In November 2020 Aklilu packed his bags for a trip from his university in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, to meet his family in Humera, a small town nestled in the most northwestern part of the country. Like other soon-to-be college graduates, Aklilu was already job hunting and planning to celebrate. “I’ll see you in five weeks for our graduation ceremony,” Aklilu told his friends.
A few days after Aklilu returned to his family home in Humera, mortar-fire ripped through the small town. Conflict started between the federal government of Ethiopia and the Tigrayan Defence Force. Aklilu hurried across the border into Sudan for safety. Today, over 60,000 Ethiopians have poured into Sudan for safety like Aklilu.
Aklilu fled into Sudan with nothing and left his education in Ethiopia behind. Once proficient in the backroom politics of Chelsea football club and a top structural engineering student, Aklilu kicks dirt and waits for updates about the war in Ethiopia. He wonders if the past five years of college education have been for nothing.
“We never expected this could happen. I had heard there were issues, but to me they were just politics. I never knew things could become this bad,” Aklilu says.
When Aklilu arrived at the Um Rakuba refugee camp he lived with his mother, brother, grandmother, aunt, uncle and cousins under a blue tarp that hung over bundled-together wood. A latrine was nearby and the smell overtook the morning coffee his grandmother made. A few weeks later, his family relocated to another space and were given a white tent with a gracious opening in the front and back. But in the rainy season the tent became a parachute. Aklilu and other refugees became bleary eyed by holding the tent down each night to stave off the winds.
“When I was in Ethiopia, I loved the rainy season. You can’t do anything but sit and watch the rain come down. That was my favourite moment,” says Aklilu.
Around 1,655 other university students feel abandoned in the refugee camps like Aklilu. In Umm Rakuba there are 76 university students who have formed a group, called the Tigrayan Refugees University Students in Sudan Association, or TRUSS. The association’s document lay out why their future is in doubt.   
“Going back is like choosing death,” one letter the association wrote to a visitor says. “Universities in Tigray are highly damaged and destroyed…universities outside of Tigray are giving services at this time but most Tigrayan University students are afraid to go there because of their identity." Youth like Aklilu cannot back home to continue their education in the universities of Ethiopia in fear of the violence and discrimination they might encounter for being Tigrayans.
“A result of the conflict in Ethiopia is that some of the brightest minds in the country are confined to refugee camps in Sudan,” said Will Carter, Sudan Country Director at the Norwegian Refugee Council. “If these students are given a chance somewhere, they’d be a spark for whomever accepts them.”


But TRUSS students want more than acceptance into a University — they want a university to recognize their past work.
Many hurdles stand in the way of Aklilu getting his degree. When the violence started, many like Aklilu fled and left behind most of their valuables, including their civil documents, identity cards, and education records. As result, they are now unable to provide proof for who they are or how far along they got in university. Also, in a camp where the scarce amount of money they have is barely enough for food, the students cannot afford paying for registration, books, transportation, and accommodation.  The only solution would be a full-board scholarship.
Recently, Aklilu has been exploring going to a university in Ghana under a scholarship. However, this scholarship likely means that students lose the progress they have made in university and start from scratch. 
Aklilu, like the other senior students in the camp, is frustrated that he probably has to spend another five years studying for a Civil Engineering Degree he was only five weeks away from receiving.
“We are waiting for the opportunity for a university that will accept to acknowledge the credit we have from the university back home. If we accept to start over, we will be 30 years old by the time we graduate. We might not find a job for a long time over. We will be wasting a lot of time in our life,” says Aklilu.On a Friday morning, members of the association gather in a communal tent for their weekly meeting. They have organized themselves into committees and are planning their week ahead. One group will fundraise among other refugees to help an isolated elderly woman in the camp; another one will meet other students and youth in the camp to connect them with NGOs.
While they wait for education, the students in TRUSS and other youth act like community mobilizers. Truss has been helping organizations like NRC to re-build shelters, organize cash distributions, facilitate children registration in school, as well as raising community issues. They receive stipends from organizations, which help them support their families. 
“I liked watching movies and series back home, but I like it even more now because there’s nothing much else to do,” says Bisrat, one of Aklilu’s close friends, who now works for NRC.
The students feel trapped in part because they are. The 2014 Asylum Act gives refugees the right to move and seek an education, but in reality, they are contained to the camp. The encampment policy enforced for refugees prevents all the residents to leave the site, cutting them access to jobs and markets and curtailing their freedom of movement.
“Tigrayan refugees cannot leave the camp unless they acquire a permit from authorities for worthy reasons, linked to education, health, or jobs. Unfortunately, these permits are very hard to get – it becomes a vicious circle. They can’t get many opportunities to leave the camp, if they can’t leave the camp to look for them,” says Silvia Beccacece, former NRC Gadarif Area Manager.
Kids in the camp get access to education but are not much better off. Thanks to help from the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affair, NRC was one of the first organizations to respond to learning needs in Umm Rakuba. Since then, NRC has been able to expand the quality and durability of the schools with the help of Education Cannot Wait. Around 2,050 children, aged between 6 and 14, go to the four schools NRC has built in different areas of the camp. Resources remain limited. The only textbooks available were ferried across from Ethiopia, and the children attend their classes by sitting on the floors of sand.
Still, students are grateful for what they receive. Nati Teame, 10, is one of NRC’s schoolchildren in the Um Rakuba camp. 
“I wake up in the morning and pass the time until it’s time for school. I’ve never been late,” Nati said. “My parents never got the chance to be educated, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to me.”

