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
Sudan

– Den største gaven er å ha vennene mine rundt meg

Det ene øyeblikket var Aklilu sivilingeniørstudent med en lys fremtid. Det neste var han flyktning og bodde i et telt. Men Aklilu nekter å gi opp. I leiren der han bor har han dannet en ungdomsforening med en gruppe medstudenter. Sammen er de fast bestemt på å gjøre hverdagen bedre for dem rundt seg.

Oransje julekule med en hand som holder et hjerte

I november 2020 pakket Aklilu koffertene sine. Han reiste tilbake til universitetet i Addis Abeba, hovedstaden i Etiopia. På grunn av Covid-19-nedstengningen hadde han tilbrakt noen måneder sammen med familien i Humera, en liten by i den nordvestlige delen av landet. Aklilu gledet seg til å ta fatt på undervisningen igjen, og ta eksamen.

Som andre snart utdannede studenter, var Aklilu allerede på jobbjakt, og hadde planer for eksamensfeiringen. “Vi ses om fem uker til avslutningsseremonien”, fortalte han vennene sine i Humera.

Vi hadde aldri trodd at dette kunne skje. Jeg hadde hørt at det var problemer, men for meg var det bare politikk.
Aklilu

Noen timer senere traff bombene byen. Det signaliserte starten på en blodig konflikt mellom den føderale regjeringen i Etiopia og væpnede grupper i Tigray-regionen. Aklilu skyndte seg over grensen til Sudan – en av 60.000 etiopiere som siden har strømmet inn i Sudan på jakt etter sikkerhet.

Livet under en presenning

Aklilu forlot alt og flyktet. Han som en gang var sivilingeniørstudent, bor nå i en flyktningleir og venter på oppdateringer om krigen hjemme. Han lurer på om de siste fem årene med høyskoleutdanning har vært forgjeves.

gaver-med-mening_et-hjem_2021_1024x448.jpg

– Vi hadde aldri trodd at dette kunne skje. Jeg hadde hørt at det var problemer, men for meg var det bare politikk. Jeg visste ikke at ting kunne bli så ille, sier 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
Les billedteksten Aklilu med flyktningleiren Um Rakuba i bakgrunnen. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/Flyktninghjelpen

Da Aklilu først kom til flyktningleiren Um Rakuba, bodde han sammen med familien under en blå presenning som hang over en provisorisk treramme. Lukten fra latrinen i nærheten overmannet duften av kaffen bestemoren hans laget hver morgen.

Noen uker senere flyttet familien og fikk et hvitt telt med en stor åpning foran og bak. I regntiden ble dette teltet en slags fallskjerm, på grunn av vinden. Hver natt ble Aklilu helt utslitt av å holde teltet fast i vinden.

Familiepakke_web_GMM_1024x44813.jpg

– Da jeg var i Etiopia, elsket jeg regntiden. Du kan ikke gjøre annet enn å sitte og se regnet falle. Det var yndlingstiden min, sier Aklilu.

Utdannelser ble satt på vent

Rundt 1.655 tigrayanske universitetsstudenter bor for tiden i flyktningleirer i Sudan. De føler seg forlatt.

– Et resultat av konflikten i Etiopia er at noen av de skarpeste hodene i landet er begrenset til flyktningleirer i Sudan. Hvis disse elevene får en sjanse et sted, vil de være en ressurs for dem som tar imot dem, sier Will Carter, Flyktninghjelpens landdirektør i Sudan.

Det er mange hindringer i veien mot en fullført utdannelse for Aklilu. Da volden startet, flyktet han og mange andre og etterlot seg identitetskort og utdanningsjournaler. Som et resultat er de nå ikke i stand til å bevise hvem de er eller hvor langt de har kommet i utdanningsløpet. Penger er også et problem.

Vi kommer til å kaste bort mye tid i livene våre
Aklilu

Aklilu har nylig undersøkt mulighetene for å få et stipend ved et universitet i Ghana. Slike stipender har imidlertid en tendens til å innebære at studentene må starte fra bunnen av.

Aklilu er frustrert over at han kanskje må bruke ytterligere fem år på å studere til en sivilingeniørgrad han bare var fem uker unna å fullføre.

– Vi venter på å finne et universitet som lar oss fortsette utdanningen der vi slapp. Hvis vi må begynne på nytt, vil vi være 30 år gamle når vi er uteksaminert, og vi finner kanskje ikke jobb på lenge. Vi kommer til å kaste bort mye tid i livene våre, sier Aklilu.

