In 2010, I traveled to Tanzania to follow a dream I had carried for years—to volunteer at a baby orphanage. I never imagined then that more than a decade later, I would still be living here. On that very first trip, I spent five weeks cuddling and caring for babies who had lost their birth families for so many different reasons. I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. I returned home, but my heart was already set on going back. A few months later, I booked another trip and spent seven more weeks at the orphanage.
It was during those visits that I met a little boy named Alfie. He was just 13 months old, but from the very start, we connected. By the time I returned home again, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I spent the next year working, saving, and preparing to come back for a longer stay. In June 2011, I quit my job, packed my bags, and moved back to Tanzania for a year. I had agreed to serve as the temporary voluntary director of the orphanage, but I also kept visiting Alfie.
When I learned that Alfie had been moved to another orphanage where he was expected to grow up, my heart sank. I started looking into ways I could help. The idea of adoption was mentioned, and once I was given permission to foster him, I knew it was the right choice. In October 2011, Alfie came to live with me, and I officially became his foster mom. Not long after, I welcomed Layla, a little girl I had also met during my very first trip. By December, she became part of our family too.
Over time, more children came into my care. Some were extremely fragile, malnourished, or premature. I nursed them, loved them, and gave them as much stability as I could. One of those children was Isabella. She arrived in my arms at two years old, weighing only 10 pounds. Everyone thought she was five months old at first because she was so small. I took her in, and eventually she became Alfie and Layla’s sister. A few months later, a newborn boy named Jack joined us as well. By then, I was the mother of four children under the age of four. Life was chaotic, but I loved every single moment.
In 2015, I received a call about a tiny premature baby girl named Madeline. She weighed just 3 pounds and was in poor health. Doctors weren’t sure she would survive, but I refused to give up on her. I stayed by her side in the NICU, learning how to feed her through a tube and monitor her oxygen. I prayed over her night after night. Though we were told she likely wouldn’t live past her first birthday, Madeline proved everyone wrong. After a long fight and painful delays in paperwork, she officially came home to us in 2018.
That same year, my world was shaken in another way. My father, who had always been my biggest supporter, fell ill with an aggressive brain tumor. Within four months, he was gone. I flew back to England to be with him in his final days and to arrange his funeral, all while 16 weeks pregnant. Later that year, my daughter Betty was born. She became a light in the darkest time of my life and brought joy to all of her siblings.
Even with so much love around us, challenges remain. After years of fostering and raising my children, their adoptions are still not finalized. For more than five years, I have been fighting to complete the process so that we can move to the UK, where opportunities and proper support are waiting. Each time I think we are close, another roadblock appears. In the meantime, we get by however we can—through small jobs, the kindness of others, and sheer determination.
There have been many struggles, but also unforgettable moments. I’ll never forget those early days with Alfie, when we couldn’t yet speak the same language but spent hours rolling cars to each other in the corridor, laughing until our sides hurt. Or the day a doctor told me Madeline wouldn’t survive—and the joy of proving him wrong as I hold her healthy, thriving hand today.
Life here is not easy. Each month brings new worries, but I would not trade any of it. My children are my life. They have taught me more about love, strength, and resilience than I could ever teach them.
If there’s one truth I’ve learned, it’s this: you never know how strong you are until you’re forced to be. Parenthood, especially in the face of hardship, is about getting up every morning, no matter how tired or broken you feel, and carrying on for your children.
I am proud to be their mother. Proud of every challenge we have faced together. And above all, I am grateful for the privilege of raising these remarkable children, who fill my life with purpose and love every single day.
