EHS Pillars - Fall 2017

BUILDING AN
8,000‐MILE BRIDGE
by Julius Michael
"My dear sister if you don't want to go to school, go and cook.
I pray that God helps us, and on holidays one day we will
be driving cars." Those are the lyrics to a nursery rhyme we
sang as children under a tree at a refugee camp school in
Uganda. I didn't realize it back then, but years later I stand in
a classroom in Houston and reflect on how education got me
to where I am today.
One constant about life as a refugee in 1990s Uganda was
moving from camp to camp at a moment's notice. A civil
war between the Sudanese government and the People's
Liberation Army, led by the corrupt politician Omar al‐Bashir,
displaced thousands of families, including mine, and
eventually led to the secession of South Sudan in 2011.
Going to school was a way to escape the realities of daily life.
Dedicated teachers opened our eyes to parts of the world
that were impossible to imagine. I remember the day our
teacher told us a story about a country called America where
the men have traveled to the moon. I looked at the moon,
and as a 5th grader, the fact that humans had landed
on that glowing object far away fascinated me. Little
did I know that one day I would end up calling the
Space City my home.
small arms and blocking the trucks from leaving, but despite
our efforts, the school was shut down.
In 1999, when at my parents' request for my safety and for
our family's survival I moved from my homeland, I again met
great teachers who were devoted to their craft. Although
South Sudan and Texas are 8,000 miles apart, the teachers I
had on two different continents changed my life and inspired
me to become an educator.
My life is a combination of different yet similar worlds. My
love for history and social studies goes back to my first social
studies class in my 3rd grade refugee school, because the
topics are centered on human experiences. In history, we
focus on the ways culture shapes our lives, which is an
important aspect of my teaching because I see how people,
regardless of our backgrounds, are all connected. I try to
I loved my teachers and classmates in the
Ugandan refugee schools, and every time
I had the opportunity to attend class
I tried not to miss a day. I remember
one morning sitting in English class
reviewing spelling words when suddenly
we saw three United Nations trucks
pull into our compound. The visitors
walked straight into the headmaster's
office. They had a heated conversation,
and then started loading blackboards,
desks, chalk, and tables onto the trucks.
The students and our teachers were
puzzled by the commotion. We asked
them if they were replacing the old supplies,
and they told us the U.N. could no longer
afford to keep the school operating. Teachers
had not been paid, and it cost money to replenish
school supplies. We children tried to reason with the
workers and prompted a peaceful protest by locking our
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