I follow a friend down a chokingly narrow path. Damp concrete walls hug me on either side. We turn left, then right, nodding hello to curious faces as we navigate the concrete maze. At last we arrive at Aisha’s house. More than 20 relatives call it home. In Aisha’s family’s tiny room, we find her father ogling an immoral television show while young children play on the floor (which is also the family’s bed). I cuddle tiny Aisha and look into her sparkling eyes. What will become of her? Poverty is likely; hardship guaranteed.

Most likely she will be nurtured in front of a TV set, exposed to violent men and scantily-clad women—all the while learning that it would be a heinous sin for her to wear shorts or a sleeveless shirt. She will learn that she must say her ritual prayers five times a day if she has any hope of entering paradise—but when she is menstruating or after childbirth her prayers cannot be heard. She will be excused from the annual fast when she’s pregnant or nursing, but must make up the missed days later, which for a working mother with small children is impossible. By age 21 she will have borne at least three babies. In effect, her spiritual life is hopeless. If she were typical, she would have neither Christian friend nor Bible, nor would she dream of entering a church, and her religious system would remind her daily that she is not—cannot be—good enough.

Thankfully, Aisha is not typical. She already has a Christian friend. When she turns five, she’ll have a chance to attend a Christian kindergarten. Maybe you will pray for her. Maybe she will turn to Jesus. Her future need not be a dead end.