There is a particular kind of hunger that has nothing to do with food. It is a hunger for things to be different. A hunger to not feel invisible. I know this hunger intimately.

As a child, my brother and I, knew the long empty ache in our bellies as we walked to school. We knew the silent shame of having nothing. Our hope, as small as it was, came in the most unexpected form by discarded Coca-Cola bottle caps scattered on the dusty roads.

We would scour the streets, our eyes searching the ground for a flash of red or white. Back then Coca-Cola had a campaign where you could find a prize under the cap—maybe a free soda, or books, or something more.

I remember one day when the hunger pains were unbearable. My brother and I, driven by that sheer desperation, found a single winning bottle cap. It was a small victory that meant everything. Our hearts pounded with a fragile hope as we took it to a nearby shop. We humbly asked the shopkeeper if he could exchange our prize, a bottle of soda for something to eat. We asked for mandazi, a simple dough snack that felt like a feast. That was not just one day, it was how we survived. The world felt so big, and we felt so small.

There are countless other stories etched into my memory, moments of hardship that are difficult to put into words, but they shaped who I am.

Years later, I saw her. A little girl walking barefoot on the same burning earth. I saw that same quiet hunger in her eyes. It was not just for food, but for dignity. For a chance.

I asked her why she had no shoes.

Her voice was soft, heartbreaking layered with a pain no child should ever know. Which still echoes in my mind . She said,

“I don’t have shoes. All my friends in class do, but I don’t. I have never worn shoes ever since I went to school, and the floor burns my feet a lot.”

The raw pain in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, pierced through me. It was a mirror reflecting the unspoken struggles of countless children, a pain I knew all too well.

In that moment, a powerful conviction seized me: I can start with her. This wasn't just about one girl; it was about the multitude of children enduring similar, or even greater, suffering. My long-held dream of a foundation suddenly had its first, tangible step. My past and her present became one. The child I was, reached out to the child before me.

The next day, with the little I had, I bought her two pairs of shoes, pencils, stockings and books. It was a small gesture but in her radiant smile, I saw the immense power of kindness, a flicker of hope ignited. It was a smile that promised a future where no child would walk to school with burning feet or an empty stomach, a future I am now determined to build.

I was not just giving her objects, I was giving her a shield. I was giving the younger me a piece of the protection I had longed for.

The look on her face was a mix of shock, joy, and overwhelming relief. It was a feeling more nourishing than any meal. It was the moment the Filial Love Foundation was born.

It is built on the memory of searching for bottle caps and the prayer of a girl with burning feet. We do not just give supplies; We give recognition. We say, "I see your hunger. I feel your pain. And I am here, with you."

How Your Donation Helps

We are restoring hope, one pair of shoes, one pencil, and one act of love at a time.

Every euro you donate will be used by me to directly purchase these items for the children.

Because no child should have to search the streets for their next meal, or walk to school with burning feet, ever again.

Stand With Us

Please, stand with us . Let us show these children that they are not invisible. That they are seen, loved and worthy of a future full of hope.

Click “ Donate” to be the reason a child smiles tomorrow.

Click “Share” to spread our mission, it helps just as much.

With gratitude,

Sharifah A

Founder, Filial Love Foundation