When 19-year-old Doreen Foni fled the violence in South Sudan with her family in 2015, she hoped for safety and a chance to study. But life as a refugee soon proved that survival was only the beginning of her struggle. At Maaji Refugee Settlement in Adjumani District, Foni’s dream of education faded with every passing day.
The nearest school was about 10 kilometres away, too far for many girls to attend. Poverty, long distances, and lack of school materials kept most of them at home. In 2017, she finally enrolled at Zoka South Primary School and began preparing for her Primary Leaving Examinations.
Just as things were looking up, the Covid-19 pandemic struck, shutting schools for almost two years. When classes resumed, her parents could no longer afford secondary school fees. Stuck at home and without options, Foni entered a relationship that led to teenage pregnancy.
‘Life became unbearable,’ she recalls. ‘My parents took me to my boyfriend’s home, but he gave little support. I had to dig in gardens and sell firewood to buy food.’
During her pregnancy, Foni’s health deteriorated and she was diagnosed with anaemia. She gave birth at Adjumani General Hospital – but even then, her dream of returning to school never died. Her parents, however, discouraged her, saying the baby was too young to leave behind.
Foni’s story mirrors the struggles of many refugee girls in Adjumani. Across the district, teenage pregnancies, early marriages, and poverty have robbed hundreds of girls of their education.
According to the Adjumani District Education Office, more than 1,800 cases of sexual violence were recorded in the last five years – 515 of them in 2021 alone.
The figures paint a grim picture of young girls forced into adulthood too soon. ‘Many of these girls are victims of circumstance,’ says Mr Philip Akuku, the district education officer. ‘We’ve seen a rise in teenage pregnancies during and after the Covid-19 lockdown, but we’re working to bring the girls back to school.’ Amid this crisis, a glimmer of hope has begun to emerge.
Organisations such as War Child Canada and the Forum for African Women Educationalists (FAWE) have stepped in with school re-entry programmes that give young mothers a second chance at education. Through the initiative, girls like Foni can now study under the Accelerated Learning Programme, which allows mothers to attend school while their babies are cared for at nearby centres.
‘I’m back in school and hopeful again,’ says Foni with a smile. ‘I want to become a health worker and help others.’
Grace Jua Kalisto, 24, shares a similar story. She dropped out of school after her uncle, who supported her, passed away. Forced into early marriage, she soon became a mother of two, her education dreams shattered. ‘I tried brewing alcohol to raise school fees, but it was never enough,’ she says.
Her turning point came when FAWE set up a child-care facility at Maaji Secondary School, allowing mothers to attend lessons while their babies are cared for nearby.
‘I no longer have to trek long distances to breastfeed. I can attend classes without worry,’ Grace says.
Ms Jessica Abedchan, the deputy head teacher at Maaji Secondary School, says the programme has transformed lives.
‘Attendance has gone up by 60 percent, and the dropout rate has fallen from 20 percent to just five percent,’ she says.
FAWE project officer Nancy Asibazoyo notes that more than 480 girls have so far returned to school through the initiative.
Still, experts warn that more needs to be done. Dr Gerald Amatre, a consultant at the Ministry of Education and Sports, says teenage pregnancies, gender-based violence, and HIV infections continue to threaten the future of many young girls.
‘The average age of first sexual intercourse in Uganda is 17 for girls,’ he says. ‘Many of these should still be in school.’