Ansumana is 16. He lives in a poor village and has sickle cell disease (HbSS), a chronic condition that can bring a crisis within hours. His dream is clear and realistic: to study hard, finish high school with excellent results, earn a university scholarship, and become a doctor, so he can support his family and help other children like him.
For Ansumana, “tomorrow” is not guaranteed if he is left without treatment.
Your donation helps cover medicines, medical tests, transport to the hospital and to school, food and hygiene supplies, school fees, and a small emergency fund for when a medical crisis happens.
All donations go directly toward Ansumana’s treatment. The only costs are the standard payment processing fees.
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Read his full story below:
Ansumana is 16. He lives with a disease that doesn’t wait. And with a dream that is still alive in him.
In Busumbala, in western Gambia, the day starts very early, because people don’t have a choice. If you want to catch a ride into town, if you want to find some work, if you want to reach a hospital dozens of kilometres away, or get to school, you leave as early as you can.
In the morning, rain can ruin your plans before you even make them. If the fire goes out, you can’t cook anything. If you don’t cook, you don’t eat. And if you don’t eat well, for a child with sickle cell disease, that’s a major risk.
For Ansumana Touray, just 16, every day comes with one more rule: don’t forget to take his medicines on time; drink water, if there is enough water; eat, even when the food is scarce and the same day after day; don’t ignore a small infection, because for him a small infection can quickly become an emergency; save his energy for school, even when his body pulls him back.
Ansumana lives in this poor village in western Gambia. His life is balanced between two things that seem incompatible: a severe disease that can bring him down within hours, and a self-imposed student discipline, shaped by a rare clarity about his future. He doesn’t talk much about luck. He talks about work. And about the steps he needs to take.
Ansumana lives with sickle cell disease (HbSS), a severe genetic blood disorder. It doesn’t “calm down” when you have a bad day. It can bring pain, weakness, and the risk of sudden collapse within hours. It can keep him in bed. It can pull him out of school. It can send him back to the hospital again.
And yet, in the middle of all this reality, there is one thing that remains constant: his dream.
Ansumana wants to become a doctor. He doesn’t say it to impress anyone, or as a beautiful line. He says it to remind himself of his direction. He has a precise plan, and he convinced us a long time ago. He wants a stable life, to work, and to become independent. He wants to help others like him who are living with illness. He wants to support his family, something that matters deeply to him. And somehow, he wants to turn a disease that has taken too much from him into a motivation that no longer takes, but gives back in return.
He knows the tragedies of those who have died trying to reach Europe illegally, driven by hunger. And even though he has days when there is nothing to eat and he feels that same desperation, he has never considered taking that step. He wants to make it on his own. Legally.
He wants to finish high school with the best grades, while also taking IT and personal development courses. He wants to find a university scholarship, and then work in the evenings and on weekends to pay for housing and food. And if there is anything left, he wants to send some money back to his family.
At JRS Romania, we believe a child like Ansumana deserves every effort and every chance to be supported. We support him because he keeps standing in conditions that would break many adults. And we do it with practical, concrete help: the things that keep him alive, keep him in school, and keep his dream within reach, step by step.
The illness that shapes his days
Ansumana often goes through episodes where his condition can worsen suddenly: severe weakness, dizziness, pain, and the risk of collapse. Some days are harder than others, and at times these crises can turn into emergencies.
His last severe episode was a few months ago, when his haemoglobin dropped to just 4.5. He made it to the hospital by sheer luck and needed a blood transfusion. The pharmacist he had gone to for medicine saw how weak he was and rushed him to the hospital. He was lucky to meet that person. There are no ambulances there.
He had to pay for the entire treatment: one day of hospitalisation, the blood transfusion, lab tests, and medication. The total was 37,000 GMD, around 2,500 RON. The transfusion was only possible because his brother donated blood. Without him, his chances of receiving blood are close to zero.
In that context, the doctor also mentioned a possible aplastic crisis. This means a period when the bone marrow temporarily stops producing red blood cells, often linked to a viral infection. In simple terms, the body runs out of resources exactly when it needs them most. For a teenager with HbSS, this means higher risk and the need for careful, ongoing monitoring.
