Why Me?

Why Me?

Have you ever wondered: Why me? Why did God choose my path and not another?

I come from Chasefu - a rural corner of eastern Zambia, surrounded by corn fields and filled with the happy chatter of children drifting from village to village. It’s a beautiful place; it’s my home. But even beauty can carry its own shadows.

When I was a young boy, everyone in the village always knew where I was - they just had to find Joshua. He was my best friend. We were inseparable: two village boys with dusty feet and big dreams. Every morning we walked several kilometres to Chasefu Primary School. With our books tucked under our arms, we’d reach the classroom door, dusty, sweaty, but eager to learn.

We loved school.

We studied hard, pushed each other, and excelled in our classwork and exams. When we learned we had passed our Grade 7 national exams and qualified for Grade 8, our families lit up with joy. For a moment, it felt like the world had opened its doors to us.

But school - we soon learned - is not just about passing exams.

In Zambia, every school year has three terms. And each term, teachers would walk into the classroom holding a piece of paper with the names of children who had not paid their school fees.

One by one, they read the names aloud.

One by one, students stood.

The teacher would say, “We are not sending you away… just go and tell your parents to pay.”

But we all knew what that meant.

Slowly the desks around us emptied. Friends we had laughed with, competed with, dreamed with… disappeared from the classroom. Poverty took them before their dreams had the chance to grow.

By God’s mercy, my name wasn’t on the list. Joshua stayed too - until Grade 9, when both of us were selected to attend a boarding secondary school 265 kilometers away. For us, it felt like stepping into a dream.

But on the day we were meant to leave, Joshua wasn’t there.
His parents couldn’t afford the boarding fees.

I went alone, believing he would join me next term. Every holiday, I came home hoping to find him packing his trunk, ready to come with me.

He never did.

Even for me, the road wasn’t smooth. Some terms I arrived late because my family was still searching for money. One term, I was only able to attend six out of thirteen weeks.

At Chama Secondary School, I made new friends -  Mathews, Undani, Germany, Gideon - bright boys with bright futures. But one by one, their desks emptied too.

By Grade 12, only a few of us remained.

I looked around the classroom the same way I had in Grade 8. Again, the air felt heavy with the absence of those who should have been there.

It didn’t feel right that I was there and they weren’t. God somehow brought me to the finish line - but why not them?

After completing secondary school, I studied Theology at a university in Lusaka.
And there, I began to see how God can take a small seed - a little perseverance, a little faith - and grow it into something far beyond what we imagined.

Years later, I returned home as a pastor. One day, completely unexpectedly, I saw Joshua. He still had the same spark in his eyes, but it was shadowed by sadness. He said, “Nehemia, if my father had managed to pay the school fees, I would have completed school like you. I admire you.”

His words cut deep - not because he praised me, but because he mourned a future he never had the chance to reach.

I wished I could go back. I wished I could hand him the opportunity he lost.

But God is a God of redemption.

Today, what was impossible for Joshua is becoming possible for the children in my community.

Through God’s grace, through the Church of Central Africa Presbyterian - the church I now serve - and through faithful partners like EduDeo Ministries, children in Chasefu, Lundazi, and beyond are receiving bursaries.

Because of God’s people - people who may never walk our roads or hear our languages, but whose hearts beat with compassion - children are sitting in classrooms again. They are raising their hands, turning pages, and daring to dream.

And every time I see them - laughing on their way to school, dust rising behind their feet the way it once rose behind mine - I think of Joshua. I think of all the children whose stories could have been different.

And I thank God that the next generation will be different.

Some of you have walked those dusty roads. Some of you have heard the laughter of these children. Some of you may never visit. But whether or not you ever step into our villages, your love sits beside every child who studies there. You walk with us - quietly, faithfully - down those dusty roads.