Keep her in school

Dear Friend,

I am writing to you today with a heart full of gratitude and with a story I hope you will carry with you.

Kato and Babirye are just eleven years old. Twins. But until recently, their childhood had little room for play or dreaming.

Their father, lost to drink, spends his days in a haze. Their mother walks miles each morning to the village centre, where she kneels by the community water tap and washes clothes for other families. Sometimes they pay her in cash or her give her food a few cassava roots, a cup of beans enough to keep the children alive for another day.

The family survives on less than one dollar a day. When there is no work, there is no food. The neighbours help when they can, but they too are poor. Hunger was a permanent guest in their home.

When we first met Kato and Babirye, they had been out of school for months. Their uniforms were faded. Their eyes were tired.

But then, because of you, everything changed.

With your support, we stepped in. We sat with their mother. We enrolled the children back in school. We made sure there is food in the house not just today, but every day.

Today, Kato and Babirye no longer wake up wondering what they will eat. They wake up and put on their uniforms. They walk to school with other children. They laugh. They learn. They are children again.

This is not a small thing. You made it possible.

On behalf of Kato, Babirye, and their mother who now has hope she never dared to carry thank you. Your helping hand did not just feed them. It restored their future.

With deepest gratitude,
Seguya Ivan organization founder F SSIBU MISSION FOUNDATION-Uganda

Every morning, I look at their faces. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. Girls who should be dreaming of their futures, not mourning the loss of them.

Today, the list of those waiting for a second chance is heartbreakingly long. Far longer than our funding allows. Each name represents a story interrupted—not by choice, not by laziness, but by poverty they never asked for. A father’s illness. A mother’s sacrifice. School fees that became an impossible luxury.

These young women didn’t drop out. They were pushed out. By empty pockets. By siblings who needed feeding. By a world that told them their education could wait—except it never comes back.

But here’s what breaks my heart most: they haven’t given up. They come to our gates, quietly, persistently, asking if this time there might be room. Their hands are empty, but their hope is stubborn.

Vocational training isn’t just skill-building. It’s rescue. One girl learning tailoring isn’t just gaining a trade—she’s escaping early marriage. Another in hairdressing isn’t just styling hair—she’s building independence. She’s saying no to a life she never chose.

We cannot turn away. Not when they’re this close. Not when one scholarship can rewrite an entire life.

We call upon you today. Not just for funding, but for faith in these daughters. Their cries are quiet, but they are many. Will you answer?