Around the same time, a rash appeared on his face and got worse, along with a suspected skin infection. That means a prescribed antibiotic, proper care, cream, and daily hygiene. For a teenager with a fragile immune system, an infection is never “a small issue”. It can destabilise him very quickly.
The treatment he needs exists. But in The Gambia, it is extremely hard to access.
For sickle cell disease (HbSS), Ansumana needs hydroxyurea (Hydrea / hydroxycarbamide) for life. It is the main treatment that reduces crises and lowers the risk of complications. Without it, his condition can deteriorate fast. One box costs around 120 RON, but when shipped to The Gambia by courier, the cost at least doubles or triples. Private courier services are very expensive. The postal system is not reliable, and parcels can get lost. In The Gambia, many streets do not have names or numbers, which makes delivery even harder.
On top of that, because the country is largely agricultural and jobs are scarce, many people have left to work abroad. As a result, the government relies heavily on taxes, especially customs duties, some of which are very high.
Beyond hydroxyurea, Ansumana also needs folic acid, blood-support supplements (multivitamins, iron), sometimes anti-inflammatory medicine for pain, and prescribed antibiotics when infections appear. He also needs simple but essential daily hygiene items. For him, “hygiene” is not comfort. It is prevention, and a routine for survival.
Here is where one of the hardest realities begins: in The Gambia, the essential medicine hydroxyurea is not available. It has to be imported from Europe. And importing it comes with blockages, delays, very high customs fees, paid approvals, and costs that a poor family simply cannot afford. A small parcel can cost close to 1,500 RON, even if the value of the items inside is only 100 RON. Meanwhile, the disease does not wait.
The health system does not support him either. Blood tests are needed repeatedly to monitor haemoglobin and other key values, especially when starting or continuing hydroxyurea, and especially after severe episodes. Sometimes blood transfusions are necessary. But hospital laboratories are very limited, transfusions are difficult to access, specialist doctors are often missing, and reaching a hospital can mean travelling dozens of kilometres to the capital, Banjul, where conditions are at least slightly better.
In one serious episode, Ansumana arrived at the hospital and there were only nurses on duty, with no doctor available at the time. For his condition, that is dangerous. He needs regular consultations and a clear follow-up plan, not luck. He needs a system that doesn’t leave him alone at the worst possible moment.
And there is something else, often invisible to people who live in cities with hospitals nearby: the journey itself costs money. Sometimes the family has to choose between getting to a medical check-up and other basic expenses. For Ansumana, transport is literally part of the treatment.
A loss that still weighs heavily
In The Gambia, many things are paid out of pocket: consultations, tests, treatment. Nothing is free. And prices are far too high for what a poor family can afford.
In his family, sickle cell disease is not an abstract story. It is a reality that has left deep marks. When treatment was not available and the system could not respond in time, his sister died in December 2017. It is a painful truth for Ansumana, who still remembers her. And it is one of the reasons he cannot afford “breaks” from his medication.
Public clinics, in many places, are described by him, without exaggeration, as “medieval”. Only the very rich can access real medical care. And a bone marrow transplant or specialised treatment, which could be life-saving, costs thousands and thousands of euros and is not even performed in The Gambia. For him, it is completely out of reach.
In poverty, what doctors recommend becomes a luxury
After severe episodes, and in general, Ansumana needs a better and steady diet (fresh fruits and vegetables), hydration, and rest. In a context of poverty, these “healthy living” recommendations often remain just recommendations, very hard to apply in real life. Yet they directly influence the risk of relapse.
On many days, or rather on almost every day, their food comes down to basics: rice, onions, oil, and sometimes fish. At one point, Ansumana says it plainly: “we eat rice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner”.
When they received money for food, his brother bought “25 kg of rice, 10 kg of onions, and 5 litres of oil”. It is a survival strategy. They buy in large quantities what lasts and can feed more people.
Cooking is not a simple routine. They use a stove made of earth. And when it rains, the water can put the fire out. During the rainy season, Ansumana also says there is standing water in the yard and the area floods. This means that sometimes even preparing a meal becomes a problem.
During mango season, a painful paradox appears. They have mangoes, but nowhere to store them. They spoil. There are no proper conditions, no refrigerator. It is one of those moments when you see clearly that poverty is not only about lack. It is also forced waste. You cannot stock up at 35°C.
