The Student Entrepreneurs
The knowledge gained in Angiro Comprehensive School’s Climate-Smart Agriculture program didn’t just stay within the school fence; for a group of five students, it became the seed of a thriving home enterprise. They learned the fundamentals of soil health, water conservation, and organic farming in class, which they first applied in the school garden. Seeing their success, they decided to replicate the same techniques on small plots at their homes, using double digging and homemade compost to grow kale, tomatoes, and onions.
Their home gardens produced such a bountiful surplus that they spotted a new opportunity. Naming themselves the “Green Shoots Group,” they began carefully packaging their harvest and selling it to teachers and neighbors. The profits were a direct payoff from their applied education. They reinvested the earnings into buying better seeds and tools, making their venture self-sustaining. “We used to think farming was just for our parents, but what we learned in school showed us it’s a smart business,” one member shared. This journey from the school lesson to the home garden to the marketplace provided them with invaluable entrepreneurship skills and proved that modern agriculture is a viable and dignified source of income for the next generation
The Blanket of Ubuntu
In Kamanga, the widows knew cold as a constant companion. It was the unforgiving earth beneath their thin mats, the ragged clothes on their backs, and the sharp stones under their bare, bleeding feet. Sickness followed the chill a deep, rattling cough that spread from hut to hut, leaving the weak and the young struggling for breath. Isolated and forgotten, they endured each day in a silent, shivering struggle for survival.
But Anne Okelo saw them. Guided by the principle of Ubuntu “I am because we are” she reached out to the organization Okoa Jamii. She told them the widows’ story, not with statistics, but with the raw truth of their suffering. The response was immediate. Donations of warm clothes, thick blankets, sturdy shoes, and soft mattresses were gathered, each item an act of shared humanity.
When the aid arrived, the widows watched with guarded hope. As the boxes were opened, revealing the gifts within, their disbelief gave way to quiet tears. For the first time, they held tangible proof they were not invisible. Anne explained simply: “Your pain is our pain. This is Ubuntu.”
That night, a profound peace settled over Kamanga. The widows and their children dressed in clean warmth, slept on soft mattresses, and wrapped themselves in blankets that finally held the cold at bay. The change was swift. Coughs subsided, feet healed, and energy returned. The physical warmth sparked a deeper renewal of spirit.
Today, the widows of Kamanga carry themselves differently. They speak of the future with hope and gather in the evenings, wrapped in the blankets that symbolize their restoration. They understand Ubuntu not as a word, but as a lived experience the powerful truth that because we are connected, no one should ever be left to face the cold alone.
THE REBIRTH OF ANGIRO COMPREHENSIVE SCHOOL.
Angiro Primary School was a place where education was a battle against the elements. Its dirt floors turned to mud in the rain, gaping holes in the roof let in downpours, and empty window frames welcomed only dust and wind. Children sat on broken benches, squinting in the dim light, many barefoot and hungry. Some scratched at painful jigger parasites burrowing into their feet; others coughed from the damp, moldy air. Learning wasn’t difficult it was a feat of endurance. Attendance dropped, spirits flagged, and potential quietly suffocated in the oppressive space.
For years, Anne Okelo had watched this slow crisis. Her daily act of preparing porridge for the students was a small but vital intervention it gave hungry children the energy to stay. Yet she knew it wasn’t enough. The building itself was undermining every lesson taught within it.
Angiro Primary School was a place where education was a battle against the elements. Its dirt floors turned to mud in the rain, gaping holes in the roof let in downpours, and empty window frames welcomed only dust and wind. Children sat on broken benches, squinting in the dim light, many barefoot and hungry. Some scratched at painful jigger parasites burrowing into their feet; others coughed from the damp, moldy air. Learning wasn’t difficult it was a feat of endurance. Attendance dropped, spirits flagged, and potential quietly suffocated in the oppressive space.
For years, Anne Okelo had watched this slow crisis. Her daily act of preparing porridge for the students was a small but vital intervention it gave hungry children the energy to stay. Yet she knew it wasn’t enough. The building itself was undermining every lesson taught within it.
The unveiling was emotional. The village gathered, parents standing in stunned silence. But the children’s reaction was pure, unbridled joy. They ran into the bright, clean spaces, touching the smooth floors and looking out the clear windows with wonder. Some cried, overwhelmed by the dignity of it all. The teachers felt a long-dormant hope rekindle. They could finally teach, their passion no longer stifled by crumbling walls.
A Story of Hope and Triumph
Adhiambo grew up in the village of Angiro with the wind at her back and a fire in her heart. Her gift for athletics was clear a blur of speed on dusty tracks, a determination that outshone all others. But when she reached puberty, the path ahead grew steep and tangled.
Each month, her world would shrink. With no access to proper sanitary products, she relied on an old, frayed blanket. The constant discomfort and fear of being exposed were paralyzing. At school, the whispers turned to taunts. Cruel nicknames followed her down the halls. Laughter, sharp and unkind, chipped away at her spirit. The girl who once flew on the track now walked with her eyes downcast, withdrawing from class, abandoning the starting line silencing the champion within.
Then, a shift. A simple act of dignity reached Angiro: the provision of free sanitary towels and undergarments for every girl. It was more than a product; it was a promise. For the first time in years, Adhiambo stood tall without fear. The weight she had carried lightened.
Slowly, she returned to the track. At first, her steps were tentative, but with each stride, memory awakened in her muscles. The talent long buried under shame began to breathe again. And on her face, no longer shadowed by worry, shone something unmistakable: the radiant certainty of a person restored to herself.