Navid is sleeping in his cot when we walk into the room. But he soon wakes up and, bleary-eyed, clings to his mother as he looks around at the unexpected visitors who have rudely interrupted his nap. Roya, his older sister, is nervous to meet us. She’s worried we’ve come to give her an injection… it’s apparently common to tell your children that if they’re not good the foreigners will come and give them a shot. But slowly she’s coaxed into the room. No-one is going to get jabbed with a needle today.

A year and a half after filming Life’s First Cry, we have driven the long and bumpy road back to see how Roya and Navid are doing, and to tell their parents the impact their story has made – £186,000 raised in our Harvest appeal to help more women and men like them in Afghanistan, as well as thousands of other people around the world.

Little Roya is dressed in bright blue and wears the same apprehensive expression she had the last time a bunch of foreigners turned up in her house. She’s taller now and appears shy, watching us from behind her mother’s elbow, inquisitive when she thinks no-one is looking. She smiles as I roll her the toy car I found on the window sill, and even poses, hands on hips, for the camera as we’re leaving. She’s due to start school next year.

Navid isn’t a baby anymore. He’s got a real little-boy-face and big dark eyes. Like his sister, he is adorable. He wraps his hand around the cord of the microphone we have clipped onto his mother, and I worry he might snap it with his small fingers. But he doesn’t. His sister looks across at him with love as his mum talks to us about her life now, about her family’s life.

Andisha smiles more than I remember. Her children – now six and two – are still healthy and happy. She doesn’t need to fear that she will suddenly lose them, like she did the first 11 children she gave birth to. These babies survived. They’re growing. They have the hope of happy, full lives.

I ask her how it feels to know that, because of her story, more women and men in Afghanistan are getting the lessons that saved her children.

“I’m very happy,” she says. “I am happy that now I have children, and they’re still here and they’re healthy. And I think it’s great that more people can see this and learn, and that their children can also be healthy too! So thank you.”

What are Roya and Navid like, I wonder, now they’re getting a bit older. “My daughter is kind of naughty,” Andisha admits, laughing. “My son is very calm. They like to play, they like to play with toys and have fun.”

Mohammad is out working when we visit, and I am sorry to miss him. But, a few days later, as we are travelling to another remote village far from his, I spot him walking along the dusty road with three donkeys laden with goods to sell. I can’t believe it is Roya and Navid’s dad, here, in the middle of nowhere. What are the chances? He chats with the local team like they’re old friends, smiling and laughing and joking. They’ve made such a difference in his life – first helping to save his children, and then bringing clean water, sanitary latrines, literacy skills and nutrition courses to his village. You’ve helped to change not just Mohammad and Andisha’s lives. You’ve brought flourishing to their whole community.

We are thrilled that Andisha, Mohammad, Roya and Navid are doing so well, and we hope you are too! Thank you for praying for them and for supporting BMS work through Life’s First Cry, so that more children in these beautiful, incredibly remote mountains, can live – like they were born to.