And there is another detail that says a lot about Ansumana’s character: he shares everything he receives with his family. So support for him inevitably becomes support for those at home, because in that household, everything is shared.
His daily life is about the “minimum”, and the minimum doesn’t even include his illness
In a personal budget, Ansumana estimated, as an example, a few minimum monthly personal expenses, excluding medical costs and clothing: food 450 GMD, transport 150 GMD, hygiene 400 GMD, phone top-up and electricity 100 GMD, water 150 GMD. Total: 1,250 GMD per month just for him, around 80 RON per month.
Then he notes two separate things: medical costs vary and are not fixed, depending on crises and treatment. And clothing is zero. He says he has not bought new clothes in over a year.
This means he lives on a bare-minimum budget, without steady money for health care, trying to keep school going while his body pulls him back. Sometimes the illness stops him from doing any kind of work, exactly on the days when his family would most need help.
Ansumana lives with the same reality many poor families face: things break and you have no money to fix them; you need something and you postpone it; an emergency comes and you borrow.
His family, in short: one small income and a lot of improvisation
His parents are retired and no longer working, and he says clearly that they cannot support him financially. In recent conversations, he said he has three brothers. There are many children and very few resources.
The family relies mainly on the older brother, 19 years old, “the first boy”, the one carrying adult responsibilities. His income is low and, from what we know, around 3,500 GMD per month. Overall, they all live on under 500 RON per month. They also pay rent, because only a few people there own their homes. Most families rent. Having your own house is not even a realistic conversation.
Sometimes he works day-to-day cleaning, but not every day, and the income is small, not enough even for him. There are also occasional jobs, like carrying water for construction workers or cutting wood and selling it in local markets, but that is about it. These jobs are risky and unstable, and they do not create any real security.
In a family like this, Ansumana lives under constant pressure to work and help, even though he is chronically ill and still a student. It is the kind of pressure that drains your energy even when it doesn’t show.
In their home, heat and humidity follow the weather’s harsh rhythm: either very hot and damp, or constant rain. There is no ventilation at all, and the air feels heavy, stuck to the walls. Washing, keeping clothes clean, having soap, enough water, and a place where things can actually dry all become small daily struggles. For a teenager with a fragile immune system, this is a risk, not just discomfort. A rash, a small wound, a skin infection can get worse quickly. Then you need creams, antibiotics, and basic care supplies, things that cost money and often go missing without support.
A student life he refuses to give up
In Busumbala, the road to school is not pleasant at all. During the rainy season, the ground turns into thick mud, and large puddles stay for days. Ansumana leaves early, sometimes before it is fully light, and walks long distances, with shoes heavy with mud and his uniform protected as best as he can. The school is about 30 km away, which can mean around two hours each way. Going there and back takes a serious share of his energy, even before classes begin.
When he is lucky, he can catch a local minibus or a private car that takes passengers, but nothing is guaranteed. Sometimes he waits a long time and watches full vehicles pass without stopping. Other times there is nothing at all, and he walks part of the way, even when his body hurts or he feels weak. And when transport does exist, it costs money. For a family that has to calculate every day, a ticket becomes a decision, not a detail.
But no matter how tired he is, when he gets home he works on his homework. Yes, they also have a lot of homework after school.
Ansumana is in 10th grade, and he says he has two and a half years left until he finishes high school. He follows his path closely, tracking admission thresholds and requirements. When he talks about good schools, he immediately points out where science is taught seriously, the STEM-type schools where students come out strong in technical subjects.
He does not present himself as a “genius”, and he does not ask for sympathy. He simply says that “third place” is not even an option. Since first grade, he has always been ranked first or second. When he ends up third, for him it feels like a major tragedy. In his mind, it can damage his future, because education is his only way out.
Ansumana has not had an “easy” school life, but he has had strong years. From grades 1 to 9, he kept a consistently high level, with results that always placed him near the top. He says it plainly: he has always been among the best. He takes part in school competitions and is often chosen by teachers as a student representative.
During exam periods, he says he studies a lot and is “busy studying”. And when he has any free time, he doesn’t go looking for развлечения or distractions. He goes toward biology, chemistry, and physics. He doesn’t really have weekends either. At most, on Sundays he can sleep a little longer.
At the same time, he says he truly needs IT skills, because they help him in life, at school, and they are a door to another world. During the summer holiday, he attended a paid IT course where he learned Word, Excel, and other practical skills, but he had to miss part of it because of his illness.
