Project 27: The Rise of the Forgotten – Season 1 Completed!

Dear Family, Friends, and Supporters,

I can hardly believe it—Season 1 of Project 27: The Rise of the Forgotten is now complete with 11 powerful episodes!

This has been one of the most vulnerable, emotional, and courageous journeys of my life. For the first time, I’ve opened the door to my hidden years—sharing stories of abandonment, survival, resilience, and the slow, fragile work of healing.

What began as a whisper in my spirit has now become a voice reaching the airwaves. And today, it’s not just my story—it’s a testimony for every person who has ever felt unseen, unheard, or forgotten.

This Season is Dedicated To:

• The women who carry silent wounds.
• The children who grew up with rejection and loneliness.
• The survivors who wonder if their voice matters.

You are not forgotten.

Season 1 is now live and streaming everywhere! Spotify | Apple Podcasts | YouTube | Podbean | Amazon Music | Boomplay | and more.

Listen now, share with a friend, and join me in breaking barriers, birthing vision, and building legacy.

This is only the beginning. Season 2 is coming, and the journey continues.

With love and gratitude, Jeanette Founder & Host Triple Break Radio Podcast & Media

#Project27 #RiseOfTheForgotten #TripleBreakRadio #HealingThroughStories

Project 27 The Rise of The Forgotten Season 1 Episode 11: Grandfather’s Sacrifice

It reached a level where even my grandfather realized they were going to kill me. My step-grandmother and her children — I had become their target. Their plan was to end my life. My grandfather argued with his wife day and night, fighting because of me. I could hear their voices clashing, and I knew I was the reason. Finally, he made a decision I will never forget: he left his own house just to save my life. He gave up his home, his family, his comfort, to protect me. My grandfather and I went to live in the forest. He walked away from everything… for me.

I remember being in the forest with him, just the two of us, taking care of cows in the middle of the jungle. For the first time, I was safe. The danger and cruelty were behind me, at least for a while. One of the memories that has stayed with me all these years is of him carrying a cassava root in his pocket. At lunchtime, he would take it out, break off a small piece, and hand it to me. “Eat this,” he would say gently. “Then go drink water. You’ll be okay.”

As a child, I used to feel frustrated, even angry. Why wouldn’t he give me the whole thing? I thought he was being unfair. I didn’t understand. But now, as an adult, I see what he was doing: he was sacrificing his own portion so that I could eat. He wasn’t eating so that I could eat. He was going hungry for me. That is one of the most precious memories I carry with me.

Sadly, my grandfather passed away before I ever had the chance to see him again. But besides the life I lived in my dreams, which gave me strength to keep going, I always remember him. I believe his spirit is still with me. He was the only person who showed me love and mercy as a child. He was the one who stood up for me when no one else did. He gave up his home to save my life.

I will remember him forever. May he rest in peace. He was a good grandfather… and I wish I could have said thank you while he was still here. but I promise I will carry on your legacy by choosing compassion over bitterness.

The legacy of lifting my voice for the forgotten ones.

The legacy of creating spaces of safety where others can belong.

The legacy of humility shown through my service.

The legacy of love revealed in the way I give myself to my people

The legacy of kindness flowing through my words and shaping the healing mission for everyone.

The legacy of true strength not in power or revenge, but in mercy, gentleness, and hope.

The legacy of ambition that drives me to rise, to keep building, to keep believing.

The legacy of gratitude that fills me, knowing my grandfather inspired me to be who I am today.

The legacy of choosing life over death, forgiveness over revenge, love over hate, and kindness over disrespect.

This is the inheritance I carry, and this is the testimony I live: my grandfather’s spirit lives in me, and through me, his story continues.

Season 1 Episode 10: Life in the Shadows

Once I slipped on the way back and fell into a narrow hole on the way from the piped spring. The bottle broke, and I couldn’t climb out because it was too deep. I cried in that dark hole, but not because I was hurt I didn’t care that I was hurt. I was crying because I knew the beating that would come for breaking my step-grandmother’s water bottle. I was so scared to call for help, knowing she would kill me. Part of me wanted to stay in that hole forever.

To them I was always late, never fast enough, never strong enough, never good enough. They didn’t want to acknowledge that I was just a young child. When I finally made it home, they would pull my hair, spit on me, scream that I was too slow, and beat me again and again. “Why are you late? You took too long!” But they never saw what it took for a little girl to carry a full bottle of water up the mountain path.

My life in that house was dark. The only light came when my grandfather was home then I would get a little break during the day. At night, they didn’t want me sleeping inside with the family, but my grandpa would insist. My step-grandmother would tell him there weren’t enough blankets, so my grandfather would give me his shepherd’s jacket. I remember enjoying his big jacket, but even then the challenge was finding a safe place to lay down.

My shelter became the calf’s room in the cowshed. That was the only place I could find rest without someone hurting me in the middle of the night. But even there, I wasn’t truly safe. My mother’s siblings would wake up in the dark just to hunt for me. With no lights in the village, they would grab burning sticks and search silently through the night, walking around and hitting anything until they found me.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, they would pour a bucket of water over me while I slept. Not once, but many times. I would wake up soaked, shivering through the cold night. I couldn’t speak or complain. My step-grandmother made sure my grandfather never saw what they were doing to me. So I learned to stay silent. I learned to hide my pain at a very young age.

Every morning, I forced myself to wake before everyone else. I would quietly gather all the wet things I had been sleeping on and try to dry them before anyone saw. I would pretend I was just cleaning the cow shelter, removing the manure, tidying the space, but in reality, I was hiding my shame. I didn’t want them to see me with wet clothes or know that I had been crying, freezing, or suffering through the night.

My mother’s family took away the meaning of being a child. So I had to find a way to survive. I had to gain strength and develop my own strategies to carry that heavy pain. A spirit of anger entered me. I started to seek revenge.

It reached a level where even my grandfather realized they were going to kill me. I had become their target. Their plan was to end my life. My grandfather argued with his wife day and night, fighting because of me. Finally, he made a decision that saved my life and that I’ll never forget: he left his own house to protect me. He gave up his home, his family, his comfort, and took me with him to the forest. My grandfather walked away from everything… for me