Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures: Celebrating Girl Child Education on International Women’s Day

The individual’s name has been changed and her photo is omitted to protect her privacy.

Four years ago, Francine could have never imagined she’d be speaking on International Women’s Day in front of a crowd of hundreds.

In 2008, Francine lay in a coma in a hospital in Nairobi. Doctors rushed to repair a severe fistula wound while Francine fought to stay alive.

At the age of 11, Francine had been abducted from her home in Northern Uganda and forced to become the wife of an LRA commander. After suffering severe complications from pregnancy in an LRA camp in Democratic Republic of Congo, Francine was airlifted for medical treatment in Kenya.

Francine’s story is one of remarkable wisdom, determination, and service. Knowing that medical care was inferior in her home country, she hid her passport in her Kenyan hospital room so that she could remain in the country until fully recovering from her surgical operation.

Reunited with her family back in Uganda, Francine was determined to return to school. After eight transformative years living in the bush where she was forced to give up her childhood for all the duties of a wife, Francine was too old to attend a normal secondary school. At 19, she walked through the gates of Pader Girls Academy for the first time, where she would spend three years catching up on the education she missed.

Francine was a natural leader. Out of 300 students, she was chosen by her peers to lead the girls as Head Girl of the Academy, serving as the primary representative of student interests at the school. With persistent study, she also excelled academically, earning one of the top scores in the District on the country’s academic assessment exams.

Francine’s success was remarkable, and she never took for granted the opportunity she had been given, nor did she forget the thousands of other girls who returned from captivity without access to education. In 2010, Francine traveled to the United Kingdom to speak to the House of Lords as a representative of all of the girls in Uganda suffering as a result of the war.

For her outstanding performance at the Academy, Francine was one of five girls in her class awarded a scholarship for advanced study in Uganda’s capital. For the first time this week, Francine dressed in a new school uniform as she entered A-level (equivalent to 12th grade/1st year of university in the U.S. system), an achievement of a small and proud minority of Ugandans.

Today, I sat beside this outstanding young woman as she prepared to speak at Uganda’s National Women’s Day Celebration in Kampala. Out of all of the charity’s focused on women’s issues in Uganda, the Pader Girls Academy was chosen as the sole beneficiary of the event’s fundraising activities this year. Beneath a banner that read, “Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures,” the theme of Women’s Day 2012, Francine shared her future goal, to become a human rights lawyer and advocate for other girls affected by war.

Amidst an environment that often seems absent of hope, Francine's future is inspiring. With educated women leaders like Francine—strong, determined, wise, and dedicated to serving others—communities really can change, individual lives can change, and the persistence of violence can change.

Happy Women's Day to women everywhere!

Tabling on behalf of the Pader Girls Academy at the International Women's Day celebration

A trailer for a new documentary on providing education to war-affected girls.

I knew that it could happen, that I could fall in love in Uganda

“You are going to be my friend,” the young girl making my breakfast omelet told me with a big grin on her face.

Every day for two weeks, I stopped by the restaurant/shop that Shami’s parents own as I finished my morning run. Often, I would buy a rolex, the Ugandan version of a breakfast burrito: two eggs cooked with onions and tomato, wrapped in a chapatti (a fried tortilla).

Since coming home from boarding school in Kampala at the end of November, Shami would run out of the shop when she saw me coming to cook my rolex on her hot stone oven and talk to me about her studies, the day ahead, life. On days when there were no eggs available or I wasn’t hungry, I’d stop by just to say hello, buy a slice of bread or a water.

As time drew near for me to depart from Pader for the holidays, I told Shami I’d spend a whole day with her. At eleven years old--old enough to have responsibilities like fetching water and overseeing the shop--Shami needed special permission from her mother to spend the day out.

With her mother’s approval, our date was set.

Shami came by my house early in the morning to tell me the plan for the day: first, we would go to the photo booth in town and have several photos taken; then, she would take me to the mosque; and finally, we would return to her family’s restaurant for a lunch prepared by her mother.

“Don’t forget to wear your long blue dress!” She told me. “It will look perfect with the headscarf I will bring you!”

On our way to the photo booth, Shami spoke excitedly, asking all about my life. She asked if I am the only girl in my family, and explained that she is now; her older sister died of disease. When I explained that I too am the only girl, she responded with delight: “That’s it! We shall be sisters! You will be my older sister in America and we will be sisters forever!”

Little by litte, Shami was stealing my heart.

Shami walked proudly into the photo booth with her muzungu friend and told the shop owner with authority that we would take three photos with the Japanese garden background. We posed like models, then like sisters.

Our giddiness on the walk to the mosque made it feel like we’d skipped the whole way. Shami continued in her cheery manner and told me of her dreams: “Some day, I will be a doctor.”

“You are a very smart girl,” I told her. “You will do it. I know you will!”

“I want to help my family out of poverty, and I want to help other people too. I study very hard in school and have been number one or number two in my class every semester for the past two years!” Shami told me with pride.

My heart beat a little faster.

“Do you like to read?” I asked, hopeful.

“I love to read! I love to read about everything: history and science and even stories. I love to study science, and even though I’m not the best in mathematics, I like to do the work. I am a very hard worker. My parents like it when I am home because I work so hard in the shop, and I am like that in school as well.”

We entered the mosque and sat behind the curtain separating the women from the men. With each warm breeze, the curtain moved just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the imam and men sitting on the mats in front of us.

After prayers, I told Shami I wanted to take her shopping. I had noticed she wore the same worn school uniform most days, and I wanted her to have a new one for the coming school year and a change of clothes for Christmas.

