Remember These Nonuplets? This Is How They Look Like Years later!

It all began in 2021 in the ancient sands of Timbuktu, Mali. A young woman named Al Lima, just 25 years old, was living what she thought would be a normal life—until her pregnancy turned out to be unlike anything she had ever heard of. From the very beginning, she could feel something was different. Something extraordinary was happening inside her.

Local doctors, using basic ultrasound machines, first thought she was expecting twins, then triplets, then even more. But no one could truly predict what was coming. As Al Lima’s belly continued to grow, so did the mystery.

Fearing complications and knowing Mali’s medical system couldn’t handle such a rare pregnancy, the government decided to send her to Morocco. She was admitted to the prestigious Ain Borja Clinic in Casablanca. At the airport, she held her husband’s hand tightly. Abdelkader Harvey, a proud Malian army officer, stood strong, though his heart was heavy. He looked into her eyes and whispered, “No matter what happens, you are never alone.”

On May 4, 2021, history was made. Through a high-risk cesarean section, Al Lima gave birth to nine babies—five girls and four boys. Their names were Adama, Umu, Hawa, Kadidia, Fatuma, Umar, Elch, Ba, and Muhammad. Everyone in the delivery room held their breath. Would the babies survive?

Nonuplets are so rare that survival is almost impossible, even in the world’s best hospitals. But somehow, against all odds, all nine babies lived. They were tiny, no bigger than a human hand, and had to be rushed into incubators. Tubes connected them to life-saving machines. At the same time, Al Lima was fighting for her own life in intensive care. For days, she drifted between life and death, repeating one simple prayer in her heart: “Let me live to hold them all, even just once.”

The hospital became their home for the next 18 months. Abdelkader, torn between his duties to his country and his new family, was granted special leave to stay. He learned how to change diapers, feed the babies through tiny tubes, and handle the constant alarms in the NICU.

In the quiet hours, he would sit beside Al Lima, holding her hand. He told her stories of Timbuktu’s golden days—of sand dunes and starry skies—and promised they would walk the desert again, this time with their nine little miracles.

Their story touched the world. News stations from America to Japan covered it. The Malian government paid for all the medical expenses and called the babies a national treasure. But through the fame and attention, Al Lima and Abdelkader remained humble. “We didn’t ask for fame,” Abdelkader said once in an interview. “We only prayed for life.”

In December 2022, after a year and a half filled with love, science, and prayer, the doctors gave them permission to return to Mali. The news brought joy across the country. At Bamako’s international airport, huge crowds welcomed them with singing, dancing, and waving flags. When Al Lima and Abdelkader stepped off the plane with their babies, they were greeted like national heroes.

The government provided them with a large home designed especially for the family, with nurseries, playrooms, and medical care rooms. But even with all the help, nothing could truly prepare them for raising nine babies.

Feeding nine babies wasn’t a routine—it was a military operation. Bottles lined the kitchen like soldiers. Diapers came in crates. Sleep became rare. Even with help from nannies and medical staff, Al Lima and Abdelkader made sure they were present for every first smile, every laugh, every tiny moment.

One night, during a chaotic feeding session, three babies cried at once, two needed changing, and the rest were restless. Exhausted, Al Lima broke down in tears. Abdelkader held her in his arms and whispered with a smile, “If we can survive this, my love, we can survive anything.” That became their family’s motto: “We can survive anything.”

As the months passed, the babies grew. By the end of 2023, the house was no longer filled with only cries—it echoed with footsteps. The nonuplets had started walking. Their personalities began to shine.

Adama, the firstborn, quickly became the leader. She invented games and solved problems when things went wrong. Umu was the quiet artist, happy to sit for hours drawing or building with blocks. Hawa was sweet and sensitive, always the first to give a hug when someone cried. Kadidia was the curious one, constantly exploring and taking apart toys to see how they worked.

Fatuma was the clown, always dancing and making the others laugh with her silly jokes. Umar was serious beyond his years. Every night, he checked that all his siblings were tucked in before falling asleep himself. Elch, the dreamer, loved watching birds and tracing airplanes in the sky. Ba had endless energy, always running, tumbling, and playing football for hours. Muhammad, the smallest at birth, became the most affectionate, always looking for a lap to sit on or a hand to hold.

Their daily life was beautifully chaotic. From waking up to bedtime, the day was packed with feeding, playing, learning, and loving. Somehow, the Harvey family found their rhythm.

By late 2024, the children were ready for a new adventure—school. They were all enrolled in a private kindergarten in Bamako. At first, the school was unsure about handling nine siblings, but they agreed to create a special class just for them.

Each child stood out. Adama led group activities. Umu became the teacher’s helper. Hawa melted hearts with her kindness. Kadidia impressed everyone by solving puzzles for older kids. Fatuma turned storytime into comedy hour. Umar showed leadership during games. Elch’s art was hung proudly on the classroom wall. Ba won every race on the playground. Muhammad sang the loudest and most joyfully during music class.

At home, life remained centered around love. Al Lima and Abdelkader, even with the help of nannies and teachers, made sure every evening ended the same way—gathered together on the living room floor, reading stories, singing songs, and sharing dreams.

Late at night, after the house went quiet, Al Lima often walked from room to room. She paused at each doorway, heart full of gratitude and love. Sometimes, she cried tears of joy. Abdelkader would hug her tightly and whisper, “We prayed for life, and look at them. Look at what we were given.”

By April 2025, the nonuplets were nearly four years old. They spoke fluent Bambara and were learning French. Health-wise, they were doing well, though some continued to have regular checkups. The Malian government continued to support the family and created a special education fund for their future.

But Al Lima and Abdelkader believed that the greatest lessons wouldn’t come from school—they would come from how they lived. From their love, their strength, and their presence.

The world still watches in awe. What began as a fragile miracle had become a powerful reminder: even when the odds are against you, love can create a future more beautiful than anyone could imagine.

And for Al Lima and Abdelkader, every day, every hug, and every word from their children is m