Photo: Ingrid/Prestetun

Das größte Geschenk ist es, meine Freunde um mich zu haben

Eben war Aklilu noch ein begabter Bauingenieurstudent, der eine vielversprechende Zukunft vor sich hatte. Im nächsten Moment war er ein Flüchtling, der in einem notdürftig errichteten Zelt lebte. Aber Aklilu weigert sich aufzugeben. In dem Lager, in dem er derzeit lebt, hat er mit einer Gruppe von Mitstudierenden einen Jugendverband gegründet. Sie sind entschlossen, das Leben in ihrer Gemeinde zu verbessern.

Im November 2020 packte Aklilu seine Taschen, um zu seiner Universität in Addis Ababa, der Hauptstadt Äthiopiens, zurückzufahren. Er hatte wegen des Corona-Lockdowns ein paar Monate bei seiner Familie in Humera verbracht, einer kleinen Stadt im äußersten Nordwesten des Landes. Aklilu freute sich darauf, wieder zu studieren und seinen Abschluss zu machen.

Wie viele andere angehende Absolventinnen und Absolventen war Aklilu bereits auf Jobsuche und hatte Pläne für seine Abschlussfeier. „Wir sehen uns in fünf Wochen bei der Abschlussfeier“, sagte er zu seinen Freunden in Humera.

Ein paar Stunden später wurde die Stadt angegriffen. Es war der Beginn eines Konflikts zwischen der äthiopischen Regierung und bewaffneten Gruppen in der Region Tigray. Aklilu floh über die Grenze in den Sudan – als einer von 60.000 Äthiopierinnen und Äthiopiern, die seitdem Zuflucht im Sudan gesucht haben.

"Wir hätten niemals damit gerechnet, dass das passieren könnte. Ich hatte gehört, dass es Probleme gab, aber für mich war das nur Politik."
Aklilu

Leben unter einer Plane

Aklilu ließ bei seiner Flucht alles stehen und liegen, nicht nur seinen gesamten Besitz, sondern auch seine Ausbildung in Äthiopien. Einst war er ausgezeichneter Bauingenieurstudent, jetzt lebt er in einem Flüchtlingslager und wartet auf Neuigkeiten aus dem Krieg, der in seiner Heimat tobt. Er fragt sich, ob die vergangenen fünf Jahre seines Studiums nun ganz umsonst waren.

„Wir hätten niemals damit gerechnet, dass das passieren könnte. Ich hatte gehört, dass es Probleme gab, aber für mich war das nur Politik. Mir war nicht klar, dass es so schlimm werden könnte“, sagt Aklilu.

