We do not choose where to be born. We do not choose who our parents are. But we do choose how we are going to live our lives.
Ne izberemo si sami, kje se rodimo. Ne izberemo si svojih staršev. Si pa izberemo, kako bomo živeli.
I did not choose to be born in South Sudan, a country rife with conflict. I did not choose my name -- Nyiriak, which means "war." I've always rejected it and all the legacy it was born into. I choose to be called Mary. As a teacher, I've stood in front of 120 students, so this stage does not intimidate me.
Nisem si izbrala, da sem se rodila v Južnem Sudanu, deželi, polni konfliktov. Nisem si izbrala svojega imena, Nyiriak, ki pomeni 'vojna'. Vedno sem ga zavračala in prav tako vso dediščino, ki jo prinaša. Izbrala sem si, da me kličejo Mary. Kot učiteljica sem stala pred 120 učenci, tako da me ta oder ne plaši.
My students come from war-torn countries. They're so different from each other, but they have one thing in common: they fled their homes in order to stay alive. Some of them belong to parents back home in South Sudan who are killing each other because they belong to a different tribe or they have a different belief. Others come from other African countries devastated by war. But when they enter my class, they make friends, they walk home together, they do their homework together. There is no hatred allowed in my class.
Moji učenci prihajajo iz držav, uničenih zaradi vojn. Zelo so si različni, a imajo eno skupno stvar: zbežali so od doma, da bi preživeli. Nekateri imajo starše, ki so še vedno doma v Južnem Sudanu, ki ubijajo drug drugega, ker pripadajo različnim plemenom ali imajo drugačna prepričanja. Drugi prihajajo iz drugih afriških držav, uničenih od vojne. A ko vstopijo v mojo učilnico, se spoprijateljijo, skupaj hodijo iz šole domov, skupaj delajo domačo nalogo. V moji učilnici sovraštvo ni dovoljeno.
My story is like that of so many other refugees. The war came when I was still a baby. And my father, who had been absent in most of my early childhood, was doing what other men were doing: fighting for the country. He had two wives and many children. My mother was his second wife, married to him at the age of 16. This is simply because my mother came from a poor background, and she had no choice. My father, on the other hand, was rich. He had many cows.
Moja zgodba je enaka zgodbam mnogih drugih beguncev. Vojna se je začela, ko sem bila še dojenček. Moj oče, ki ni bil prisoten večino mojega zgodnjega otroštva, je počel isto kot vsi drugo moški: boril se je za domovino. Imel je dve ženi in veliko otrok. Moja mama je bila njegova druga žena. Z njim se je poročila pri šestnajstih. Tako je bilo, ker moja mama izhaja iz revne družine in ni imela nobene druge izbire. Moj oče pa je bil bogat. Imel je veliko krav.
Gunshots were the order of the day. My community was constantly under attack. Communities would fight each other as they took water along the Nile. But that was not all. Planes would drop the spinning and terrifying bombs that chopped off people's limbs. But the most terrifying thing for every single parent was to see their children being abducted and turned into young soldiers.
Streljanje je bilo na dnevnem redu. Moja skupnost je bila nenehno napadena. Skupnosti so se borile druga proti drugi, ko so ob Nilu zajemale vodo. A to ni bilo vse. Letala so odmetavala vrteče in strašne bombe, ki so ljudem sekale ude. A najstrašnejša stvar za vsakega starša je bila videti svojega otroka ugrabljenega in spremenjenega v mladega vojaka.
My mother dug a trench that soon became our home. But yet, we did not feel protected. She had to flee in search of a safe place for us. I was four years old, and my younger sister was two. We joined a huge mass of people, and together we walked for many agonizing days in search of a secure place. But we could barely rest before we were attacked again. I remember my mother was pregnant, when she would take turns to carry me and my younger sister.
Moja mama je skopala jarek, ki je kmalu postal naš dom. A vseeno se nismo počutili varne. Morala je pobegniti, da bi našla varno mesto za nas. Imela sem štiri leta, moja mlajša sestra pa dve. Pridružile smo se veliki skupini ljudi in skupaj smo hodile mnogo mučnih dni, da bi našle varen kraj. A komaj smo si malo odpočile, smo bili spet napadeni. Spomnim se, da je bila mama noseča, ko je izmenjaje nosila mene in mojo mlajšo sestro.
