Our Story

My name is Happiness, a name given to me by my father Franaeli, which means “be happy in God.” He passed on this name to me as I was born, following his name. Growing up, I was known as Happiness, but at home, I was simply called Happy.

My parents were local farmers in the village of Nkoaranga, where my Dad was skilled at splitting wood. He would take on jobs to earn a small wage, enough to survive. However, in 1994, he began experiencing mental health issues. He was taken to Mawenzi Hospital in Moshi Kilimanjaro, where he stayed for about a month before being advised to go to a sober house. Due to economic constraints, he had to return home and recover there. During this difficult time, my mother, Luciana, took care of everything, working in the hospital and selling produce in the market to support our family of four children. Their hard work and sacrifices were all for the dream of seeing us grow up.

I attended a government primary school called Nkoaranga Primary School, located in my village. After completing primary school in 2001, my aspiration was to continue my education in secondary school and eventually pursue a career as either a teacher or a soldier. It was during this time that I became aware of my family’s financial struggles. My parents called me into our small sitting room in our mud house, instructing my three younger brothers, Nelson, Peter, and Ibrahim, to play outside. I distinctly remember it being around 17:00 to 18:00hrs. Before sharing the news, my mother suggested that we pray for strength and guidance from God. Holding my hand, my father spoke to me in our native language, saying, “Happiness, look at me.” I met his gaze, and he continued, “Your mother and I are aware of your ambitious dreams. We know that if we could support you, you would bring positive changes to our lives and our family. However, at this moment, we are unable to do so.” My body trembled as I absorbed the weight of the situation. I was aware of my three younger brothers, two of whom were still in primary school, and the youngest who had not yet started his education at the age of four.

Both of them informed me that they would escort me to the Vocational Training School, a well-known institution affiliated with the Lutheran Church of Nkoaranga. Although it wasn’t my preferred option, it was the best they could offer at the time, considering the affordable annual tuition fee of only 70,000 Tsh. However, I was well aware that even this amount would be difficult to obtain given the circumstances.

In January 2002, I vividly recall my Father selling his 2 goats in order to purchase uniforms for me and cover half of the expenses for attending Vocational school. Despite starting my schooling, I struggled as it was not aligned with my aspirations. I found joy only in mathematics, English, and a bit of cooking class, as I had a passion for cooking at home. The other stitching subjects did not resonate with me.

On June, it was the period when Volunteers would come to work at Nkoaranga Orphanage, Nkoaranga Hospital, and occasionally the Primary and Secondary school.

I had a cousin named Lazarus who was studying Theology to become a Pastor. At that time, he met German volunteer named Utte, who asked him if he could find someone to clean the house and do the laundry once a week for pay. Knowing my family’s situation and my lack of interest to study, he approached my parents and suggested that I could help with cleaning after school one day a week. My parents agreed, and I thought it was a good idea to keep myself busy after school, which ended at 13:00hrs.

The following week, I commenced my work with a Volunteer who had a kind heart. I had limited proficiency in English, while she had limited proficiency in Swahili. Therefore, my time spent there was quite pleasant, as she was delightful and exceptionally amiable.