Image credit: ChatGPT
My name is Sarah, and this is the story of my life journey. I woke up in a small house about 900 miles from my home country, with thin walls and shuttered doors and windows. In Dowa district, Malawi, all houses gather together, and there are no secrets between neighbors. The flaming sun hung in the sky, painting the Dzaleka refugee camp with its relentless heat. This camp, a refuge for those fleeing conflict and insecurity, is home to thousands who share stories of loss and resilience. Dense dust circulates in the air, creating a clouded backdrop to our daily lives, a reminder of the harsh reality we endured while seeking hope and stability in this new community. I moved here after escaping the disaster in my home country, where my father’s sibling, driven by jealousy over inheritance, posed a real threat to our safety. They organized a group of bandits, known as Mai-Mai, to ambush my father on his way home. Thankfully, a Good Samaritan intervened and took him to the hospital, saving his life. But the danger was too grave for us to stay.
I was fourteen years old and had lived in this camp for as long as I can remember. Despite its challenges, my life here revolved around one inspiration: education as the key to my success. Every morning, I woke before daylight to roosters crowing and the faint whispers of my parents planning the day. My father, who used to be a carpenter back in Congo, encouraged me to learn. He often told me, “Knowledge is a treasure no one can take from you. To build a bright future, you must use it.”
Our school was a makeshift classroom constructed from bricks, topped with a roof of solid timbers and iron sheets provided by UNHCR. These roofs offered essential protection from the heavy rains and scorching sun, but they also trapped heat, making the classroom uncomfortable during the hottest hours. It’s a decent school for refugees; we have a laboratory and a library where most of the books are stored, but it wasn’t large enough to accommodate all the eager students seeking knowledge. Despite having good resources, the school struggles with poor records in government examinations and disappointing performances. Many students did not take their education seriously. Instead, they relied on UNHCR to facilitate their resettlement to immigrate, believing that would solve their problems, but it took many years, approximately ten years. As a result, students often lack motivation, leaving those of us dedicated to pursuing our studies alone, striving for success in a place where opportunity feels scarce.
One morning, as the sun began its ascent, Mr. Koma, our head teacher, called an assembly. His face was a mask of solemnity as he approached the students and parents. There was a murmur of curiosity among us. “We have received an incredible opportunity,” he announced, his voice quivering slightly with excitement. “A sponsorship has been made for thirty students to start university life in Canada. But this is not just about winning—it’s about proving that you’re ready for the challenge,” he added.
A wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. For a moment, the annoying heat and the dusty conditions of the camp faded away. My heart raced as I imagined what life might be like beyond the confines of Dzaleka. Mr. Koma outlined the requirements: a candidate must have all verified documents for refugees from UNHCR, academic excellence with good points in the MANEB exam with required points in the English course, and a total score that met the maximum points across all six subjects. They must be between 18–25 years old. There was a series of English tests and an interview with a Canadian lawyer. My pulse quickened. I knew I had to be among the best to earn this scholarship. This was my chance to escape the limitations of camp life and pursue something greater. I sat at the small desk in my room every evening after school. The only light came from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a faint glow over my textbooks.
My father often helped me with my studies, and my siblings occasionally offered me encouragement. My mother worked tirelessly to keep our home running smoothly, ensuring I had the time and space to focus on my studies. Many girls in the camp were not focused on studying; they were preoccupied with the idea of getting married after high school. They said I would not get married, as boys were afraid of girls who owned a degree and would not understand a man’s needs. I approached my schoolwork with relentless determination. I stayed up late, mastering grammar and dissecting literary essays. I practiced writing and sought help from other students, not just to pass exams but to articulate my ideas and experiences. My goal was not merely to win the scholarship but to prove to myself that I could achieve my dream. The sponsorship application process was intense. I had to write about my life in the camp and how I left my home country, detailing the struggles and triumphs that have shaped me. I poured my heart into those essays and tackled multiple-choice questions on subject-verb agreement, sharing stories of resilience and hope. Each word testified to my life and my unwavering belief in a better future.
A month later, the shortlist for the interview was posted, and I was among the selected candidates. It was my first time doing an interview. I started downloading some videos and learning some strategies to prepare. As the deadline approached, my days became busy with studying, writing, and revising. I felt a combination of exhaustion and exhilaration. The thought of moving to Canada, with its promise of a new life and endless possibilities, kept me going. I imagined walking through the bustling streets of a new city, attending a modern school, making friends from diverse backgrounds, and becoming the first to attend university abroad, serving as a source of strength and support for my family.
The day of the announcement finally arrived. The final list was posted on the dashboard in the UNHCR compound, and the camp was abuzz with anticipation. I was at the food distribution area, where refugees receive food and other essential goods. This is a vital lifeline for many of us, as it ensured we had enough to eat and access to basic necessities. As I stood in line, surrounded by familiar faces, one of my friends called to congratulate me on being among the 30 students selected to go to Canada in 2018. I was thrilled and started crying. People looked at me like a mad girl. I took my belongings and ran home. Reaching home, I threw the items in my hands up in the air and joyfully shared the good news with my family. A wave of joy and disbelief washed over them when I said I was selected to go to the University of Victoria, Canada, to start my new academic life and get my dream degree in psychology. My legs felt weak as I walked toward my father, where he sat, and he wrapped me in a warm congratulatory hug.
The camp erupted into cheers, and I felt tears of happiness streaming down my face. It was as if the weight of years of hard work and sacrifice had been lifted in that single, triumphant moment. Preparing to leave the camp is both thrilling and overwhelming. The camp had been my home for eight years, a place of struggle and support. As I packed my few belongings, I said goodbye to friends and family, promising to make the most of this opportunity. I hoped to reunite with my family again, as they were still in the camp. The process of refugee migration takes time.
Arriving in Canada was a whirlwind of new experiences. The cold weather contrasted sharply with the heat of Dzaleka, and the city was a bustling maze of skyscrapers and cars. I was greeted by representatives from the sponsorship organization who helped me settle into my new life. The transition was challenging. I was immersed in a new education system and culture but determined to adapt. My classes were demanding, and the pace of life was fast, but each day brought new opportunities for learning and growth. I embraced every challenge with the same ambition that had carried me from the camp to there. I found comfort in the library, where I could escape into the books and explore new subjects. I joined clubs and activities, eager to immerse myself in this new world. No matter how small, each success felt like a victory, a testament to the strength and resilience that brought me from Dzaleka to Canada.
Graduation day was the culmination of my journey. As I walked across the stage to receive my diploma in psychology from the University of Victoria, I reflected on the path that had brought me here—from the dusty classrooms of Dzaleka to the modern halls of my Canadian school. Wearing a black dress with white high heels and a brown wig, a look that made me feel both confident and proud. Yet, despite the moment’s joy, I felt sad because my parents and siblings were not there to celebrate with me. Every step was a witness to my hard work and the support of those who believed in me.
Looking back, I realize that the sponsorship was not just a chance for a new beginning but a symbol of hope and perseverance. It represented the belief that even in the most challenging circumstances, there is always a possibility for change and growth.
As I stepped into the future, I carried the lessons from the camp and the dreams of a brighter tomorrow. My journey from Dzaleka to Canada was more than a change of scenery; it was a testament to the power of hope, determination, and the belief that a better life is always within reach if you’re willing to work for it. And so, as I looked out at the world before me, I knew that my story was beginning. The journey from the refugee camp to a new life is a chapter in a larger narrative of dreams fulfilled and possibilities yet to be realized. The path ahead is filled with new opportunities, and I am ready to embrace it with the same unwavering determination that has guided me all along.