We finally made it across the Kenyan border, yes. But that was the longest journey that I have ever had in my whole life. My feet were raw with blisters. To our surprise, we found other family members who had fled into the camp earlier on, where you all are today, the Kakuma camp. Now, I want you all to be very quiet just for a moment. Do you hear that? The sound of silence. No gunshots. Peace, at last. That was my first memory of this camp. When you move from a war zone and come to a secure place like Kakuma, you've really gone far.
Končno nam je uspelo prečkati mejo s Kenijo. A to je bila najdaljša pot v mojem življenju. Moja stopala so bila polna svežih mehurjev. Na naše veliko presenečenje smo našle druge družinske člane, ki so že prej pobegnili v kamp, kjer ste danes, v kamp Kakuma. Zdaj pa bi rada, da ste za trenutek vsi čisto tiho. Slišite? Zvok tišine. Nobenega streljanja. Končno mir. To je moj prvi spomin iz tega kampa. Ko se preseliš iz vojnega območja in prideš na varen kraj, kot je Kakuma, si res prišel daleč.
I only stayed in the camp for three years, though. My father, who had been absent in most of my early childhood, came back into my life. And he organized for me to move with my uncle to our family in Nakuru. There, I found my father's first wife, my half sisters and my half brothers. I got enrolled in school. I remember my first day in school -- I could sing and laugh again -- and my first set of school uniforms, you bet. It was amazing. But then I came to realize that my uncle did not find it fit for me to go to school, simply because I was a girl. My half brothers were his first priority. He would say, "Educating a girl is a waste of time." And for that reason, I missed many days of school, because the fees were not paid. My father stepped in and organized for me to go to boarding school. I remember the faith that he put in me over the couple of years to come. He would say, "Education is an animal that you have to overcome. With an education, you can survive. Education shall be your first husband." And with these words came in his first big investment. I felt lucky!
Tu sem sicer ostala samo tri leta. Moj oče, ki je bil odsoten večino mojega ranega otroštva, se je vrnil v moje življenje. Organiziral je, da sem se lahko preselila k svojemu stricu k naši družini v Nakuru. Tam sem našla očetovo prvo ženo, svoje polsestre in polbrate. Vpisala sem se v šolo. Spomnim se svojega prvega šolskega dne - spet sem lahko pela in se smejala - in moje prve šolske uniforme. Bilo je čudovito. Potem pa sem se zavedla, da se mojemu stricu ni zdelo prav, da hodim v šolo, preprosto zato, ker sem bila deklica. Moji polbratje so bili njegova prioriteta. Govoril je: "Izobraževanje deklet je izguba časa." In zato sem manjkala veliko dni v šoli, ker šolnina ni bila plačana. Moj oče je pristopil in organiziral, da sem šla v internat. Spomnim se vere, ki jo je vtisnil vame v naslednjih nekaj letih. Govoril je: "Izobraževanje je žival, ki jo moraš premagati. Z izobrazbo lahko preživiš. Izobrazba naj bo tvoj prvi mož." In s temi besedami je sprožil svojo prvo naložbo. Počutila sem se srečno!
But I was missing something: my mother. My mother had been left behind in the camp, and I had not seen her since I left it. Six years without seeing her was really long. I was alone, in school, when I heard of her death. I've seen many people back in South Sudan lose their lives. I've heard from neighbors lose their sons, their husbands, their children. But I never thought that that would ever come into my life.
A nekaj sem pogrešala: svojo mamo. Moja mama je ostala v kampu in nisem je videla, odkar sem odšla. Šest let, ko je nisem videla, je bilo res dolgih. Bila sem sama, v šoli, ko sem slišala za njeno smrt. V Južnem Sudanu sem videla veliko ljudi, ki so izgubili življenje. Od sosedov sem slišala, kako so izgubili svoje sinove, može, otroke. Nikoli pa nisem pomislila, da se bo kaj takega zgodilo meni.
A month earlier, my stepmother, who had been so good to me back in Nakuru, died first. Then I came to realize that after giving birth to four girls, my mother had finally given birth to something that could have made her be accepted into the community -- a baby boy, my baby brother. But he, too, joined the list of the dead.