In November 2020 Aklilu packed his bags for a trip from his university in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, to meet his family in Humera, a small town nestled in the most northwestern part of the country. Like other soon-to-be college graduates, Aklilu was already job hunting and planning to celebrate. “I’ll see you in five weeks for our graduation ceremony,” Aklilu told his friends.
A few days after Aklilu returned to his family home in Humera, mortar-fire ripped through the small town. Conflict started between the federal government of Ethiopia and the Tigrayan Defence Force. Aklilu hurried across the border into Sudan for safety. Today, over 60,000 Ethiopians have poured into Sudan for safety like Aklilu.
Aklilu fled into Sudan with nothing and left his education in Ethiopia behind. Once proficient in the backroom politics of Chelsea football club and a top structural engineering student, Aklilu kicks dirt and waits for updates about the war in Ethiopia. He wonders if the past five years of college education have been for nothing.
“We never expected this could happen. I had heard there were issues, but to me they were just politics. I never knew things could become this bad,” Aklilu says.
When Aklilu arrived at the Um Rakuba refugee camp he lived with his mother, brother, grandmother, aunt, uncle and cousins under a blue tarp that hung over bundled-together wood. A latrine was nearby and the smell overtook the morning coffee his grandmother made. A few weeks later, his family relocated to another space and were given a white tent with a gracious opening in the front and back. But in the rainy season the tent became a parachute. Aklilu and other refugees became bleary eyed by holding the tent down each night to stave off the winds.
“When I was in Ethiopia, I loved the rainy season. You can’t do anything but sit and watch the rain come down. That was my favourite moment,” says Aklilu.
Around 1,655 other university students feel abandoned in the refugee camps like Aklilu. In Umm Rakuba there are 76 university students who have formed a group, called the Tigrayan Refugees University Students in Sudan Association, or TRUSS. The association’s document lay out why their future is in doubt.   
“Going back is like choosing death,” one letter the association wrote to a visitor says. “Universities in Tigray are highly damaged and destroyed…universities outside of Tigray are giving services at this time but most Tigrayan University students are afraid to go there because of their identity." Youth like Aklilu cannot back home to continue their education in the universities of Ethiopia in fear of the violence and discrimination they might encounter for being Tigrayans.
“A result of the conflict in Ethiopia is that some of the brightest minds in the country are confined to refugee camps in Sudan,” said Will Carter, Sudan Country Director at the Norwegian Refugee Council. “If these students are given a chance somewhere, they’d be a spark for whomever accepts them.”


But TRUSS students want more than acceptance into a University — they want a university to recognize their past work.
Many hurdles stand in the way of Aklilu getting his degree. When the violence started, many like Aklilu fled and left behind most of their valuables, including their civil documents, identity cards, and education records. As result, they are now unable to provide proof for who they are or how far along they got in university. Also, in a camp where the scarce amount of money they have is barely enough for food, the students cannot afford paying for registration, books, transportation, and accommodation.  The only solution would be a full-board scholarship.
Recently, Aklilu has been exploring going to a university in Ghana under a scholarship. However, this scholarship likely means that students lose the progress they have made in university and start from scratch. 
Aklilu, like the other senior students in the camp, is frustrated that he probably has to spend another five years studying for a Civil Engineering Degree he was only five weeks away from receiving.
“We are waiting for the opportunity for a university that will accept to acknowledge the credit we have from the university back home. If we accept to start over, we will be 30 years old by the time we graduate. We might not find a job for a long time over. We will be wasting a lot of time in our life,” says Aklilu.On a Friday morning, members of the association gather in a communal tent for their weekly meeting. They have organized themselves into committees and are planning their week ahead. One group will fundraise among other refugees to help an isolated elderly woman in the camp; another one will meet other students and youth in the camp to connect them with NGOs.
While they wait for education, the students in TRUSS and other youth act like community mobilizers. Truss has been helping organizations like NRC to re-build shelters, organize cash distributions, facilitate children registration in school, as well as raising community issues. They receive stipends from organizations, which help them support their families. 
“I liked watching movies and series back home, but I like it even more now because there’s nothing much else to do,” says Bisrat, one of Aklilu’s close friends, who now works for NRC.
The students feel trapped in part because they are. The 2014 Asylum Act gives refugees the right to move and seek an education, but in reality, they are contained to the camp. The encampment policy enforced for refugees prevents all the residents to leave the site, cutting them access to jobs and markets and curtailing their freedom of movement.
“Tigrayan refugees cannot leave the camp unless they acquire a permit from authorities for worthy reasons, linked to education, health, or jobs. Unfortunately, these permits are very hard to get – it becomes a vicious circle. They can’t get many opportunities to leave the camp, if they can’t leave the camp to look for them,” says Silvia Beccacece, former NRC Gadarif Area Manager.
Kids in the camp get access to education but are not much better off. Thanks to help from the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affair, NRC was one of the first organizations to respond to learning needs in Umm Rakuba. Since then, NRC has been able to expand the quality and durability of the schools with the help of Education Cannot Wait. Around 2,050 children, aged between 6 and 14, go to the four schools NRC has built in different areas of the camp. Resources remain limited. The only textbooks available were ferried across from Ethiopia, and the children attend their classes by sitting on the floors of sand.
Still, students are grateful for what they receive. Nati Teame, 10, is one of NRC’s schoolchildren in the Um Rakuba camp. 
“I wake up in the morning and pass the time until it’s time for school. I’ve never been late,” Nati said. “My parents never got the chance to be educated, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to me.”

