The Chain of Women Who Lift Women

Growing up, I was selected to be part of a program under Compassion International, a Christ-centred global ministry that works with local churches to support children living in poverty. In my village, the selection was done through our local church. Leaders and volunteers walked through homes, carefully identifying children who came from vulnerable backgrounds. They chose orphans, children from child-headed households, those raised by single mothers struggling to meet basic needs, children affected by extreme poverty, and those who were often at risk of dropping out of school due to lack of school fees, food, or stability.

I was one of those children.

I am not ashamed to tell my story. In fact, I tell it with gratitude.

The support I received paid my school fees, bought my uniform, provided shoes for my feet, and gave me access to opportunities that my family could not have afforded on their own.

Looking back now, I sometimes pause and wonder what my life would have looked like if that opportunity had never found me.

I see a different version of myself. A girl walking long distances to school with worn-out shoes, or no shoes at all. A girl whose dreams would have been limited by circumstances she did not choose. A girl who may never have discovered the confidence to raise her hand, speak her mind, or believe that she belonged in rooms where decisions are made.

That could have been my story.

But someone intervened.

Compassion gave me more than educational support. It gave me exposure to a world bigger than my circumstances. It introduced me to children who carried struggles similar to mine. For the first time, I realized that hardship was not something I carried alone. Around me were children navigating loss, poverty, uncertainty, and challenges that often felt too heavy for young shoulders.

It also introduced me to women whose lives quietly reflected strength.

One woman, in particular, changed my life.

She was a teacher who spent her Saturdays with us. Week after week, she guided us through lessons that were never written in textbooks. Looking back, I remember how she made me feel.

Seen.

Important.

Capable.

She had a way of looking beyond the child standing in front of her and speaking to the woman that child could become.

At an age when many of us were defined by what we lacked, she reminded us of what we carried within us. She taught us that our circumstances were chapters and never conclusions. She taught us that kindness was strength and that our voices mattered, even when the world seemed unwilling to listen.

Most importantly, she showed us what it meant for a woman to create space for another woman to grow.

She walked alongside me during some of the most formative years of my life. Her encouragement became part of the foundation on which I built my confidence, my leadership, and my belief in myself.

Years later, I realized that the greatest gift she gave me was more than advice.

It was an example.

An example of what happens when a woman chooses to invest in another girl.

I carried that lesson with me into Grade 8, where I started a mentorship club for younger girls. Many of them were facing challenges that reminded me of my own childhood. Some struggled with confidence. Others had questions about menstrual health but felt too embarrassed to ask. Many simply needed someone to listen.

I understood something deeply because I had lived it myself.

Adversity has a way of shrinking children.

It teaches them to stay quiet. To hide their struggles. To believe their opinions do not matter.

I wanted those girls to know the opposite.

I wanted them to know that they deserved to be heard. That their dreams mattered. That their circumstances did not determine their worth.

The mentorship club became my small way of extending the same grace that had once been extended to me.

I carried that spirit into high school.

Like many schools, we were assigned younger students to guide as they adjusted to a new environment. Some called them "small sisters." My role was simple: help a younger girl feel that she belonged.

But I remembered what it felt like to be a child searching for reassurance.

So I showed up.

I checked on her.

I listened.

I encouraged her.

I made sure she never felt invisible.

Years have passed since then, and I am proud to say that she still visits me today. What began as a school assignment became a genuine relationship because I understood something important: people rarely forget how you made them feel during moments when they needed someone most.

Today, as an adult, I continue to carry the lessons that were first planted in me by women who chose to care.

I never want another woman or girl to feel invisible.

I never want another girl to believe that her struggles make her less worthy of opportunity, support, or love.

Because I know what it feels like when someone sees potential in you before you can see it in yourself.

Women supporting women is not a slogan to me. It is the story of my life. It is a teacher giving up her Saturdays to mentor children. It is a girl choosing to encourage younger girls because someone once encouraged her. It is a chain of kindness that stretches across generations.

And every time I reach back to support another girl, I am reminded that I am not simply giving.

I am passing forward a gift that once changed my own life.