When I saw a newspaper article about a school in the heart of Nairobi slums, with children crammed up in a tiny makeshift classroom, with broken desks and chairs, my heart was wrecked and I knew I had to do something.

I met the teacher, well, the caregiver who oversaw the school, a remarkable woman, with a heart of gold. I will call her Mary. Upon seeing the plight of orphaned children in her community, ravaged by HIV/AIDs and poverty, Mary opened her single-roomed home and begun teaching and providing them with food.

Starting with 3 children, the number grew to more than forty orphaned and vulnerable children in a matter of weeks. Children, of all ages, eager to learn and at least have one meal for the day. As someone living with HIV/AIDS herself, and at a time when ARVs were inaccessible, especially to the poorest, she knew that she was starting something that she could not sustain, but she did it anyway. A few other people in the community joined her.

I sat quietly, listening to Mary’s story, trying not to cry. I found out that a ‘good Samaritan’ had allowed them to use her piece of land to construct the informal school to accommodate the kids. The community had come together and constructed the structure, using wood, metal, and other found objects. As sorry as the school looked, it was the only safe haven for those kids.

I thought Mary was an angel! She was gentle and humble, and strangely calm, as if oblivious of the huge task she was undertaking. She did not make a single coin, and only relied on meagre donations from her slum community to keep the ‘school’ running. I would go deep into the slums to visit the school and any time I got a chance to take someone there, I did. I even took a reporter from the New York Times.

It was hard to believe that 40 children could fit in a classroom the size of a closet. There was barely room for kids to move around. The kids were constantly sick and many of them were HIV Positive. It looked like a disaster waiting to happen.

I knew that I needed to help Mary, not just with food items, a few books and treats for the kids but I needed to do something bigger. I thought constructing a better structure would be a good start. At least two classrooms where the kids would be more comfortable since the land was very small. When I told Mary about building a permanent structure, she was delighted but needed to ask the landowner if she would allow them to build something permanent.

I met the landowner, who was a very senior police officer. She was pleasant and very willing, in fact eager to expedite the process of selling the land for the good cause. The price was reasonable, and I managed to get a donor who was willing to pay for it. I knew that I would easily be able to raise the money needed to construct the classrooms after we purchased the land.

I could not believe how well everything was going. Little did I know that it would all come crashing down a few days later!

I got a lawyer to help with the purchase and transfer of the property who quickly learned that the landowner did not possess a title deed to the land. She had simply claimed the land as her own with no legal documents. I could not, with a clear conscience ‘purchase’ land without a title deed, much less with donor money. So, with a very heavy heart, I told Mary that I would not be able to buy the land for them. Mary went ahead and informed the landlord of the decision.

The landowner was livid.  She called me cursing and yelling, claiming that I had taken the money from the donor for my own personal use. She promised that she would come after me and that she would destroy me. I tried to explain to her that the sponsoring organization needed to see the title deed, but she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she threatened and warned me to watch my back.

I knew that police officers in Kenya had a lot of power, and such threats could not be taken lightly. I was left shaken and in deep shock, wondering how I got myself into such a mess.

I looked up to God and I remember the exact words that I said,

“I was only trying to help, surely you know that”.

For the next week, I drove around nervously wondering who was following me, afraid for my life and that of my family. My heart was heavy, and I regretted ever getting involved in the project.

About a week later, Mary walked into my office and shared some disturbing news. She informed me that the landowner, a few days after her threats, got a massive heartache and had died. She even brought me the obituary notice in the daily newspaper. We sat there in shock, confused and wondering what  it meant, too afraid to infer anything.

I was now more shaken about her death than I was of her threats! I wondered quietly for years if God had heard me. Mostly, I was afraid that God would go that far.

To this day, I shudder at the thought that God heard my prayer and prefer to believe that her death had nothing to do with me or those children. It is a safer space for me to hide from the reality of what God is capable of doing.