Photo: Ingrid/Prestetun
Lesen Beschriftung Aklilu mit dem Lager Um Rakuba im Hintergrund. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/NRC Flüchtlingshilfe

Als Aklilu im Flüchtlingslager Um Rakuba ankam, lebte er mit seiner Familie zunächst unter einer blauen Plane, die über einem notdürftig zusammengezimmerten Holzgerüst hing. Ganz in der Nähe befand sich eine Latrine. Der Gestank übertünchte den Geruch des Kaffees, den seine Großmutter jeden Morgen kochte.

Ein paar Wochen später zog die Familie an einen anderen Platz und bekam ein weißes Zelt mit einer großen Öffnung an der Vorder- und Rückseite. Während der Regenzeit wurde das Zelt jedoch zum Fallschirm. Aklilu bekam trübe Augen, weil er Nacht für Nacht das Zelt festhalten musste, damit es nicht vom Wind davongeweht wurde.

„Als ich noch in Äthiopien war, liebte ich die Regenzeit. Man kann nichts tun, außer dazusitzen und dem Regen zuzusehen. Das war meine liebste Jahreszeit“, sagt Aklilu.

Bildung auf Eis gelegt

Rund 1.655 weitere Studierende aus Tigray leben derzeit in Flüchtlingslagern im Sudan. Sie fühlen sich im Stich gelassen.

„Eine Folge des Konflikts in Äthiopien ist, dass einige der hellsten Köpfe des Landes in Flüchtlingslagern im Sudan festsitzen“, sagt Will Carter, Landesdirektor für NRC Flüchtlingshilfe im Sudan. „Wenn diese Studierenden woanders eine Chance bekämen, wären sie für jeden, der sie aufnimmt, eine Bereicherung.“

Auf dem Weg zu seinem Abschluss war Aklilu mit vielen Stolpersteinen konfrontiert. Als die Gewalt ausbrach, floh er und musste, wie viele andere, seinen Personalausweis und seine Studiennachweise zurücklassen. Daher können die Studierenden nun weder nachweisen, wer sie sind, noch wie weit sie mit ihrem Studium bereits fortgeschritten waren. Auch Geld ist ein Problem.

"Möglicherweise werden wir für lange Zeit keine Arbeit finden. Wir würden eine Menge Lebenszeit verschwenden."
Aklilu

Vor Kurzem hat Aklilu mit dem Gedanken gespielt, mit einem Stipendium an einer Universität in Ghana zu studieren. Solche Stipendien bedeuten allerdings in der Regel, dass Studierende ihre gesamten bisher erzielten Studienergebnisse verlieren und komplett von vorne anfangen müssen.

