In the quiet hills of Tseminyu, a dormant dream awakens. The Revival of Zunpha tells the story of how a small cooperative, once lost to time, is finding new life. A tale of community, revival, and the power of working together.
The monsoon this year has been like an angsty teenager, bursting in colors and rages, unpredictable yet full of life. Though often travelled, the road to Zunpha still feels pristine, untouched, and beautifully rugged as I make my way to the office of the Zunpha Multipurpose Cooperative Society Ltd. (ZMPCS). For weeks, rain has fallen in torrents, and the road excavation for the new extension has come to a temporary halt adding even more character to the journey. The air is heavy with the scent of wet earth, the mist dances along the ridges, and every turn carries both thrill and uncertainty. Yet, beneath the mud-slicked roads and grey skies, there’s a quiet pulse of purpose, a reminder that even in the roughest seasons, something new is always taking shape in Zunpha.
Fifty kilometers away from Nagaland’s state capital lies Zunpha, nestled within Tseminyu district, the homeland of the Rengmas. The Rengmas are a people deeply rooted in community bonds, known for their warmth, hospitality, and a rich cultural heritage that continues to shape their collective identity.
Tseminyu’s economy remains modest and agrarian, with few micro and small enterprises. Agriculture, government services, and small private businesses form the backbone of livelihood here. Yet, behind this quiet simplicity lies a story of a community marked by resilience and shared purpose, one that continues to find strength in unity and the spirit of progress.
As I arrived at the office, the rich aroma of freshly brewed Kenono coffee drifted from the Artifex Ka Café, wrapping the misty afternoon in comfort. What a lively start to a fog-draped day! The hum of activity was immediate. Young men and women moved briskly between rooms, some laughing in between tasks, others deeply absorbed in their work. For them, the day had already begun long before my arrival. As I sat down in the office, this space stood like a witness to time, old, rugged, and weathered by many seasons, yet unshaken. Its walls seemed to hold stories of both struggle and resilience. Today, this space stands not just as a building, but as the beating heart of one of Nagaland’s most promising cooperative societies.
Ruchinilo Kemp, the secretary of the cooperative, and also my husband was on a call when I arrived, his voice steady and animated as he discussed the day’s tasks. It’s always a different sight, seeing him here, in his element, a place where his energy thrives and his vision for the community truly comes alive.
Across the room, Shweni, the ever-efficient office assistant and the team’s favorite barista, quickly set about brewing us two cups of warm, aromatic arabica coffee. As Ruchinilo hung up the phone and turned toward me with a smile, he said with a playful glint in his eyes, “Are you ready for a long journey down memory lane into the history of Zunpha Cooperative?” And with that, our conversation began, one that would trace not just the story of an institution, but the heartbeat of a community that dared to begin again.
“It was under the leadership of M.K. Lorin, our veteran community leader, that the idea of a cooperative was first conceived,” he began, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “On June 24, 1981, the Zunpha Multipurpose Cooperative Society Ltd. was formally registered. Its first leaders were Lothi Semy as Chairman, M.K. Lorin as Vice-Chairman, Gwanyelo Keppen as Secretary, and Sojvükha Kath as Treasurer.”
As I settled comfortably into the chair, I asked, “What inspired or perhaps transpired the founding of the cooperative society during such a turbulent and uncertain time?”
Ruchinilo leaned back for a moment, as if shifting through memories not his own but passed down through countless conversations and community gatherings.
“It was a different time,” he began slowly, eyes fixed on the rain trickling down the window. “The late 70s and early 80s were years of uncertainty. The state was still finding its footing after years of political unrest, and the Rengma community, like many others, was grappling with change from a traditional and subsistence way of life to a more modern economy.”
He paused, as though weighing the significance of his next words.
“But even amidst all that, the educated church leaders and government officers from our community had a vision, a belief that progress would mean nothing if it did not uplift everyone together. For the Rengmas, survival required more than waiting for change, it demanded collective action. That’s how ZMPCS was born, out of a shared dream to bring self-reliance and dignity to the community. By the community, for the community.”
