I didn't like my maths teacher in high school that much. She had an unpleasantly loud didactic voice and the intimidating manners (and appearance) of devoted military serviceman. She had this habit of always noticing me when I was trying to be as small and invisible as I could and calling me to the board just to make me feel a whole lot smaller.

Insisting that even I can figure out why Y=2X-Y (It is still a mystery to me) she always kept on saying "Every problem has a solution" while tapping on the board to emphasis each word "Every problem has a solution"

I can't say I wake up in cold sweat dreaming of her or that I still consider rubbing glue on her chair. But sometimes I can still hear that awful voice playing back in my head "Every problem has a solution".

A few days ago I was sitting in Anna's office. Anna is a Social Work lecturer and a fountain of knowledge. She told me that the idea of foster families and family type homes is taking off in the Ukraine. This is largely the cause of tireless work by UK-originated, worldwide operating charity "Hope and Homes". Today I am going to meet one of the families supported by this charity: the Batursky family who live at the outskirts of Kyiv.

Oksana is both a very great translator (or so I am about to find out) and the Batursky's friend. We decide to meet (for the first time) in a Metro station, close to the railway station. "I'll be carrying a green notebook" I tell her. The green notebook is a great trick when you are meeting in a caf or outside a shop but in a crowded Metro station it takes a bit of an unnatural posturing to make it noticeable. I already start wondering whether I should have mentioned the traditional brown jacket instead when Oksana waves to me excitingly, as if we were old friends. We're off to the railway.

The train looks like an aging item at the Transport Museum only not as clean and newly painted. It almost takes me by surprise when it starts moving but the journey is smooth and we arrive at our destination on time.

Our destination is a small village at the outskirts of Kyiv. But, right now, it looks more like India in the Monsoon season. Not one inch of either of us remains less than soaked and drippy after a short run to the near by underground pass.

Walking into the underground pass feels like stepping into another century: The Babushkas (old grannies) are selling fresh milk (in empty Coca Cola bottles), fresh eggs (and those who hatched them), earth covered vegetables and other countryside goods.

We make friends with the live stock until the rain subsides and then run to the mini cab station. This turns out to be a little bus stop, partly-sheltered by a crumbling roof now forming a tiny island surrounded with water.

We find a way around the pond-sized puddles and wait for the cab. It starts raining heavily again and people gather under the roof for shelter. A small yellow 10-seater van arrives and everybody huddles in - 18 people, few vegetable baskets and a chicken (luckily no one bought a goat today).

Some of our journey fellows keep their umbrellas open inside the van which makes me wonder about the local manners until I feel the first drop falling on me and then the second one - the aging van is full of holes and somewhat less than waterproof. Oksana and I end up sharing an umbrella with one lady and her groceries basket - the chicken.

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"We all live in a yellow submarine" I whistle to myself as the van sails through the village's - Venice looking - streets. Water splash all around inside and out. I am convinced that the engine will sink and fail at any minute but, by some magic, it doesn't and after a 40 minutes cruise we arrive, wetter and a bit sea sick, at our destination well, almost.

We still have a road and a very big garden ahead of us. Covered in a wet piece of cloth that was once my brown jacket, we make it to the house. Half way up the garden we hear someone calling us from a little garden house (well, a hut consisting of two walls, a roof and a fireplace). Volodia Batursky sits there peacefully with 11 years old Alex. They are roasting sunflower seeds in a frying pan, seemingly oblivious to the storm around them and watching us amused as we drip our way in.

Alex volunteers to run to the house and get some umbrellas while Volodia welcomes us with some warm sunflower seeds and invites us to sit by the fire. Alex comes back, armed with two family size umbrellas and we all run to the safety of the house.

In the house Tanya is already waiting for us with two big towels and rushes to find some dry clothes for us. After we dry up we are led into the living room. Tea, sandwiches and cookies keep coming up until Tanya is convinced we are warm, dry and most certainly full. This kind of hospitality can make even the coldest of hearts melt guaranteed.

Volodia and Tanya turn out to be a beautiful couple in their early forties, warm, funny and full of energy. Well, we all know it takes a lot of energy to bring up children, but this couple are responsible for 10 of them!

It all started about a decade ago in Kyiv. The family - which back then was just Volodia, Tanya and their two children - sat down for a Sunday meal on a cold January day when they heard a knock on the door. "I opened the door and there were three children standing there - begging for food" Volodia tells me. "I couldn't be blind to the contrast between us - sitting in our cosy warm house, preparing for a big Sunday meal and them - standing out there hungry and cold" Volodia takes a deep breath than smiles at me and shrugs "What could I do? I had to invite them in".

The kids spent the night in the cellar. News spread fast and the following nights brought more kids to the door. The doorbell often rang late into the night one kid was sick, another got beaten up and needed medical care - Volodia and Tanya did all they could to help. Eventually, they turned to their church and asked for some financial aid to buy food and basics and got it. It was still a struggle to keep up their jobs alongside their growing mission, but they were happy. That is until the problems began...

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The problems came from an unexpected place the local police! Whether the police suspected the Batursky for exploiting the kids or whether it was the neighbours who complained, the Batursky's were forced to take their big wide hearts elsewhere. By this time a few of the children were living with them permanently. They simply had to find a better solution.

"Hope and Homes" came to rescue. They raised enough money to buy this house on the outskirts of Kyiv which is today a home for the Batursky's, their own children and seven former street children. Volodia, who is also a talented past-time carpenter and DIY enthusiastic, is now working to renovate the third floor so they can take more children in. They take me on a tour of the house and show me the rooms. Volodia has made all the beds, the chairs, the shelves and tables with his own bare hands "Everything but the TV". Says Tanya and laughs.

"Some kids come and go. Sometimes we fail and they run away, back to the streets. It can be hard and frustrating". Volodia tells me. "I am very clear with them from the beginning about the rules No drinking, smoking or drugs. If they are willing to give it a try, we're there for them". He says opening his arms wide. "This will never work without mutual respect and trust and they know it". He adds.

Volodia shows me a video recording he made on the day one boy, Jenia, arrived. He is a 14 years old, shaved hair and bruised skin. Volodia shows Jenia to his new bed and sits down next to him. The look in Jenia's eyes is of fear and bitterness. Volodia explains the strict rules in a gentle manner. The camera records Volodia's genuine care and patience. Jenia's look of bitterness slowly melts away to be replaced by a somewhat puzzled look. He doesn't quite know what to make of this place and these people who insist on helping him.

At this point Jenia walks into the living room. He is now 19 years old, relaxed and confident. He works and studies. In the future he dreams of getting married and having lots of kids of his own. He looks nothing like that boy Volodia found in the sewers five years ago. Jenia looks at the boy on the TV screen with a mixture of alienation and compassion until the tape is over. He then sits down next to me and says "Feel free to ask me anything -I'm happy to help".

It's already evening now. The rain is still pouring on the windows. Some five kids are standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Jenia, as the oldest, supervises and helps, while Tanya and Volodia drive us back to the rail station. As we drive away from the house, I think: if there is a solution, we've just left it behind us. And if there is light at the end of the tunnel for Kiev's street kids, it must be coming from that window.

Then again, if reading this made you feel relieved, thinking "Thank God the little darlings are alright" then I apologise. I got carried away. Yes, there are solutions. There are places and people that are wonderful enough to offer these kids a warm bed, dry clothes and a better chance. But there are many more children out there seeking shelter from this everlasting rain.