Aklilu frustriert es, dass er weitere fünf Jahre Bauingenieurwesen studieren müsste, um einen Abschluss zu bekommen, von dem er in Äthiopien nur noch fünf Wochen entfernt war.

„Wir versuchen, eine Universität zu finden, die unsere Leistungsnachweise von unserer Uni zu Hause anerkennt. Wenn wir von vorne anfangen müssen, sind wir 30, bis wir fertig sind. Möglicherweise werden wir für lange Zeit keine Arbeit finden. Wir würden eine Menge Lebenszeit verschwenden“, sagt Aklilu.

 

“Wie im Gefängnis“

Das Leben im Flüchtlingslager Um Rakuba ist frustrierend für junge Menschen, die daran gewöhnt sind, sich für ihr Studium und die Jobsuche frei bewegen zu können.

„Das Schlimmste daran, in einem Flüchtlingslager zu leben, ist, dass man sich nicht frei bewegen kann“, erklärt Aklilu. „Es ist wie im Gefängnis. Es ist schwierig, weil jeder die Freiheit haben muss, zu arbeiten und zu tun, was er möchte.“

In November 2020 Aklilu packed his bags for a trip from his university in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, to meet his family in Humera, a small town nestled in the most northwestern part of the country. Like other soon-to-be college graduates, Aklilu was already job hunting and planning to celebrate. “I’ll see you in five weeks for our graduation ceremony,” Aklilu told his friends.
A few days after Aklilu returned to his family home in Humera, mortar-fire ripped through the small town. Conflict started between the federal government of Ethiopia and the Tigrayan Defence Force. Aklilu hurried across the border into Sudan for safety. Today, over 60,000 Ethiopians have poured into Sudan for safety like Aklilu.
Aklilu fled into Sudan with nothing and left his education in Ethiopia behind. Once proficient in the backroom politics of Chelsea football club and a top structural engineering student, Aklilu kicks dirt and waits for updates about the war in Ethiopia. He wonders if the past five years of college education have been for nothing.
“We never expected this could happen. I had heard there were issues, but to me they were just politics. I never knew things could become this bad,” Aklilu says.
When Aklilu arrived at the Um Rakuba refugee camp he lived with his mother, brother, grandmother, aunt, uncle and cousins under a blue tarp that hung over bundled-together wood. A latrine was nearby and the smell overtook the morning coffee his grandmother made. A few weeks later, his family relocated to another space and were given a white tent with a gracious opening in the front and back. But in the rainy season the tent became a parachute. Aklilu and other refugees became bleary eyed by holding the tent down each night to stave off the winds.
“When I was in Ethiopia, I loved the rainy season. You can’t do anything but sit and watch the rain come down. That was my favourite moment,” says Aklilu.
Around 1,655 other university students feel abandoned in the refugee camps like Aklilu. In Umm Rakuba there are 76 university students who have formed a group, called the Tigrayan Refugees University Students in Sudan Association, or TRUSS. The association’s document lay out why their future is in doubt.   
“Going back is like choosing death,” one letter the association wrote to a visitor says. “Universities in Tigray are highly damaged and destroyed…universities outside of Tigray are giving services at this time but most Tigrayan University students are afraid to go there because of their identity." Youth like Aklilu cannot back home to continue their education in the universities of Ethiopia in fear of the violence and discrimination they might encounter for being Tigrayans.
“A result of the conflict in Ethiopia is that some of the brightest minds in the country are confined to refugee camps in Sudan,” said Will Carter, Sudan Country Director at the Norwegian Refugee Council. “If these students are given a chance somewhere, they’d be a spark for whomever accepts them.”


