From 90 Interviews to Two Programs: Designing Bohoka

Design research and co-design work behind Tegura Ejo Heza, a mental health literacy and peer support program for young people in Rwanda, built from the ground up with the people it was for.

Role

Senior Product Designer

Industry

Non-Profit

Year

2021

co-design workshop

The context

Mental health literacy among young people in Rwanda was low, and the reasons weren't simple. Roughly 13% of Rwandans aged 12 to 17 had reported suicidal ideation or behavior in the prior six months, and around one in four young people met the diagnostic criteria for depression. Seeking help carried real social cost. A generation shaped by the aftermath of the genocide often saw its own trauma as the only trauma worth taking seriously, which left little room for a teenager's anxiety or a break-up to register as something real. The program's job wasn't to build an app. It was to find a way into a problem that most young people had been taught not to talk about at all.

What the research found

In September 2021, I took part in design research across two youth centers in Kigali, speaking with 45 people: 37 young people aged 10 to 19, and 8 parents, teachers and healthcare providers. What came back shaped everything after it. Young people mostly defined mental health by its most extreme, visible symptoms, shouting, self-harm, addiction, which meant quieter struggles like anxiety or low mood didn't register as something worth mentioning to anyone. Confidentiality mattered more than the channel it came through. And who a young person would actually turn to depended entirely on how stigmatized they judged their own problem to be: something like sadness went to a parent or friend, but shame around HIV status or self-harm was more likely to go to a stranger, precisely because a stranger didn't know them and couldn't judge them by it later.

We built three personas from this research to keep the work grounded in specific people rather than an abstract "youth" user: a 13-year-old whose new anxiety is going unnoticed because his aunt believes staying strong is the only response to hard feelings, an 18-year-old numbing a breakup with alcohol because he doesn't want to burden his parents, and a 15-year-old hiding auditory hallucinations from her family for fear of being labeled mad.

What I ran

I helped facilitate two co-design workshops with 12 participants aged 15 to 19 across the two youth centers, working directly from those personas. The brief we gave participants was open on purpose: how could they help other young people identify, learn about and talk about mental health. We weren't looking for validation of an idea we already had, we were looking for what they'd actually build if it were up to them. The sessions produced five original concepts, ranging from a YouTube page where trained young people interviewed experts, to a peer program pairing trained "Wellness Warriors" with youth needing support, to a comic book following a young person's mental health journey.

The context

Mental health literacy among young people in Rwanda was low, and the reasons weren't simple. Roughly 13% of Rwandans aged 12 to 17 had reported suicidal ideation or behavior in the prior six months, and around one in four young people met the diagnostic criteria for depression. Seeking help carried real social cost. A generation shaped by the aftermath of the genocide often saw its own trauma as the only trauma worth taking seriously, which left little room for a teenager's anxiety or a break-up to register as something real. The program's job wasn't to build an app. It was to find a way into a problem that most young people had been taught not to talk about at all.

What the research found

In September 2021, I took part in design research across two youth centers in Kigali, speaking with 45 people: 37 young people aged 10 to 19, and 8 parents, teachers and healthcare providers. What came back shaped everything after it. Young people mostly defined mental health by its most extreme, visible symptoms, shouting, self-harm, addiction, which meant quieter struggles like anxiety or low mood didn't register as something worth mentioning to anyone. Confidentiality mattered more than the channel it came through. And who a young person would actually turn to depended entirely on how stigmatized they judged their own problem to be: something like sadness went to a parent or friend, but shame around HIV status or self-harm was more likely to go to a stranger, precisely because a stranger didn't know them and couldn't judge them by it later.

We built three personas from this research to keep the work grounded in specific people rather than an abstract "youth" user: a 13-year-old whose new anxiety is going unnoticed because his aunt believes staying strong is the only response to hard feelings, an 18-year-old numbing a breakup with alcohol because he doesn't want to burden his parents, and a 15-year-old hiding auditory hallucinations from her family for fear of being labeled mad.

What I ran

I helped facilitate two co-design workshops with 12 participants aged 15 to 19 across the two youth centers, working directly from those personas. The brief we gave participants was open on purpose: how could they help other young people identify, learn about and talk about mental health. We weren't looking for validation of an idea we already had, we were looking for what they'd actually build if it were up to them. The sessions produced five original concepts, ranging from a YouTube page where trained young people interviewed experts, to a peer program pairing trained "Wellness Warriors" with youth needing support, to a comic book following a young person's mental health journey.

Testing six ideas to find two

Those concepts, plus a version of the original Bohoka platform idea, went into rough prototyping with 45 community members in 2021. Each one was tested for real, not just discussed, and the results were often not what the team expected going in.

An anonymous expert advice column, run under the name "Ask Mahoro," tested well specifically because of the anonymity. One participant put it plainly: they'd rather ask someone who didn't know them than someone who did, since a stranger had no reason to soften the truth or judge them for it later. A comic book following a fictional mental health journey landed with some participants and lost others, who felt drawn illustrations read as made up rather than trustworthy, even though the same group also said the format was the easiest thing to actually get through. A public forum for young people to post their own stories tested worst of all: almost nobody wanted their name attached to their story, which meant an idea built around visibility had to be rebuilt around anonymity to survive contact with the people it was for.

The team mapped all six concepts against three barriers the research had surfaced, low mental health literacy, not knowing where to seek care, and the cost and inconvenience of actually accessing it, and narrowed to three ideas worth carrying into live testing: Bohoka itself, a concept called Mfasha built around the anonymous-expert insight from "Ask Mahoro," and Turi Kumwe, the trained peer support system.

a cell phone leaning on a ledge

What it became

Bohoka and Turi Kumwe are the two components of Tegura Ejo Heza as it exists today, an online learning platform and offline peer support program run by trained Wellness Warriors. Bohoka's chatbot, a free, anonymous conversation with a mental health expert, grew directly out of "Ask Mahoro," the anonymous-advice concept that tested well back in November 2021, and I designed part of that chatbot's interface myself.


This project was funded by the National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) (project reference) using UK aid from the UK Government to support global health research. The views expressed in this publication are those of the author(s) and not necessarily those of the NIHR or the UK government.

What it became

Bohoka and Turi Kumwe are the two components of Tegura Ejo Heza as it exists today, an online learning platform and offline peer support program run by trained Wellness Warriors. Bohoka's chatbot, a free, anonymous conversation with a mental health expert, grew directly out of "Ask Mahoro," the anonymous-advice concept that tested well back in November 2021, and I designed part of that chatbot's interface myself.


This project was funded by the National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) (project reference) using UK aid from the UK Government to support global health research. The views expressed in this publication are those of the author(s) and not necessarily those of the NIHR or the UK government.

Other projects

Copyright 2026 — Rey Mungai

Copyright 2026 — Rey Mungai

Copyright 2026 — Rey Mungai

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