There are days when I wake up thinking about all the people I have met over the years: a child laughing under the scorching Tanzanian sun, a young woman in India clutching her scholarship letter, a mother in a refugee camp holding her baby close.

They don’t know it, but they are the reason I get out of bed every morning.

I’ve never done what I do for applause. Not for awards, not for recognition, not even for the occasional headline. It’s always been about people. Seeing them struggle. Seeing them hope. Seeing them fight. And sometimes seeing them win.

I didn’t come from privilege. I was raised in a middle-class immigrant family where money was often tight but love was never in short supply. My parents taught me that kindness is never wasted - even when nobody’s watching. My mother used to say, “What you give will always find its way back to you.”

I didn’t fully understand it then; now I do.

The Detour That Became My Calling

I wanted to be a doctor once. To heal people. That was the plan. But life; with its unpredictable grace had other intentions. I found myself in business instead, navigating industries I knew nothing about. I failed, learnt, rebuilt, and grew.

Somewhere along the way, I realised that business could be another form of healing; not of bodies, but of lives. If done right, it can build communities, create opportunities, and offer dignity where there was once despair.

Over the decades, I worked across agriculture, trade, real estate, and healthcare. I learnt how fragile yet powerful human potential can be and how much of it is lost when people aren’t given a fair chance.

Everywhere I went, I saw human potential. Fragile. Delicate. But ridiculously strong when people are given a chance. That thought keeps me awake at night sometimes.

Helping Where It Counts

In 2002, I started the Saba Family Foundation for my father - quiet, generous, and deeply human. I wanted the foundation to be the same: helping quietly, fully, in ways that actually matter.

I’ll never forget the first trip to a school in Tanzania. The girls were missing school every month because they didn’t have access to menstrual products for its management. We built them. And one little girl looked at me, eyes wide. “Now I can come to school every day,” she said.

It broke me a little, and it healed me too.

Years later, in India, a young woman I had supported called me. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her. Finally, she said, “Mam, I am going to be a doctor.” I just sat there. For a long time. Thinking about how far a single act of faith can travel.

Women Who Teach Me Strength

I’ve walked into rooms that weren’t built for me. I’ve been dismissed. Doubted. Underestimated. And that’s exactly why I spend so much of my time helping women find their own way.

Asha comes to mind. She ran a tiny textile business and was ready to shut it down. “It’s too hard,” she said. We sat over cups of tea. Talked about business. About design. About belief. Mostly belief.

A year later, she sent me a picture of her first international shipment. That photo is still on my desk. Every time I see it, I smile.

Women like her teach me more about courage than any boardroom ever could. Every story, every struggle, every small win; it reminds me why helping others matters more than anything else.

Life Outside Work

I have another life too. One that’s messy and chaotic and loud. I love cooking. Writing. The chaos of my five dogs and four cats. My home smells like food almost all the time. That’s where I feel human.

I wrote The Abbreviated Cook on nights when I needed calm. Recipes from kitchens where I was welcomed like family. From travels. From people who shared stories over food. Food connects people in ways words sometimes cannot.

Once, while making soup, a student I mentored called. She said, “I passed.” That’s it. Two words. I laughed. I cried. Burnt the onions. Didn’t care. That’s fulfilment. Messy. Raw. Honest. Complete.

Compassion Over Convenience

For me, it’s simple: choose compassion over convenience. Every act matters. Every life touched. Every opportunity created. Every person helped.

Helping doesn’t need to be loud. Doesn’t need an audience. Sit with someone when they’re scared. Listen. Guide. Give access where there’s none. Believe in them. That’s enough.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. But I know this: kindness lasts. And that is enough.

Why I Keep Doing This

People sometimes ask why I do it. Why spend decades on work that goes unnoticed? Why help quietly, without applause?

Because it makes a difference.

A girl goes to school when she couldn’t before. A woman grows a business that couldn’t exist without support. A student pursues her dream of becoming a doctor. Those moments and that change are everything.

It’s not about recognition. Not about awards. Not about titles. It’s about connection. Impact. Seeing someone’s life shift because someone believed in them. That’s enough.

The Simple Truth

Helping others is its own reward. Messy. Unpredictable. Emotional. Human. And worth it.

I don’t know how many people I’ll touch in my lifetime. I don’t worry about it. Every day, I try to make a difference. Even a small one. That is enough.

Kindness lasts. It changes lives. And that, for me, is more than enough.