Nothing ever prepared me for this life I have now been compelled to live.
I was just a tourist — curious, wide-eyed, and excited to explore Africa’s quiet corners.
My path led me deep into a forgotten village in West Africa. No paved roads. No hospitals. No schools. No water.
It was early morning. The kind of morning where the sun rises lazily and the air is still thick with the scent of red earth. I had followed the sound of laughter and feet running. Children — barefoot and cheerful despite their surroundings — were heading somewhere.
I followed them.
Then I saw it.
A group of children, no older than seven or eight, crouched by what could barely be called a water source — a swampy ditch, dark green, littered with fallen leaves, and swarming with insects. One of them — a girl with a torn yellow shirt — scooped a handful and drank.
I froze.
She drank from a swamp.
Without hesitation.
As though it was normal.
Because for her… it was.
When she finished, she smiled at me and said, “Mama says this one doesn’t make us vomit as much.”
I felt something snap inside me. A mix of disbelief, heartbreak, and deep shame — that I had crossed oceans in search of adventure, only to find a truth so bitter I could barely breathe.
I went back to my lodging that night feeling so restless, and I wept. Not the quiet kind — the kind that shakes your soul. I thought of how we open taps and waste water brushing our teeth. How we casually walk past clean fountains and filtered bottles without a second thought.
But here — this child would risk his life every day, just to quench his thirst.
That night, I made a decision.
I wired my personal savings — enough to dig one borehole and build a well just beside the only Mosque there. A solar-powered one. One that should serve the over 2000 people living in that small village, and by Allah’s mercy, it worked. On the day clean water flowed in that village for the first time in its history, I saw something I’ll never forget:
The little girl. Her family. The entire village.
Smiling.
Washing their hands.
Having a taste of clean water for the first time in their lives.
Then kneeling to perform wudhu — ablution. And then, Salah.
And I broke again. This time… from joy.
That moment became my turning point. Because if that one village needed it… how many more were out there?
How many other children were still drinking from swamps?
How many souls were praying for mercy while battling water-borne disease?
How many families have drifted away from the Islamic faith and stopped praying because they can’t perform Wudhu – ablution.
That was the birth of Drops of Mercy Foundation.
Today, by the will of Allah, we are a faith-driven movement determined to bring clean, portable water to the most forgotten corners of Africa. Not just for drinking. But for health. For prayer. And sustaining their livestock.
One Well.
One village.
One prayer at a time.
And it all started with a little girl at a swamp.
