Craig and Marc Kielburger are founders of Free the Children and co-authors of Me to We. With this column, they begin exploring the impact of global issues on young people in developing nations and what it means to youth in the GTA.

You may not have heard about it, but history is being repeated. Anyone old enough to remember Ethiopia's 1984-85 famine will find the facts of this story familiar. They deal with poverty, climate change and a 14-year-old's dream to exercise his universal right to education.

Nambala stands with pride in front of us, looking confident in his crisp school uniform: brown shorts, a blue shirt and a tattered green sweater. The large holes near his elbows are from "studying," he says.

For as long as he can remember, Nambala wanted to become a teacher. Two years ago, when the new Kenyan government made primary education free, he got his chance.

One of his happiest moments was walking to school beside his two younger sisters, joining millions of other Kenyan children now able to get an education.

Last year, Nambala was accepted into high school — a first for his family. His father slaughtered a goat to mark the joyful occasion.

This term, however, Nambala will not be able to go back to complete Grade 9. As much as he loves school, survival is far more pressing. It has hardly rained since November, with no rain clouds in sight. The land is parched, cracked and thirsty. There's little help on the way.

When it last rained in his remote village in the country's Northern region, they were not the two-month-long rains everyone had hoped for. As the first downpour started, eager eyes watched as the heavy droplets beat down, the valuable water vanishing into hard-edged crevices, saturating the earth and bursting the seeds that would soon grow into the village's crops.

But after only three days, the rains stopped. It was the second time this year that the seasonal rains have failed. Now, the crops that were planted three months ago remain lined in carefully spaced rows. Withered and brown, they have the dry, hard texture of straw.

Outside of the family's boma, a simple home of mud and sticks, 34 carcasses are piled near an Acacia tree, most of their cattle herd. By day, under the scorching sun, vultures pick at the remains. By night, under an African moon, hyenas cackle and creep, breaking dry bones with their powerful jaws. Only five cows are left, all stick-thin and sick.

In desperation, his father has left the family to find work in Nairobi, the capital. His mother spends her days scouring for brown water and edible weeds. Nambala is left to look after his three younger siblings.

"What will you do?" we ask. Nambala shakes his head shyly. "Nothing." The look on his face is revealing; he is powerless to help. If it won't rain, there is nothing he can do but wait.

Today 3.5 million Kenyans — more than 10 per cent of the population — face starvation. An additional 8.5 million people in the Horn of Africa—Somalia, Djibouti and Ethiopia—desperately need food.

Despite the recent rains in other regions of Kenya, severe drought conditions remain. The most affected people are still at risk of famine.

History is being repeated. In 1984-85, Ethiopia was gripped by a famine documented by the CBC. Live Aid, the precursor to last summer's Live 8 concerts to "make poverty history," was the North American response. In many ways, it was too little too late. One million Ethiopians died.

Kenya makes interest payments of tens of millions of dollars a year on about $5 billion of national debt, but was left off the list when the G8 nations struck their debt forgiveness deal in July. The International Monetary Fund said Kenya was "not eligible" because of its "sustainable" debt position. The Kenyan government saw this as punishment for managing its finances better than others.

Over the last decade, the rains in Kenya have become more and more unpredictable.

Research presented at the latest United Nations summit on climate change in Montreal predicts the region will become drier still. Even Mount Kilimanjaro has lost 85 per cent of its ice cap over the past 100 years.

Without action, famine and drought will continue to be met with food aid instead of long-term solutions. And instead of becoming a teacher, Nambala faces the cruel prospect of becoming victim of another preventable African famine.

As Canadians, we have a role to play. First, we can challenge ourselves and our leaders to make poverty history. With the respect Canada garners on the international stage, we can leverage support for African debt relief, acting as global leaders, not laggards. Second, we can challenge Prime Minister Stephen Harper to uphold Canada's commitment to the Kyoto Protocol, instead of promising to craft a "made-in-Canada" solution that would likely take years to plan and implement.

Time is running out.