Shami was delighted. When we arrived back to her home, her mom had prepared a huge lunch for us: pasted and non-pasted greens (boiled greens with and without peanut butter), sweet potatoes, beans, peanut butter, and water.

“Mama, mama! My sister has agreed to help me with my math!” Shami told her mother in their native Luganda. “And she wants me to go to University, all the way in America! She says if I keep working hard, I will go to Harvard some day, a university where they pay the school fees if you are poor!”

I looked at my little sister and I believed it. I believed she would become a doctor some day and that she would go to Harvard.

Shami standing behind her mother and three of her brothers

Our Women

Our women became the men they wished to marry.
Out in the land of desperation where the promise had been so bright,
Where the sun rose every day without ceasing, and our skin glistened a dark, luminous color in the sun,
There where Idi forced men to do things unspeakable, there where women saw untold horrors!
And there was great weeping in that land.

Twenty seven guns later

In that land, the men no longer are.
They left a long time ago…
Gone, like the cat to see the king.
They cower, talk in hushed tones in bars, and go home late.
So they never look into their sons’ eyes, and tell them of the value of an honest day’s work.
In that land they all worry about the gum -chewing Englishman, the Frenchman who loves young boys.
The men are all gone from this land.

Twenty seven guns and ten years later

The women looked at their land; saw no men and they were sad.
They searched and looked but the men were hard to find.
Embattled times. When terror brought a nation to its knees, a nation would send out a call for heroes.
But the men were hard to find. And it seemed like a nation might plunge into the abyss.
It seemed that all would be lost.

Twenty seven guns and twenty years later

And the darkness spread further in the land. But not for long because
When our motherland called for heroes, these women stood up to be counted.
Mothers, sisters, cousins, nieces, aunties. They all stood up.
When our motherland called for heroes, they were the fathers of the motherland.
When our motherland called for heroes, these women became the men they wished to marry.

To find the men, they would go. They would groom their sons. They would make them men.

And they raised a generation of Sons and Lovers.
They raised daughters who worked and provided.
Daughters who counseled and handled business.
Who worked and earned and saved.
Women who went to university, and beat the men.
And who dated liberally and occasionally popped the question.
Who took the sick child to hospital, and paid the house bills.
And bought the meat in the house. They took on all these roles and more.

Our women became the men they wished they had married.

By Colin Asiimwe

“They Told Me It Was Impossible”

“When we began taking in the girls, the ones with the little children, they all told me I was crazy.” The lamp created soft yellow shadows upon Alice’s face as she spoke from across the darkness. “They told me it was impossible; that the girls who got pregnant were a lost cause. ‘How could you possibly have a girl with a baby in class?’ They asked, but look at us now, five years out, and our girls are owning businesses, working as nursing assistants, tailors, and even teachers.”

Alice is the Founder and Director of the Christian Counseling Fellowship (CCF) which runs the Pader Girls Academy (PGA), a school that caters to young women who—largely for reasons related to the war—are unable to attend mainstream school. Most of PGA’s 315 girls were abducted by the LRA and became child mothers as a result of forced marriages. Others became mothers at as young as 12 years old because of the notoriously rampant sexual assault which occurred in the IDP camps of Northern Uganda.

I met Alice on my very first day in Pader. When I arrived, it was mid-morning, and a crowd gathered in the town’s soccer field for an Independence Day celebration. Out of curiosity, I went to see the festivities, choosing the last remaining seat which was serendipitously next to Alice.

Alice is an anomaly in Acholiland. At six feet tall, other Ugandans tease her about being “American height,” though her perfectly spoken Lwo, refinement, and taste in bright African dress testify to her Northern Ugandan ancestry. In a society with few female leaders in the public sphere, Alice assails gender norms: she is outspoken, works outside the home as Director of two successful organizations, and remains unwed without biological children despite being in her mid-30s.

Locals call her “Auntie” as a sign of reverence, testament to her importance in the community and exceptional gifts, being both intelligent and compassionate. She interprets her firmly rooted Christian faith as requiring Christ-like love for the meek, and her natural genius has allowed her to accomplish amazing feats without advanced educational training.

I now live in Alice’s compound which offers an open invitation to anyone in need. Among the regular residents is an HIV-positive child, a deaf teenager, an abandoned woman with children, and a constant stream of guests from nearby villages coming to enjoy a free meal and loving company.

The founding of CCF was itself an extraordinary endeavor, requiring courage in a hostile environment. The very idea of educating unwed, child mothers went against Acholi culture and customs. “You will encourage promiscuity!” people criticized. “These girls should be at home with their children, made responsible for what they have done!”

“You know, Jesus never judged,” Alice told me one night as we discussed the motivation behind PGA. “Take the story of Levi where Jesus dined with the sinners, or that of the prostitute where he said ‘He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone.’”

Indeed, the girls of PGA need compassionate support, and they have found it in Alice, the teachers at PGA, and the staff of CCF.

In the weeks since I first learned of PGA and the women’s empowerment work of CCF, I’ve become increasingly inspired to support Alice’s work, to become a part of the lives of the women at PGA and the children impacted by CCF’s programs. As part of PGA’s Peace Club, I am working with the young women to create a foundation of personal peace, to serve their community, and create love and joy for themselves and others. At CCF, I am working to document the organization’s work in child protection, HIV/AIDS, and women’s issues in the region. As part of this, I will be leading a media campaign next year that draws attention to the plight of women in the region and the projects that encourage change and foster hope.

The preacher at PGA's church asked all those in need of prayer to come to the front.

Students of the Pader Girls Academy

PGA Peace Club girls acting out school bullying.

Alice with Mary, a Director at the MacArthur Foundation who chose to provide seed funding for PGA.