He smiled faintly, “In a way, it was less about founding an institution and more about planting a seed of hope, one they hoped future generations would nurture.”
He spoke with such familiarity and precision that it was easy to forget he had joined the cooperative only five years ago. The way he recounted its history with warmth, respect, and conviction it felt as though he had carried those names, dates and visions in his memory for decades.
The 1980s was a turning point for the Rengma Naga community of Tseminyu, then still part of Kohima district. Like much of Nagaland, the people were emerging from the turbulence of the 1970s, a decade overshadowed by political unrest and a prolonged insurgency. Life revolved around subsistence farming and traditional methods that barely sustained families. Roads were few, schools and health facilities scarce, and opportunities for economic growth limited. Yet, amidst these hardships, the community found strength in its faith. The Church amongst the Rengma was more than a place of worship; it was the heart of education, social resilience, reconciliation, and communal wellbeing. The church was the heart of the community, where ideas of faith met ideas of progress. The elders, many of whom were church leaders, believed that true faith was reflected in collective growth and service. So, when they spoke of building a cooperative, it wasn’t merely about economic revival. It was about living out the spirit of unity, stewardship, and shared responsibility.
The clock was ticking, and as I glanced at it, I realized half an hour had already passed. Gathering my thoughts, I leaned forward and asked my next question. “Why did the cooperative society come to a standstill? And what, after all these years of dormancy, sparked its revival?”
Ruchinilo paused, his gaze drifting toward the window as though the misty hills of Zunpha held the answers to my questions, “the society went through a long period of dormancy hindered by the very challenges it sought to overcome,” he began. “Over the years, interest waned, resources became scarce, and the cooperative that once symbolized hope and unity slowly faded into the background.”
He blew on his steaming coffee before taking a sip and continued. “The spirit of ZMPCS never truly died. By 2017, Nagaland was entering a new chapter, a time of relative peace and emerging opportunities. Yet, beneath that progress lay persistent challenges: rising unemployment, dwindling resources, and increasing pressure on land. It was during this period, under the leadership of Haiwalo Apon, Chairman of ZMPCS, that the call to revive the vision of Zunpha Cooperative was felt more strongly than ever.”
“What began as quiet conversations in church circles soon stirred the hearts of community leaders. It wasn’t just talk; it was a shared conviction. Through a general body resolution, the community became united, pooling resources from different corners to spark something bigger. That faith turned into action. A working capital was raised, and with it came the self-reliance enterprise units.”
“By 2021–22, the society completed all government audit compliances and streamlined its business management system” he said, his voice tinged with memory and remembrance.
As he spoke about the formation and revival of ZMPCS, I leaned forward and asked, “How does the Kenono Foundation fit into this story? What is its role and connection with ZMPCS?” We sat in front of a wall adorned with numerous posters showcasing the projects Kenono Foundation has undertaken and continues to pursue. The vibrant displays often leave visitors intrigued and eager to learn more, offering a visual glimpse into the scope and impact of the foundation’s work and its relation with ZMPCS Ltd.
Ruchinilo smiled, as though anticipating the question. He set his cup down gently before answering.
“Kenono Foundation and ZMPCS are like two branches growing from the same root,” he began.
“We realized that while ZMPCS was a strong medium for home-based initiatives, its scope remains limited to its members because of its cooperative nature. In order to engage more widely beyond the district and across broader themes of sustainability a larger platform was needed. Thus, on 9th February 2022, the Kenono Foundation was registered under the Companies Act, 2013, with Haiwalo Apon as Chairman and myself as Chief Executive. To preserve its community character, ZMPCS became the chief promoter, holding 99.9% of the shares, making Kenono Foundation a truly people-led initiative, built by the community, for the community.”
“With incorporation came a vital question, where should Kenono focus?” he said, his voice steady with conviction. “After much reflection, we anchored our vision on the 2015 Annual General Meeting resolution: biodiversity conservation. Building on ZMPCS’s grassroots experience, Kenono adopted a twin focus – conserving forests, water, and wildlife, while advancing rural enterprise development to support livelihoods and sustenance, for both these are deeply connected to each other.”
