The moment it all began

Tatjana Makovija’s early life was defined by abandonment and survival. Brought from rural Ukraine to Soviet Latvia at nine, she was placed in an internat boarding school—an orphanage-like institution. She grew up without stable adults, practical guidance, or a sense of safety. By 17, she married partly to escape, and soon became what she describes as “a child with a child,” raising her infant daughter without support and trying to survive adulthood before she was ready.

Then came the moment that changed everything. In Karosta—the former military town and one of Liepāja’s toughest districts at the time—children began showing up at her door, hungry and looking for someone safe. Tatjana recognized their need instantly, because it echoed her own.

What started as small, improvised help—food, warmth, a listening ear—became a steady practice. Over time, that practice turned into a structured project: first “Karosta Kids,” and later House of Hope. Tatjana wasn’t trying to create an organization at the start; she was responding to real children in front of her, and refusing to look away. In a place where many adults were absent, overwhelmed, or dealing with addiction and poverty, her home became an early version of what House of Hope would later officially become: dependable adults, a safer space, and the beginnings of routine and belonging.

Today, House of Hope is not located in Karosta, but the story began there. And Karosta remains a place of contrasts—full of strength and history, yet still in need of a youth center and a safe space for young people. Tatjana hopes that one day it will be possible to open a branch in Karosta and revive the name “Karosta Kids” for this work.

House of Hope  — breaking the institutional cycle through care, skills, and prevention

Karosta was once built around a Soviet naval base. After the Soviet collapse, the area was left with abandoned buildings, unemployment, addiction, and fractured families. For many children, especially those coming from institutions or unstable homes, daily life offers little structure and even fewer safe adults. Tajiana saw kids deeply isolated, playing out on the streets, in stairwells, and in broken homes.

For many young people there the future could feel narrow: drift, fall behind in school, get pulled into petty crime, and eventually become “known” to police and social services. Tatjana’s work targets that pattern directly, because she has seen where it leads.

This is the cycle House of Hope tries to stop early. Its core idea is simple: prevention is not only about keeping youth busy—it’s about building the missing foundations that institutions and fragile families often fail to provide. That includes consistent relationships, clear expectations, and practical life skills: cooking, basic work habits, teamwork, communication, and learning how to handle emotions without violence. It also includes creating a supportive environment for young mothers, so their children don’t become the next generation pushed into care. The center offers safety and structure alongside positive activities, mentoring, and workshops that help young people feel capable. It’s not only about comfort; it’s about expanding what youth believe is possible.

Tatjana also speaks about prevention in terms that policymakers can’t easily ignore. For her, investing in youth is both moral and practical: it reduces crime, strengthens communities, and costs less than doing nothing until a young person collapses into long-term dependency.

Tatjana created a community where young people aren’t only receiving help—they’re also learning how to give it. At House of Hope, youth from different social backgrounds come together—some seeking support, others ready to stand alongside the team, help others, and shape what the organization becomes next.

One person’s story becomes a community’s lifeline

What began as bread for three girls became an organization that offers something Karosta has lacked for a long time: a reliable place where vulnerable youth are seen, guided, and expected to grow. Tatjana’s story is powerful because it doesn’t romanticize hardship—it shows what happens when someone who knows neglect decides to build the support she never had, and keeps showing up until “invisible” kids become impossible to ignore.