Mesec dni prej je moja mačeha, ki je bila v Nakuruju tako dobra z mano, umrla prva. Takrat sem se zavedla, da je po tem, ko je rodila štiri deklice, moja mama končno rodila nekaj, zaradi česar bi lahko bila v skupnosti sprejeta - dečka, mojega bratca. A tudi on se je zapisal na seznam umrlih.
The most hurting part for me was the fact that I wasn't able to attend my mother's burial. I wasn't allowed. They said her family did not find it fit for her children, who are all girls, to attend her burial, simply because we were girls. They would lament to me and say, "We are sorry, Mary, for your loss. We are sorry that your parents never left behind any children." And I would wonder: What are we? Are we not children? In the mentality of my community, only the boy child counted. And for that reason, I knew this was the end of me.
Najbolj boleče zame je bilo dejstvo, da nisem mogla na mamin pogreb. Ni mi bilo dovoljeno. Rekli so, da se njeni družini ne zdi primerno, da bi njeni otroci, sama dekleta, prisostvovali pogrebu, preprosto zato, ker so dekleta. Objokovali so jo pred menoj in rekli: "Hudo nam je, Mary, za tvojo izgubo. Hudo nam je, da tvoji starši za seboj niso pustili nič otrok." Jaz pa sem se čudila: Kaj pa smo me? Ali me nismo otroci? V mentaliteti moje skupnosti šteje samo otrok moškega spola. Zato sem vedela, da je to zame konec.
But I was the eldest girl. I had to take care of my siblings. I had to ensure they went to school. I was 13 years old. How could I have made that happen? I came back to the camp to take care of my siblings. I've never felt so stuck. But then, one of my aunts, Auntie Okoi, decided to take my sisters. My father sent me money from Juba for me to go back to school. Boarding school was heaven, but it was also so hard. I remember during the visiting days when parents would come to school, and my father would miss. But when he did come, he repeated the same faith in me. This time he would say, "Mary, you cannot go astray, because you are the future of your siblings."
A bila sem najstarejša med dekleti in morala sem skrbeti za svoje sestre. Morala sem poskrbeti, da so hodile v šolo. Stara sem bila trinajst let. Le kako mi je uspelo? Vrnila sem se v kamp, da bi skrbela za sestre. Nikoli se nisem počutila tako ujeto. Potem pa se je ena izmed mojh tet, teta Okoi, odločila vzeti moje sestre. Oče mi je posla denar iz Jube, da bi se vrnila v šolo. Internatska šola je bila nebesa, a tudi težka. Spomnim se dni obiskov, ko so starši prihajali v šolo, mojega očeta pa ni bilo. Ko pa je le prišel, mi je vedno znova vbijal isto vero. Tokrat je govoril: "Mary, ne moreš zaiti na stranpoti, ker si prihodnost svojih sestra."
But then, in 2012, life took away the only thing that I was clinging on. My father died. My grades in school started to collapse, and when I sat for my final high school exams in 2015, I was devastated to receive a C grade. OK, I keep telling students in my class, "It's not about the A's; it's about doing your best." That was not my best. I was determined. I wanted to go back and try again. But my parents were gone. I had no one to take care of me, and I had no one to pay that fee. I felt so hopeless.
Potem, leta 2012, mi je življenje vzelo edino stvar, ki sem se je oklepala. Umrl mi je oče. Moje ocene so se začele nižati in na zaključnih izpitih v srednji šoli leta 2015 sem bila pretresena, ko sem dobila oceno dobro. No prav, svojim učencem pri pouku vedno govorim: "Ne gre za petice, gre za to, da se potrudiš po svojih najboljših močeh." To ni bilo največ, kar sem zmogla. Bila sem odločena. Želela sem se vrniti in poskusiti še enkrat. A bila sem brez staršev. Nikogar nisem imela, ki bi skrbel zame in plačal šolnino. Počutila se se brezupno.
But then, one of my best friends, a beautiful Kenyan lady, Esther Kaecha, called me during this devastating moment, and she was like, "Mary, you have a strong will. And I have a plan, and it's going to work." OK, when you're in those devastating moments, you accept anything, right? So the plan was, she organized some travel money for us to travel to Anester Victory Girls High School. I remember that day so well. It was raining when we entered the principal's office. We were shaking like two chickens that had been rained on, and we looked at him. He was asking, "What do you want?" And we looked at him with the cat face. "We just want to go back to school." Well, believe it or not, he not only paid our school fees but also our uniform and pocket money for food. Clap for him.