He paused, looking almost wistful. “This fusion of conservation and livelihood marked the true resurrection of the cooperative’s dream. What had once been a silent office now houses women at sewing tables, youth editing films, and farmers managing their own enterprises, the cooperative’s revival visible in every pair of working hands.”
He leaned back slightly, his voice calm yet firm. “The foundation was created to carry forward the spirit of the cooperative, but in a way that could adapt to new challenges. Through Kenono, we work on sustainability, biodiversity conservation, and enterprise development, while ZMPCS remains deeply grounded in the day-to-day life of the people, the farmers, artisans, youth, and women who form the backbone of our community.”
He paused for a moment, the hum of activity from the nearby office filling the silence. “This connection between the old cooperative spirit and the new development vision is what makes our story unique. It’s not just revival; it’s reinvention with roots.”
As our conversation deepened and began to branch into broader reflections, I asked, “What was the response of the youth to this movement? And how did it lead to the development of the social enterprises that ZMPCS now spearheads?”
A faint smile tugged at his face as he watched a group of boys transport the coffee bags to the pick-up truck. “The community, especially the youth, realized that the cooperative wasn’t just an institution; it was the heartbeat of our collective progress.”
He paused, running a hand over the table’s wooden grain,”We understood that without it, not only would opportunities for livelihoods vanish, but a critical part of our community’s identity, our brotherhood, sisterhood, and shared sense of purpose could be lost forever. So, the revival wasn’t about restarting a business. It was about breathing life back into a dream that belonged to everyone in the community. We brought back the cooperative with a clear focus: empowering the youth, providing opportunities for women, and ensuring that the vision of our elders lives on through action and commitment.”
Ruchinilo leaned back, letting the memories settle before he spoke again. “The first step was re-engaging the community. We called meetings, reached out to stakeholders, and reminded everyone that ZMPCS was more than a dormant society, it was a collective legacy.
He paused, eyes lighting up as he continued. “Next, we focused on youth engagement. Over 90% of our current workforce are young men and women, full of energy and ideas. Their involvement brought fresh skills, creativity, and momentum that the society desperately needed.”
“Then came the creation of enterprises,” he said, with a hint of pride. “We started the Kenono Garment Unit, giving women an opportunity to earn and gain new skills. Artifex Ka, our media and printing house, became a platform for young creatives like Stephen, Asho and Tilo to showcase their talents. The Carpentry Unit, Zunpha Farm Eggs, and Earth Movers Service were set up to meet local needs while creating jobs. Each unit was carefully planned to ensure that it was not just economically sustainable, but also community-centered.”
In the midst of our conversation, one of the young workers entered, asking about the coop for the layer chickens at the Poultry Unit. Ruchinilo excused himself with an apologetic smile and hurried off to attend to his duties. Taking that as my cue, I wrapped up the interview. I then made my way to Artifex Ka, the Printing and Media House, located right next to the ZMPCS office. Inside, Tilo and Stephen were absorbed in their submissions, racing against deadlines, while Shweni and Beno busied themselves preparing wedding card orders for the season.
I sat beside Tilo, his desk alive with color and rhythm, the soft click of his mouse blending with the pulsing beats of Abdon Mech, a singer-songwriter from a musical family, whose roots are deep in Nagaland, playing through a small speaker. The screen glowed with a half-finished photo edit, a mountain landscape slowly coming to life under his careful touch.
Tilo had once worked 104 kilometers away in another district, but when the chance came to return to Zunpha, he didn’t think twice. “It felt like coming home,” he said, eyes fixed on the screen. Now a graphic designer and photographer at Artifex Ka, he was shaping images of the place that had shaped him.
“There’s a deeper connection here,” he added after a moment, softening the edges of a photo with quick, practiced strokes. “When you belong to the place you work for, the drive to do better, it just comes naturally.”