– Som å være i fengsel

Livet i Um Rakuba-leiren er frustrerende for unge som er vant til å kunne reise fritt for å studere og søke arbeid.

– Det verste med å bo i leiren er at vi ikke kan bevege oss fritt. Det er som å være i et fengsel. Det er vanskelig, fordi alle trenger frihet til å jobbe fritt og gjøre hva de vil, forklarer 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
Les billedteksten – Det verste med å bo i leiren er at vi ikke kan bevege oss fritt her, sier Aklilu. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/Flyktninghjelpen

Sudans asyl-lov gir flyktninger rett til å flytte og søke utdanning, men i virkeligheten er de begrenset til leiren. Reglene i leiren hindrer innbyggerne i å forlate stedet, og begrenser tilgangen til jobber og markeder.

Silvia Beccacece, tidligere områdesjef i Flyktninghjelpen forklarer:

– Etiopiske flyktninger kan ikke forlate leiren med mindre de får tillatelse fra myndighetene, og de må ha svært gode grunner, knyttet til utdanning, helse eller jobb. Dessverre er disse veldig vanskelige å få – så det blir en ond sirkel. Flyktningene kan ikke få muligheter til å forlate leiren hvis de ikke kan forlate leiren for å lete etter dem.

gaver-med-mening_grunderpakke_2021_1024x448.jpg

Støtte i felleskapet

Til tross for alle vanskelighetene har studentene i leiren funnet støtte i fellesskap. De har dannet en gruppe, kalt Tigrayan Refugees University Students in Sudan Association, eller TRUSS.

Aklilu er en av grunnleggerne.

– Hvis vi snakker om følelsene våre, og hvis vi er sammen, blir det lettere, sier han.

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

Photo: Ingrid Prestetun/NRC
Les billedteksten Aklilu hygger seg med venner. – Den største gaven i livet er å ha vennene mine rundt meg, sier han. Foto: Ingrid Prestetun/Flyktninghjelpen

I tillegg til å jobbe for sin egen utdannelse, fungerer studentene i TRUSS også som positive krefter i lokalmiljøet, sammen med andre unge i leiren.

– Det er så mange behov her i leiren, og vi kan bidra med noe. Vi planlegger hvordan vi skal gjøre leiren mer komfortabel både for ungdommen og for lokalsamfunnet. Det er det vi gjør som forening og som gruppe. Det å være sammen er veldig viktig, sier Aklilu.

– Jeg har ikke mistet håpet

Hver fredag morgen samles medlemmer av foreningen i et felles telt til sitt ukentlige møte. De har organisert seg i komiteer og planlegger uken som kommer. En gruppe vil samle inn penger blant leirboere for å hjelpe en isolert eldre kvinne i leiren. En annen gruppe vil møte andre studenter og unge for å opprette kontakt med hjelpeorganisasjoner.

Det som gjør meg optimistisk er at jeg har venner her, og jeg diskuterer med dem hva jeg skal gjøre i fremtiden.
Aklilu

TRUSS-medlemmer har hjulpet organisasjoner som Flyktninghjelpen med å gjenoppbygge hjem, organisere kontantdistribusjoner og registrere barn på skolen, samt ta opp samfunnsspørsmål. De mottar stipender fra hjelpeorganisasjoner, som hjelper dem med å forsørge familiene sine.

– Jeg har ikke mistet håpet. Det som gjør meg optimistisk er at jeg har venner her, og jeg diskuterer med dem hva jeg skal gjøre i fremtiden. Selv om det ikke er som en plan, kan vi dele våre daglige aktiviteter, sier Aklilu.

– Den største gaven i livet mitt er å ha vennene mine rundt meg.

Hvordan Flyktninghjelpen bidrar

Vi er til stede i Um Rakuba-leiren, der vi støtter mennesker på flukt med utstyrspakker slik at de kan gjenoppbygge og forsterke husly som er blitt ødelagt av regnet. Vi deler også ut pengestøtte, slik at innbyggerne kan få dekket sine grunnleggende behov. I tillegg deler vi ut blant annet sanitærpakker til kvinner og jenter.

Da flyktninger begynte å ankomme Um Rakuba, var Flyktninghjelpen en av de første hjelpeorganisasjonene som kunne tilby utdanning. Akkurat nå har vi fire skoler i leiren, og vi deler også ut læremateriell som skolesekker, notatbøker, vannflasker og blyanter. Våre utdanningsaktiviteter er sjenerøst finansiert av Education Cannot Wait.

Støtt vårt arbeid