Potem pa me je ena mojih najboljših prijateljic, prelepa kenijska dama Esther Kaecha, poklicala v tem strašnem trenutku in rekla: "Mary, ti imaš močno voljo. Jaz pa imam načrt, ki bo deloval." Ko si v takem težkem trenutku, sprejmeš kar koli, kajne? Načrt je bil, da nama bo dobila nekaj potovalnega denarja, da bova odpotovali v srednjo šolo za dekleta Anester Victory. Tistega dne se dobro spomnim. Deževalo je, ko sva vstopili v ravnateljevo pisarno. Tresli sva se kot mokra piščanca in gledali sva ga. Vprašal naju je: "Kaj želita?" Pogledali sva ga z milima obrazoma. "Radi bi šli nazaj v šolo." Verjemite ali ne, ne le da je plačal najino šolnino, ampak tudi najini uniformi in žepnino za hrano. Zaploskajmo mu.
(Applause)
(aplavz)
When I finished my high school career, I became the head girl. And when I sat for the KCSE for a second time, I was able to receive a B minus. Clap.
Ko sem končala s srednješolsko kariero, sem postala glavna. In ko sem drugič opravljala srednješolske izpite, mi je uspelo dobiti minus prav dobro. Zaploskajte.
(Applause)
(aplavz)
Thank you.
Hvala.
So I really want to say thank you to Anester Victory, Mr. Gatimu and the whole Anester fraternity for giving me that chance.
Zato bi se res rada zahvalila šoli Anester Victory, g. Gatimuju in vsej anesterski bratovščini, ker so mi dali priložnost.
From time to time, members of my family will insist that my sister and I should get married so that somebody will take care of us. They will say, "We have a man for you." I really hate the fact that people took us as property rather than children. Sometimes they will jokingly say, "You are going to lose your market value the more educated you become." But the truth is, an educated woman is feared in my community. But I told them, this is not what I want. I don't want to get kids at 16 like my mother did. This is not my life. Even though my sisters and I are suffering, there's no way we are heading in that direction. I refuse to repeat history. Educating a girl will create equal and stable societies. And educated refugees will be the hope of rebuilding their countries someday. Girls and women have a part to play in this just as much as men.
Tu in tam člani moje družine vztrajajo, da bi se jaz in sestre morale poročiti, da bo nekdo skrbel za nas. Rečejo: "Moškega imamo zate." Res sovražim dejstvo, da so nas ljudje jemali kot lastnino, ne pa kot otroke. Včasih se pošalijo: "Izgubljala boš svojo tržno vrednost, bolj ko boš izobražena." A resnica je, da se v moji skupnosti izobraženih žensk bojijo. A povedala sem jim, da to ni to, kar želim. Pri šestnajstih nočem imeti otrok kot moja mama. To ni moje življenje. Čeprav moje sestre in jaz trpimo, nikakor ne gremo v to smer. Ne dovolim, da se zgodovina ponovi. Izobraževanje deklet bo ustvarilo enakopravne in stabilne družbe. Izobraženi begunci bodo upanje, da bodo nekoč ponovno zgradili svoje države. Dekleta in žene igrajo v tem svojo vlogo prav tako kot moški.
Well, we have men in my family that encourage me to move on: my half brothers and also my half sisters. When I finished my high school career, I moved my sisters to Nairobi, where they live with my stepsister. They live 17 people in a house. But don't pity us. The most important thing is that they all get a decent education. The winners of today are the losers of yesterday, but who never gave up. And that is who we are, my sisters and I. And I'm so proud of that. My biggest investment in life --
No, v moji družini imamo tudi moške, ki me vzpodbujajo, naj nadaljujem: moji polbratje in tudi moje polsestre. Ko sem končala srednjo šolo, sem sestre preselila v Nairobi, kjer zdaj živijo z mojo krušno sestro. Sedemnajst ljudi živi v eni hiši. A ne pomilujte nas. Najpomembneje je, da vse dobijo izobrazbo. Današnji zmagovalci so včerajšnji poraženci, ki se niso predali. In to smo moje sestre in jaz. Tako ponosna sem na to. Moja največja investicija v življenju
(Applause)
(aplavz)
is the education of my sisters. Education creates an equal and fair chance for everyone to make it. I personally believe education is not all about the syllabus. It's about friendship. It's about discovering our talents. It's about discovering our destiny. I will, for example, not forget the joy that I had when I first had singing lessons in school, which is still a passion of mine. But I wouldn't have gotten that anywhere else. As a teacher, I see my classroom as a laboratory that not only generates skills and knowledge but also understanding and hope. Let's take a tree. A tree may have its branches cut, but give it water, and it will grow new branches. For the child of war, an education can turn their tears of loss into a passion for peace. And for that reason, I refuse to give up on a single student in my class.
