The boy who almost missed an opportunity

Post 2 of 4 — Sending the Lift Down: The boy who almost missed an opportunity

Mentorship is powerful. Encouragement matters. Yet, at times, the barrier facing a child is not motivation—it is financial.

Across Africa and globally, this is not an isolated reality. An estimated 251 million children and youth remain out of school worldwide, with sub-Saharan Africa carrying the largest share of this burden. Behind these numbers are lived experiences—of girls and boys whose potential is shaped, and often constrained, by structural inequalities.

The problem seems insurmountable but one step at a time can impact a girl or a boy. Change is not always driven by grand moments. At times, it emerges from seemingly minor encounters that quietly shape our direction. I have witnessed both in my life. Small, easily overlooked moments have often sparked ideas that later took form and purpose. Over time, I have learned not to wait for the “big” moment, but to remain attentive to the subtle ones. It is in such moments that the idea of combining mentorship with scholarships began to take root.

About 15 years ago, alongside a group of equally committed mentors, we were engaged in a school outreach activity that we had come to value deeply. On that day, one of my former teachers, the late Mrs Munene a mentor I greatly respected—invited us for lunch. During the conversation, she spoke about a boy who had completed primary school with top marks yet was unable to join his secondary school of choice.

Her voice reflected both concern and resolve—something I have consistently observed among committed teachers. Their role extends beyond instruction to genuine care for the well-being and future of their students.

“There is a boy,” she said. “He has performed very well. But he may not go to secondary school.”

The reason was simple:

School fees.

This is one of the most persistent and systemic barriers to education. In sub-Saharan Africa alone, around 98 million children are out of school, with poverty remaining the leading driver of both non-enrolment and dropout. Importantly, while both girls and boys are affected, the pathways into exclusion often differ with more girls than boys likely to miss school. This boy risked being part of the statistics.

The teacher requested us to visit the family. We hesitated—this was beyond our usual engagement. Why follow up with a student beyond the classroom? What difference could we realistically make? Yet something within us urged action, and we agreed.

After the mentorship session, we visited the boy’s home.

What we found was both clear and sobering. The boy had earned his place in a good school. The family valued education. However, the cost of schooling stood firmly between him and his future.

In that moment, I was reminded of my own experience years earlier; receiving my admission letter, feeling both excitement and uncertainty as I confronted the required fees. I remembered my mother’s immediate assurances and my father’s determination to ensure that I continued my education despite the challenges.

That memory made this encounter deeply personal.

I remember his grandmother—her excitement and hope were unmistakable. I also remember the boy himself, hiding behind the house, afraid to hope too much. Something shifted within me.

While I strongly believe in sustainable solutions, I also recognise that timely, one-off support can change the course of a life. At that moment, however, I did not have the financial means to help.

But in Africa, we draw strength from collective responsibility. We believe in ubuntu. In my Gikuyu language, we say Kamuingi koyaga ndiri—a large group of people can lift a heavy mortar together.

So that is what we did.

Friends came together and contributed. We raised enough to cover the boy’s first term fees and uniform. It was a collective effort—simple, urgent, and driven by goodwill. The boy started his secondary school journey. His family regained hope. We agreed with his mother that she would strive to sustain the remaining time in school, as the first term is typically the most financially demanding.

At the time, I saw this as a one-off intervention.

However, reality soon challenged that assumption.

Not long after, the mother called. Their circumstances had changed, and the family could no longer sustain the fees. The risk of dropping out had returned.

That moment forced a deeper realization: Talent is everywhere. Opportunity is not.

And opportunity is not neutral.

While this story centres on a boy, the structural barriers affecting education are deeply gendered. In many communities, girls face a higher risk of exclusion at secondary level, with 47% of upper secondary school-age girls in sub-Saharan Africa out of school, compared to lower rates for boys. Factors such as early marriage, unpaid care responsibilities, and social norms disproportionately affect girls’ continuity in education. At the same time, boys may also be pushed out due to economic pressures to contribute to household income.

During our mentorship sessions, we emphasized hard work and determination. But what message does it send to a child—girl or boy—when, despite effort and excellence, structural barriers still block their path?

This was no longer just a personal story—it reflected a broader systemic challenge.

Evidence shows that nearly 40% of out-of-school children had previously been enrolled but dropped out, highlighting that the issue is not only access, but sustained participation. This is where financial shocks, gender norms, and household vulnerabilities intersect—often invisibly. In his case, the immediately family and gender were on his side, but financial challenges threatened to block his path once again.

An idea began to form.

I imagined that many professionals, young and not so young people from my locality would be keen to give back to community but sometimes it is not clear how. What if we acted collectively and sent down the ladder? What if several people contributed small amounts regularly?
What if shared responsibility could sustain one child’s education over time?

And beyond that—what if such a model could be adapted to ensure that girls, who are often the first to be withdrawn when resources are limited, are equally prioritized and supported to complete their education?

It sounded modest—perhaps even too simple. 

Yet it is often the simplest ideas that quietly reshape a child’s life, creating opportunities, confidence, and futures that would otherwise remain out of reach.

Coming next in the series:

Post 3 of 4 — Sending the Lift Down: One Drop at a Time