But TRUSS students want more than acceptance into a University — they want a university to recognize their past work.
Many hurdles stand in the way of Aklilu getting his degree. When the violence started, many like Aklilu fled and left behind most of their valuables, including their civil documents, identity cards, and education records. As result, they are now unable to provide proof for who they are or how far along they got in university. Also, in a camp where the scarce amount of money they have is barely enough for food, the students cannot afford paying for registration, books, transportation, and accommodation.  The only solution would be a full-board scholarship.
Recently, Aklilu has been exploring going to a university in Ghana under a scholarship. However, this scholarship likely means that students lose the progress they have made in university and start from scratch. 
Aklilu, like the other senior students in the camp, is frustrated that he probably has to spend another five years studying for a Civil Engineering Degree he was only five weeks away from receiving.
“We are waiting for the opportunity for a university that will accept to acknowledge the credit we have from the university back home. If we accept to start over, we will be 30 years old by the time we graduate. We might not find a job for a long time over. We will be wasting a lot of time in our life,” says Aklilu.On a Friday morning, members of the association gather in a communal tent for their weekly meeting. They have organized themselves into committees and are planning their week ahead. One group will fundraise among other refugees to help an isolated elderly woman in the camp; another one will meet other students and youth in the camp to connect them with NGOs.
While they wait for education, the students in TRUSS and other youth act like community mobilizers. Truss has been helping organizations like NRC to re-build shelters, organize cash distributions, facilitate children registration in school, as well as raising community issues. They receive stipends from organizations, which help them support their families. 
“I liked watching movies and series back home, but I like it even more now because there’s nothing much else to do,” says Bisrat, one of Aklilu’s close friends, who now works for NRC.
The students feel trapped in part because they are. The 2014 Asylum Act gives refugees the right to move and seek an education, but in reality, they are contained to the camp. The encampment policy enforced for refugees prevents all the residents to leave the site, cutting them access to jobs and markets and curtailing their freedom of movement.
“Tigrayan refugees cannot leave the camp unless they acquire a permit from authorities for worthy reasons, linked to education, health, or jobs. Unfortunately, these permits are very hard to get – it becomes a vicious circle. They can’t get many opportunities to leave the camp, if they can’t leave the camp to look for them,” says Silvia Beccacece, former NRC Gadarif Area Manager.
Kids in the camp get access to education but are not much better off. Thanks to help from the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affair, NRC was one of the first organizations to respond to learning needs in Umm Rakuba. Since then, NRC has been able to expand the quality and durability of the schools with the help of Education Cannot Wait. Around 2,050 children, aged between 6 and 14, go to the four schools NRC has built in different areas of the camp. Resources remain limited. The only textbooks available were ferried across from Ethiopia, and the children attend their classes by sitting on the floors of sand.
Still, students are grateful for what they receive. Nati Teame, 10, is one of NRC’s schoolchildren in the Um Rakuba camp. 
“I wake up in the morning and pass the time until it’s time for school. I’ve never been late,” Nati said. “My parents never got the chance to be educated, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to me.”

Photo: Ingrid/Prestetun
Lesen Beschriftung „Das Schlimmste daran, in einem Flüchtlingslager zu leben, ist, dass man sich nicht frei bewegen kann“, erklärt Aklilu. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/NRC Flüchtlingshilfe

Das sudanesische Asylgesetz von 2014 sichert Geflüchteten das Recht zu, sich frei zu bewegen und eine Ausbildung zu erwerben. In der Realität endet ihre Bewegungsfreiheit jedoch an den Grenzen des Lagers. Die Lagerpolitik verbietet es den Bewohnerinnen und Bewohner, das Gelände zu verlassen, womit auch ihr Zugang zu Arbeitsplätzen und Märkten eingeschränkt ist.

Silvia Beccacece, ehemalige Bereichsleiterin bei NRC Flüchtlingshilfe, erklärt:

„Äthiopische Flüchtlinge dürfen das Lager nicht verlassen, solange sie keine Erlaubnis von den Behörden haben. Diese wird nur bei triftigen Gründen erteilt, die mit Bildung, Gesundheit oder Arbeit zu tun haben. Leider sind diese Genehmigungen sehr schwer zu bekommen – es ist also ein Teufelskreis. Sie können das Lager nicht verlassen, um nach Arbeitsmöglichkeiten zu suchen und haben daher auch keine Chance, jemals eine Erlaubnis zu bekommen.“

Unterstützung im Miteinander

Trotz aller Widrigkeiten haben die Studierenden im Lager Unterstützung im Miteinander gefunden. Sie haben eine Gruppe namens Tigrayan Refugees University Students in Sudan Association, kurz TRUSS, gegründet.