je izobrazba mojih sester. Izobrazba ustvarja enako in pošteno priložnost za vsakogar. Jaz osebno verjamem, da izobrazba ni le učni načrt. Je prijateljstvo. Je odkrivanje novih talentov. Je odkrivanje usode. Nikoli ne bom, na primer, pozabila veselja, ki sem ga občutila, ko sem prvič v šoli imela uro petja, ki je še vedno moja strast. A tega ne bi dobila nikjer drugje. Kot učiteljica vidim svoj razred kot laboratorij, ki ne le poraja spretnosti in znanje, ampak tudi razumevanje in upanje. Poglejmo drevo. Drevesu lahko porežejo veje, a če mu damo vodo, bo pognalo nove veje. Za otroka iz vojne lahko izobraževanje njihove solze izgube spremeni v strast do miru. In zato ne bom obupala nad nobenim svojim učencem.
(Applause)
(aplavz)
Education heals. The school environment gives you a focus to focus ahead. Let's take it this way: when you're busy solving mathematical equations, and you are memorizing poetry, you forget the violence that you witnessed back home. And that is the power of education. It creates this place for peace. Kakuma is teeming with learners. Over 85,000 students are enrolled in schools here, which makes up 40 percent of the refugee population. It includes children who lost years of education because of the war back home. And I want to ask you a question: If education is about building a generation of hope, why are there 120 students packed in my classroom? Why is it that only six percent of the primary school students are making it to high school, simply because we do not have enough places for them? And why is it that only one percent of the secondary school graduates are making it to university?
Izobraževanje zdravi. Šolsko okolje nudi fokus, da se lahko osredotočiš naprej. Poglejmo takole: ko napeto rešuješ matematične enačbe in se na pamet učiš poezijo, pozabiš na nasilje, ki si mu bil priča doma. In to je moč izobraževanja. Ustvarja prostor za mir. Kakuma je polna učencev. Več kot 85.000 jih je tu vpisanih v šole, kar je 40 odstotkov begunske populacije. Vključuje otroke, ki so izgubili leta izobraževanja zaradi vojne doma. Rada bi vam zastavila vprašanje: če je izobraževanje ustvarjanje generacije upanja, zakaj je v moji učilnici 120 učencev? Zakaj le šest odstotkov osnovnošolcev gre naprej v srednjo šolo, ker zanje preprosto nimamo dovolj prostora? In zakaj le en odstotek tistih, ki končajo srednjo šolo, gre na univerzo?
I began by saying that I am a teacher. But once again, I have become a student. In March, I moved to Rwanda on a scholarship program called "Bridge2Rwanda." It prepares scholars for universities. They are able to get a chance to compete for universities abroad. I am now having teachers telling me what to do, instead of the other way round. People are once again investing in me.
Začela sem tako, da sem povedala, da sem učiteljica. A spet sem postala študentka. Marca sem se preselila v Ruando, ker sem dobila štipendijo z imenom Most v Ruando. Strokovnjake pripravlja za univerze. Dobijo lahko priložnost tekmovati za univerze v tujini. Zdaj mi učitelji ukazujejo, kaj naj počnem, namesto da bi bilo obratno. Ljudje spet investirajo vame.
So I want to ask you all to invest in young refugees. Think of the tree that we mentioned earlier. We are the generation to plant it, so that the next generation can water it, and the one that follows will enjoy the shade. They will reap the benefits. And the greatest benefit of them all is an education that will last.
Zato vas prosim, da vsi investirate v mlade begunce. Spomnite se drevesa, ki sem ga prej omenila. Mi smo generacija, ki ga sadimo, da ga bo naslednja lahko zalivala in naslednja uživala v njegovi senci. Oni bodo želi sadove. In največja prednost je trajna izobrazba.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(aplavz)