When I was a young girl, I didn’t even own a pair of shoes. That did not stop me from climbing the tree near my
school when I needed a safe place—a place to feel protected.
To understand why my story is important, it’s important to understand that poverty is about the lack of material
things. It’s not a lack of determination, ambition or hope. My great hope was school, and that hope made me
determined.
I grew up in rural Zimbabwe. I was not raised by my parents, but by distant relatives who were extremely poor. Every
single day was a struggle to find money for food or shelter. Decent clothing was a luxury.
Sometimes neighbors would help with food or shelter for me. Other times, the head of our village pooled the resources
of many to help feed those who had nothing. Looking back, I would say it took an entire village to raise me. That phrase
has become a cliché in many countries, but that is my experience, that is the story of my early life.
For me, school was a promise, a contract for a better life. But that contract comes at a cost: It costs money to buy the
things you need for primary school—money I didn’t have. When I finished those early grades, I was in debt for five
years of school going costs. Yet, my village elders wrote to the school and asked for forgiveness of these costs in
exchange for their work. Faced with that offer, the School Development Committee agreed to cancel my debt, and there I felt my village raising me.
I had never felt at home before school. My teachers became my family—they helped me the most. I felt that they
understood me. Some had gone through similar experiences, so they knew just what it was like for me. They saw me,
they believed in me, and that helped me over time to see myself and come to believe in myself.
I could not stop the power that education grew in me. I had no money for secondary school, but I had knowledge. I
wrote to the headmaster of my primary school to ask if he could help. He went to work and organized support from
teachers who raised the funds for my fees, a uniform, school supplies and shoes. Again, a village.
I pushed forward, often going to school on an empty stomach. I have heard it said that when women move forward, the
world moves with them. Teachers saw my hunger and arranged for meals at school. When I needed supplies, they gave
them to me. They asked for no payment for this—only that I succeed.
That collective support stayed with me. When I graduated secondary school, I was determined to help other girls in
need within my community. I met an organization, The Campaign for Female Education (CAMFED) that believed, as I do, that women represent a hope for a better world. At its heart is a sisterhood of young women just like me, who had completed school against the odds. Together we match our community’s social support with material support. We engage with those in positions of authority to make sure that the most vulnerable girls have what they need to learn and succeed. And as those girls graduate, they join the committees that select other girls in their communities for
CAMFED support. Because they know where to look for those most invisible—girls like me, shoeless, hiding in a tree.
So as a member of the CAMFED Association, our sisterhood, I pledge not to stand by if I can help. Poverty is an injustice
that falls most heavily on girls. I know this to be a fact. And I fully believe that the best way to address this injustice is
to invest in organizations that support the education of young women.
Therefore, I am on a mission to bring justice to the lives of women. What my village was able to do for me as an
individual, CAMFED is enabling across 6,787 school communities, with more than 177,000 young women leading
programs that aim to deliver financial and social support for another 5 million girls to go to school and thrive—all in
just five years.
That mission isn’t lofty or abstract to me—it is a practical pursuit that I work at every day of my life. Now, I am a
mentor to girls at my local school, a fundraiser in my community, someone fighting hunger. Changing the status quo
for those at the margins is like working a dry field and bringing forth a crop. It is hard work. If a girl misses a day of
school, I am there bringing her back to school. If there isn’t enough money for a girl to pay for school, I will talk to
anyone, go anywhere to find the money. If a girl is faced with early marriage or abuse, I step in. If she lacks belief in
herself, I ask her to look at me. To see what is possible.
And one more thing: I wear shoes almost every day now. But, sometimes, I run in my bare feet. Because I cannot forget
that the race is long and must be run every day.
Source: msmagazine
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