He also has rare discipline for his age. He doesn’t buy mobile internet, he doesn’t spend time on apps, and he has set himself a limit of one hour per day. When he can, he uses a neighbour’s Wi-Fi for a very small cost. Not because it is “trendy”, but because he cannot afford waste and he has other priorities. When typical teenage temptations show up, he closes that door without drama. He says he doesn’t have time for that now. He is focused on what he needs to do. On studying.
For Ansumana, school also means fees: school fees, exam fees, and sometimes contributions for materials or new requirements that appear along the way. Uniform, notebooks, and basic supplies. The amounts may not look big from the outside, but for his family they are a constant burden. A few times already, he has felt how education can be pulled out of his hands, not because of grades, but because of money. When you don’t have money, it’s not just “late payment”. It is the real risk that you may not be able to continue.
In essence, Ansumana is a child who carries himself like an adult. He sets rules for himself, makes plans, and sticks to them, even when life presses in from every side.
But even the most disciplined child needs something simple: stability. Medicine. Blood tests. A way to get to the hospital when needed. School fees paid on time. Learning materials. Clothes. Consistent food.
Why we are asking for help, and what your donation means in practical terms
For Ansumana, help does not mean being “saved all at once”. It means the chain does not break. It means he does not run out of hydroxyurea. It means he can do the tests when they are needed. It means he can reach a doctor. It means he can pay for transport, a consultation, or a transfusion when a crisis happens. It means better, steady food, water, hygiene, and rest, because all of these reduce the risk of relapse. It means staying in school, instead of being pushed to interrupt his studies again because there is no money.
JRS Romania has supported this talented, determined boy who refuses to give up easily. We have bought his medicines, paid for medical treatment, food, and new clothes, provided support for his family, covered all his school fees, and purchased a laptop and a phone so he can study and communicate more easily. He never asked us for help. He simply emailed to ask if we knew any high schools in Romania that offer scholarships. But we decided to take the next step for him.
At JRS Romania, our work focuses first and foremost on refugees and migrants in Romania. This time, however, Ansumana’s case caught our attention because of the severity of his illness and how alone he has been in facing it. We tried to find local organisations that could support him in The Gambia, but unfortunately we have not been able to identify real, consistent help.
The Gambia is a very poor country, with fragile public systems and services that are hard to access outside the capital. Its democratic transition is still a work in progress after decades of authoritarian rule. The country has a very low level of development. Over 16% of the population lives in extreme poverty. A child can expect around 9.9 years of schooling, and under-five mortality remains high.
For one year, we helped him with everything we could, together with a few kind people. A new year is coming, and we need to ensure continuity, because for him, a pause means risk. Sadly, Ansumana is not the only one. Many other children live at the intersection of illness, poverty, and lack of access to treatment. We will keep you updated, transparently, on his progress and on how his case evolves.
Right now, he is taking Coursera courses for personal development. He has learned to make presentations in PowerPoint and Canva, he is discovering the world and new free educational resources beyond school textbooks, and he uses GPT to understand maths equations better. These are his “tutors”, because his parents cannot help with homework, there is no after-school support, and there are no teachers available for private tutoring.
He is in his first year of high school, and we have been looking for a better school for him, where he can be more protected and shielded from bullying. He is genuinely happy to go to school every day, to learn, to have classmates, and to make new friends.
We can help him get there, step by step, through organised and consistent support.
If you choose to donate, your support will go toward essential needs: medicines and import costs when necessary, blood tests and medical check-ups, transport to hospitals and laboratories, treatment for infections and basic hygiene, as well as the everyday costs that help him stay in school.
We do not promise miracles. We promise care and continuity. And we promise transparent communication, with updates on his condition and the next steps.
Ansumana is not asking for a perfect life. He is asking for the chance to get to school without his legs shaking from weakness. He is asking for the chance not to run out of medicine. He is asking for the chance to keep his plan alive. And his plan is simple: to live, to learn, to become a doctor. And one day, to be the person who keeps others alive.
Sometimes a child’s future depends on something small, repeated: a box of medicine on time, a trip to the hospital, a month of school fees paid, a meal that isn’t only rice. And the fact that someone, from far away, said: you are not alone.