04/09/2026
Beyond the Corridors: The Day We Took Them to Millennium Park
In our journey with the children in the internally displaced persons camps, walking and working together toward psychosocial healing, we have noticed things that words alone don't easily explain. A struggle for self-esteem. A silence where their voices should be. A quiet belief that they are not enough. Sometimes it shows up as an aggressive approach to life. Other times it shows up as withdrawal, a retreat into their own shells, as if the world outside is too much or too far or not for them.
Noticing these things is one part of the work. Doing something about them is the other.
That's the light in which we decided to take a few of the children out, beyond the corridors of the camp, to Millennium Park. We wanted them to experience greenery. The serenity of nature. The beauty of calm, play, and freedom. The music of birds. The freshness of open air. We know these things are therapeutic, and we wanted them to feel it for themselves.
We didn't have the budget to bring many children out at once. But the few who made the journey were grateful, and what happened while we were there reminded us exactly why this matters.
“They'll Look Down On Us"
At one point, as we sat and talked, I encouraged the children to go see what other groups in the park were doing. There was a lot of activity around us, people playing, laughing, moving together.
One of the girls, Ummi, hesitated. "Aunty, no," she said. "We can't go there. They'll *rena* us." She meant that the others would look down on them, that they would appear different, that they came from a class of people no one would want to get close to.
I countered her immediately. "Oya, go," I said. "We are all human. You're not less than anyone. We are all equal."
With those words, they got up. They started moving closer to the other groups, hesitant at first, stopping, starting again. I insisted they keep going, and slowly I watched something in them loosen. They freed up. And then they were dancing to the music, no longer at the edge looking in, but part of it.
What They Said At the End
Before we left, I asked them if they were happy. They kept repeating how happy they were, how much they wanted us to do this again, and how it should happen more often.
That kind of joy doesn't come cheap. Outings like this take planning, courage, and money we don't always have. But it's our hope that this becomes something regular, something the children can count on, because we believe it helps them heal and see the light in the world again.
The Weight of Bringing Them Back Safely
Taking the children out wasn't a small thing. It was a full responsibility, one we carried until every child was returned safely to their parents. While they played and laughed, our team kept watch, kept praying, and stayed alert for a smooth outing from start to finish. It all went beautifully, and we are grateful for every second of it. It was worth it.
We want to thank everyone who made this possible, through financial donations, through encouragement, through prayers. May posterity remember you for good, and may you be blessed abundantly.
We are especially grateful to the parents who trusted us enough to let their children out of their sight. That trust has made us part of their family, that's how they see us now. We count it a privilege.
About CoHuman
CoHuman (Collective Humanity Development Network) walks alongside displaced and underserved communities through storytelling, psychosocial support, and moments like this one, small acts that restore dignity and remind people they belong. Advancing Humanity Together isn't just our slogan, it's the work itself.
Follow on all platforms to see more of these footprints, and reach out at [email protected] if you'd like to walk with us.
