But she persisted.

Over time, something shifted. Customers began focusing on quality rather than her presence. Transactions replaced taunts. Income replaced doubt.

"After a few months, the same people who laughed started asking me for my vegetables," she says. "They said my produce was fresher and cheaper than the men's."

By standing her ground, she converted resistance into normalisation.

Leading the Change

As her confidence and earnings grew, her role expanded. She began managing production planning strategically. She tracked demand patterns. She diversified crops - from traditional okra and eggplant to high-value leafy vegetables that fetch better prices.

Within her ward, she also took on the role of Pani Apa - a technical position that conducts maintenance and operation of rainwater harvesting systems in her community. While this title reflects community-level recognition rather than a nationally standardised position, it signals a visible shift in how her leadership is perceived locally.

"I never imagined I would be the one people come to when there's a water problem," she says. "But now they do."

Other women observed her market engagement. What had once seemed socially risky became conceivable. Her individual decision reduced collective fear.

"Before Kanaklata started going to the market, we all thought it was shameful," says fellow group member Amina Begum. "Now I go too. My husband was against it at first, but when he saw her success, he stopped saying anything."

The Measure of Change

The shift was subtle but measurable in behaviour.

Community members who once criticised her now purchase from her. Her mobility to and from markets is no longer contested. Within her household, she participates directly in income decisions. She controls the revenue from her sales.

"I decide what to grow, where to sell, and what to do with the money," she says with quiet conviction. "My husband now asks my opinion. That has never happened before."

The norm that markets are exclusively male-dominated spaces has not disappeared. But it has been negotiated. That is how norm change begins - not through dramatic revolution, but through stubborn, daily presence.

As long as these systems remain functional, the change extends beyond one individual. Her visibility lowers the social barrier for the next woman considering market participation.

Building on Foundation

Kanaklata's personal determination drove her persistence. However, her technical skills, collective platform, and market orientation were enabled through the Gender-responsive Coastal Adaptation project - a comprehensive initiative funded by the Green Climate Fund and the Government of Bangladesh, supported by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), and implemented by NGO Forum for Public Health.

The project specifically targets women in climate-vulnerable coastal communities, recognising that adaptation must address not only environmental challenges but also the social structures that intensify vulnerability.

"Kanaklata's story illustrates why gender-responsive approaches are essential," says a UNDP spokesperson. "When we only address technical needs without challenging social barriers, we get limited results. When we do both, transformation becomes possible."

Her story is not simply about improved farming. It is about a woman who absorbed public backlash, recalibrated power at household and community levels, and converted climate vulnerability into economic leadership.

A New Normal

The first day she entered the market, people questioned her presence.

Today, they are keen to buy produce from her.

"People in the market now call me ' Apa' - they respect me," she says, a hint of smile breaking across her face. "My own life has changed. And I can see it changing for others too."

For women in Gunari village and beyond, the marketplace - once a symbol of exclusion - has become a space of possibility. Not because the barriers have vanished, but because one woman chose to stand there until they weakened.

That is how transformation begins. Not in policy documents, but in the daily courage of women who refuse to leave.