Hiram foundation

Today I found a 16-year-old boy smoking and drinking while playing bonanza. I asked him why he was drinking and smoking at his age. Hmm, the answer he gave me was something else 😔 and people started saying efyo aba alatuuka na bakulu bonse pa myabo. I felt bad, but the voice inside me said please try to talk to him. I called him, he finished his cigarette and beer, and then followed me. I prayed, then smiled, patted his back, and asked him why he drinks. His answer was my parents have failed me. I asked how, and he explained they separated and both remarried, leaving him with his grandparents. They moved on with their life while he had to do piecework to eat. He went to the gold mine and almost died, but the earth did not bury him; he escaped with a cut on his head. I started from there, okay, I counselled today until the boy became sober. He told me how he wants to just die, he almost committed su***de. God used me to save his soul. The boy said, 'Ba uncle , natotela pa shiwi mwanjeba. A lot of people tell me to change, but you have said it differently and made me see things differently.' He then asked if he can go and get his phone so he can save my number, but I said, 'Before you do that, make sure you go make peace at home.' My boy left, he came back with tears in his eyes, and said, 'Uncle, I couldn't hold myself, I cried while I asked for an apology from my grandma and uncles, and my grandma cried and blessed me.' ALLAH, thank you. He told me his name is Shadreck. Please show love to the child. If one child gets spoiled, they recruit others, making the world a dangerous place for our children. I believe change begins with you, it begins with me. Together, we can make a better world for our children. 🥰

Hi ,Please keep me anonymous. When I was still a boy, my mother packed her bags and left home with another man. She didn’t even look back. I remember that day like it just happened yesterday, her walking out while my father stood by the doorway, silent, broken, but still trying to hold himself together for me. My father was a good man, quiet, humble, and the kind of man who believed that love and family could conquer anything. But that day, I saw something die in his eyes.

He never bad mouthed her, not once. He just carried the pain in silence and turned it into fuel. He woke up early, worked late, and did everything possible to make sure I had what I needed. He became both a father and a mother, doing laundry, cooking, helping me with schoolwork and still going out to hustle like a man with no choice but to win. I watched him struggle, sweat, and build a life brick by brick. He built small businesses, bought land, and made sure I never lacked what he never had.

Years passed, and I grew up watching his strength turn into success. But behind that success was a man quietly bleeding inside. When he got sick, I was the one sitting by his bedside every night. I held his hand when he could barely speak. And the last thing he whispered before taking his final breath was, “Take care of what I built, my son. Don’t let anyone destroy it.”

After the funeral, I stood in the house he built with his own hands, the same house my mother once abandoned. And just when I was starting to find peace, she came back. The same woman who left us when life was hard is now calling, crying, saying she wants to make things right. She says time has changed her, that she regrets everything, that she still deserves a place in my life because she’s my mother.

But where was she when my father was coughing bl0od? Where was she when I cried myself to sleep missing her? Where was she when we had to choose between school and food? She missed every moment that shaped me into the man I am?