The day was starting to get a little warmer as I stepped out of Artifex Ka and strolled down toward the Kenono Garment Unit. From a distance, I could hear “Sapphire” by Ed Sheeran playing softly, infusing the air with a sense of liveliness. The factory was buzzing, a festive little world of its own, where pop culture beats kept the rhythm of the day alive. The steady hum of sewing machines blended with quiet concentration, as tailors worked in perfect sync, their hands moving with practiced ease. Nearby, the cutters were engrossed in their craft, each movement precise and deliberate, the soundscape of industry and creativity woven seamlessly together. Many of them had once stayed home, their work unseen. Now, their days began with patterns and measurements, their earnings tucked safely into their fabrics, small but steady symbols of dignity and change.
Kedale Thong, now in her early fifties, had spent most of her life as a homemaker. But with the revival of ZMPCS, a new path unfolded before her. Dressed in a trypan-blue apron speckled with loose threads, she stood at her sewing table, her movements steady and assured. I lingered near the doorway of the garment unit and struck up a conversation. Kedale exuded a warmth that was both lively and dignified, perhaps the very reason she brought such consistency and calm to the bustling rhythm of the workshop. When I asked how working at the Kenono Garment Unit had changed her, her face softened into a smile touched with nostalgia and pride.
“Before I joined the Garment Unit, I hardly even knew how to hold a pair of scissors,” she said, chuckling softly. “But since becoming part of this place, I’ve not only learned a skill, I’ve also become a breadwinner for my family. Earlier, we depended entirely on my husband’s income. Now, I can contribute equally, paying for my daughter’s education and buying essentials like a refrigerator and a washing machine. It feels good to know that my work brings comfort and progress to my home.”
A few tables away sat Khwenhile Seb, a bright twenty-one-year-old whose laughter carried easily above the steady whir of sewing machines. Even after a long, grueling day of stitching demands, her face glowed with the kind of joy that only comes from doing something meaningful.
Khwenhile walks every morning from Terogvunyu village, nearly nine kilometers away from Zunpha, to reach the garment unit. Her commute alone speaks of quiet determination. “Before joining the Kenono Garment Unit, I was home and unemployed,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, I’ve gained skills that make me more confident not just as a worker, but as a person. This place has given me purpose.”
She paused, a hopeful smile spreading across her face. “The garment unit is something I want more of my friends to experience. It’s more than just work, it’s a space where we grow, learn, and support one another.”
As she turned back to her stitching, I couldn’t help but notice the rhythm of her hands, quick, steady, full of life, the rhythm of a generation shaping its own future.
Time seemed to slip away unnoticed; it was already nearing three. I had to wrap up and head home to my daughter, who was no doubt waiting eagerly for me. As I stepped out of the garment unit, a gentle hum of work faded behind me. The monsoon evening grew colder, the chill seeping through the misty air, yet my heart was warm with hope and admiration. In this quiet and pristine foothill, a powerful engine of economic and social development was quietly, yet resolutely turning. Witnessing how the youth of Zunpha are creating, leading, and driving change with purpose left me convinced that when vision, skill, and community come together, even the smallest corners can spark monumental transformations.
The story of ZMPCS today is not just about a cooperative that was revived, but about a community that has been transformed. What began in the 1980s with the elders’ vision has come full circle, with a new generation taking ownership of that dream and breathing life into it in ways the founders once only imagined.
This transformation is the result of two intergenerational efforts, the elders who sowed the seeds with their heart for progress, and the youth who nurtured those seeds into thriving enterprises. Together, they are weaving a narrative of revival, resurrection, and resurgence that continues to inspire.
Today the impact is visible. In 2025, Zunpha Multipurpose Cooperative Society Ltd. was honored by NABARD as the best-performing cooperative society in Nagaland. Today, the cooperative sustains the livelihoods of 47 dedicated staff and workers, each one carrying the shared responsibility of turning the community’s aspirations into tangible progress.
Now, as the United Nations celebrates 2025 as the Year of Cooperatives under the theme “Cooperatives Build a Better World”, the Zunpha story shines as more than an institutional history. It is a living testimony of a people who, guided by faith and resilience, have continually adapted to changing times. By weaving together indigenous wisdom of strong brotherhood, innovation, and partnerships, the Rengma community has built a foundation of hope, one that continues to grow stronger in the face of new challenges.
First Published by Voices of Rural India on December 13 2025.