Aklilu ist eins der Gründungsmitglieder. „Wenn wir über unsere Gefühle sprechen und zusammen sind, ist es leichter“, sagt er.

Aklilu and his friends  at a cafe in UM RAKUBA refugee camp.

Photo: Ingrid Prestetun/NRC
Lesen Beschriftung Aklilu entspannt sich mit ein paar Freunden. „Das größte Geschenk ist es, meine Freunde um mich zu haben“, sagt er. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/NRC Flüchtlingshilfe

Die TRUSS-Studentinnen und -Studenten haben aber nicht nur ihre Ausbildung im Blick, sondern mobilisieren gemeinsam mit anderen jungen Menschen im Lager auch die Gemeinde.

„Die Gemeinde braucht hier im Lager so viele Dinge, und wir können etwas für sie tun“, fährt Aklilu fort. „Wir überlegen, wie wir das Leben in diesem Lager sowohl für die Jugendlichen als auch für die gesamte Gemeinde angenehmer gestalten können. Das ist unser Ziel als Verband und als Gruppe. Denn Zusammenhalt ist sehr wichtig.“

 

Ich habe die Hoffnung nicht verloren“

Jeden Freitagmorgen versammeln sich die Mitglieder des Verbandes in einem Gemeinschaftszelt zu ihrem wöchentlichen Meeting. Sie haben Komitees gegründet und planen die kommende Woche.

Eine Gruppe sammelt unter der Lagerbevölkerung Spenden, um einer alleinstehenden älteren Frau im Lager zu helfen. Eine andere Gruppe trifft andere Studierende und Jugendliche, um für sie den Kontakt mit Hilfsorganisationen herzustellen.

"Was mich optimistisch stimmt, ist die Tatsache, dass ich hier Freunde habe, und dass wir gemeinsam über unsere Zukunft sprechen."
Aklilu

Die TRUSS-Mitglieder haben Organisationen wie NRC Flüchtlingshilfe bereits geholfen, Unterkünfte wieder aufzubauen, Bargeldverteilungen zu organisieren und Kinder an Schulen anzumelden sowie Probleme anzugehen, die in der Gemeinde bestehen. Sie erhalten Zuschüsse von Hilfsorganisationen, mit denen sie ihre Familien unterstützen können.

„Ich habe die Hoffnung nicht verloren“, sagt Aklilu. „Was mich optimistisch stimmt, ist die Tatsache, dass ich hier Freunde habe, und dass wir gemeinsam über unsere Zukunft sprechen. Auch wenn es kein richtiger Plan ist, können wir uns über unsere täglichen Aktivitäten austauschen.“

„Das größte Geschenk ist es, meine Freunde um mich zu haben.“

 

Was NRC Flüchtlingshilfe tut

Wir sind im Flüchtlingslager Um Rakuba vor Ort und unterstützen die Geflüchteten mit Material für Unterkünfte, mit dem sie vom Regen zerstörte Unterkünfte wieder aufbauen und verstärken können. Außerdem verteilen wir Bargeld, damit die Bewohnerinnen und Bewohner ihren täglichen Bedarf decken können, sowie weitere wichtige Dinge wie Hygieneartikel für Frauen und Mädchen.

Als die Geflüchteten begannen, nach Um Rakuba zu kommen, war NRC Flüchtlingshilfe eine der ersten Hilfsorganisationen, die dort Bildung anboten. Derzeit betreiben wir im Lager vier Schulen und wir stellen auch Material wie Schultaschen, Hefte, Wasserflaschen und Bleistifte zur Verfügung. Unsere Maßnahmen im Bereich Bildung werden großzügig von Education Cannot Wait unterstützt.

Lesen Sie hier mehr über unsere Arbeit im Sudan.