Standing there in the horrifically impoverished camp for Internally Displaced Persons in Abuja, Nigeria, I had asked Ms. Hanatu how we could help her.

Forced with her three young daughters from their happy life by the murder-frenzied Islamists of Boko Haram to this post-apocalyptic hell-hole six years prior, I imagined her list would be long: Water? Food? Medicine? Transportation? A job?

To be sure, all these things were non-existent and desperately needed. Educated and formerly principal of a Christian school, she scratched out subsistence in a shanty she herself had constructed from sticks and feedbags, next to a diseased sewage ditch. Hunger, sickness and despair were ever-present.

But Ms. Hanatu asked for just one thing: “Please, help us educate these children” – the hundreds of bright, young, energetic kids who’d so joyfully greeted my team just minutes before.

I was floored. I think we’re all used to Americans who seem to have a pathological urge to claim perpetual victimhood and demand all sorts of entitlements and “reparations” from the government. Yet here was a real victim, thrown by hideous people into a pit of gloom beyond the comprehension of anyone in America, whose one request was not for herself, or even the most basic physical needs, but to educate the children in her camp.

Due to safety concerns, we had to leave quickly, and all I could do was give Ms. Hanatu a hug and promise I would do all I could to help.

From my Nigerian counterpart, Pastor Jed D’Grace, I found out on the drive back that this camp, New Kuchingoro, had 252 school-aged children and a small, ramshackle building that was usable as a school.

Ms. Hanatu and two other residents of the camp, Enoch and Luka – both young, educated men who themselves where victims of Boko Haram – had been doing all they could as volunteers to hold school for the children. The building was so small they had to host two full shifts each day, and the efforts were frequently derailed by urgent needs in the camp – births, sickness, deaths.

My pledge was sincere, yet we were in the midst of a whirlwind trip, traveling to speak in multiple cities across Nigeria, and we came home just in time for the holidays … then COVID. I hate to admit, but too often our own relatively minor troubles can claim our full attention, and it’s too easy to push other peoples’ problems out of our thoughts. I was guilty of that as it concerned Ms. Hanatu and the IDP children.

So I was caught off guard seven months later, during summer of 2020, when Jed messaged me saying the new school year would be starting soon, and asking what were we going to do about it.

Jed is a gifted leader, and his wife Uzoamaka has a master’s degree in education administration. Together they are founders of a private school in Abuja. Their plan for the school at the IDP camp was to put the three volunteer teachers, including Ms. Hanatu, on stipend so they could focus on teaching, and hire full time a certified teacher plus two members of the National Youth Service Corps. (This is a required year of service for recent college graduates.) With materials, total cost for a full year would be about $6,500. Hard to believe, really. It’s a different world there.

Members of my team here pitched in to cover the first quarter, and then I was able to speak at two churches here in Blanco – the Assemblies of God, and First United Methodist. Both responded generously to the plea, and our first Arise Academy was off the ground!

Since then, our team has discovered numerous IDP camps in the Abuja area – the biggest so far is home to 2,000 school-aged children – with zero access to education. (The UN estimates there are 2.1 million IDPs in Nigeria. Not all are in camps, but a lot of them are.)

By God’s grace, we’ve been able to open a second full-time school in the Durumi IDP camp (in a goat shed), and have purchased a plot next to the Wassa camp where we’re working to build a new 8-room school house for the 500+ children there.

The need is seemingly endless, and we’re doing what we can. Thanks to the selfless dedication of our workers there, and our generous donors here, we’re in the middle of our third school year, making a life-changing difference in the lives of hundreds of children.

And it’s all because Ms. Hanatu had the courage to tell us her story, and the remarkable strength of character to ask for help teaching the children instead of for her own personal needs.

Postscript - Thankfully, on the spur of the moment we thought to record that first conversation with Ms. Hanatu on a smartphone, which you can see on our website www.LetUsRiseAfrica.org.

Part 4 next week: Deep, Dark Roots

Mike Arnold is an international entrepreneur and missionary who is proud to call Blanco his home. Contact him at [email protected].