Back to press
From The Edge Of Crisis
31st Dec 2025
Rescue · Restore · Release
Beloved friends,
Some stories arrive softly.
Others arrive like a cry that cannot wait until morning.
This one reached us through the walls of Rukungiri Prison — carried by a warden so troubled that she contacted Biojemmss herself.
Her name is Grace.
She is 47 years old.
A single mother of two boys — Elijah and Daniel.
Seven years ago, a man broke into her home. There was a struggle. A week later, he died from his injuries. Grace was arrested on suspicion of murder.
She was moved from prison to prison — Mbarara, then Luzira, and now Rukungiri — without ever being given the chance to arrange care for her children.
In Uganda, when a parent is arrested, there is no safeguarding system.
No emergency plan.
No assessment.
No one to check if the children are safe.
Children simply fall into whatever hands happen to be nearby.
For seven years, Grace has not seen her sons. She did not know if they were alive. She did not know if they were safe. She carried that fear alone in a cell.
When Phiona — our social worker — sat with her, Grace wept. She begged us to find them. To tell her something. Anything.
So Phiona travelled immediately to Nyakajeme, Kifunjo.
And what she found… no mother should ever have to imagine.
Elijah and Daniel — still just boys — were working in a quarry, breaking stones with their bare hands.
They were starving.
They were exhausted.
They were trying to earn enough money to feed themselves.
They are living with their grandparents — both deeply alcoholic, both drunk even in the early morning. Before Phiona even reached the house, neighbours whispered warnings:
“You mean the man who beats his wife.”
“You mean the one who fights everyone in the bar.”
“You mean the ones who sleep on the roadside.”
Everyone knew the home. Everyone feared for the children inside it.
When asked about school fees, the grandparents shrugged:
“The children provide for themselves. They work in the mine. They sell sand.”
These boys — who should be in school, laughing, learning, playing — are instead carrying the weight of survival on their small shoulders.
They had never heard of Biojemmss. They had no idea help existed. They were utterly alone.
Phiona prayed with them. She counselled them. She listened. She stayed. And now we are building an urgent safety plan — because these boys cannot remain where they are.
But here is the truth I need to share with you gently, honestly, and with all the love in my heart:
We do not have the space, the resources, or the facilities to respond to crises like this the way we need to.
We are doing everything we can — but we are stretched beyond our limits.
We are currently supporting six child?only households created by parental incarceration. Six homes where children are raising themselves. Six homes where danger is a daily companion.
And without the Community Centre, we have nowhere to bring them.
No safe room for emergency intervention.
No space for counselling.
No place for children to stay while we stabilise their situation.
No capacity to respond the moment crisis hits.
This is why the Community Centre matters. This is why we cannot delay. This is why your compassion is not just helpful — it is life?saving.
Because right now, Elijah and Daniel need more than hope.
They need safety.
They need school.
They need adults who will not be drunk, violent, or absent.
They need a place where childhood is possible again.
And we cannot do that alone.
Donate today — and help us finish the foundations of the Community Centre.
Give so they can just be children.