The refugee who refused to be an untold story

When Mary Maker steps onto a stage — whether at the U.N. General Assembly, Time magazine’s Women of the Year Gala, TEDx, or in a classroom at the Kakuma Refugee Camp in northern Kenya — she commands attention — not through volume but through authenticity. Every word carries the weight of someone determined to be heard. “My worst fear as a child,” she said, “was to die as an untold story.”

Born in what is now South Sudan during the civil war — her given name Nyiriak literally means “war” — Maker’s early years were marked by displacement and uncertainty: fleeing her home country as an infant, walking for months through hostile territories, and finally finding temporary shelter in Kakuma, where a single room housed her family’s entire world.

The sprawling Kakuma Refugee Camp was established in 1992 following the arrival of the “Lost Boys of Sudan.” What was meant to be a temporary refuge has become a permanent settlement of over 160,000 refugees.

At night, young Maker would lie outside under a mosquito net — the room too hot for sleeping — gazing at stars that seemed to promise something beyond the crowded camp’s confines. Those same stars now serve as a metaphor for her journey from refugee to international advocate and educator. Despite overwhelming odds — fewer than 1 percent of refugees in Kakuma ever reach higher education — Maker not only graduated from Minnesota’s St. Olaf College with degrees in theater and international relations but has dedicated her life to helping others follow a similar path.

In 2021, Maker and fellow refugees Dudi Miabok and Diing Manyang joined Hokie alumna Deirdre Hand in founding Elimisha Kakuma, a college preparatory educational program for high school graduates in the Kakuma camp. Virginia Tech students and faculty — including leaders of the Center for Refugee, Migrant, and Displacement Studies — provide tutoring to students in the camp and help them apply to college.

The organization has already placed over 30 students at universities across three continents, including Virginia Tech, where two students, Ajier Ajuong and Nyanlueth Mayom, are in their first year. In addition, Miabok is pursuing a Master of Science in business administration with a concentration in business analytics through the Pamplin College of Business.

What makes Maker’s advocacy so powerful is its roots in lived experience. She understands viscerally what it means to be one of the 120 million displaced people in today’s world — to be reduced to a number, to have talent and dreams constrained by circumstances, to see education as both a lifeline and a seemingly impossible dream. Yet, she also knows firsthand how education can, in her words, “turn tears of loss into a passion for peace.”

Since 2018, Maker has played a key role with UNHCR, the U.N. refugee agency, supporting campaign moments, advocacy initiatives, and fundraising efforts. In 2023, she was appointed a goodwill ambassador.

Now, as she prepares to address the Virginia Tech community as the keynote speaker during International Education Week, Maker brings both a challenge and an invitation: to understand that displacement — whether from war, natural disaster, or personal circumstance — is a universal human experience that demands not just empathy, but action.

What does it mean to be a child growing up in a refugee camp?

When we reached Kakuma, there was this strange sense of peace — no gunshots for the first time. But as a child, I didn’t trust it. I thought it was just another temporary stop. I didn’t understand the permanence of refugee camps.

As children, we would sit outside at night on mats because it was too hot to sleep inside. We’d gaze at the stars — there was something beautiful about that. The moon shone so bright you could see the shadows of trees cast on the ground. I felt like I was in a movie.

My sisters who were born in the camp don’t know about life in the city or on a farm — the camp walls are all they’ve known. That’s the problem with fragility: When you’re born in fragile communities, you don’t see the fragility because everyone around you is going through it. I didn’t see the problem of having to wake up at 4 a.m. to fetch water, or of a 5-year-old carrying a 10-liter jerry can. That was our normalcy.

What made you realize this “normalcy” needed to change?

You start to grow up in the refugee camp and realize how messed up this system is. Initially, school was about incentives — we’d get these nutrient-rich biscuits if we showed up. But everything changed when I started to see the power education gave to women in our community. They had voices, they could question things, and the community both feared and respected them. I wanted that.

I had watched 14-year-old girls getting married. I knew that even if less than 1 percent of refugees ever get to go to college, I wanted to be part of that 1 percent. I thought, “Even if I’m not the brightest kid in class, I could talk my way into college. I’ll talk my soul away.”

That determination led you to become a teacher yourself. How did that happen?

Becoming a teacher wasn’t even a choice — there simply were far too few teachers in the camp. After graduating high school, I couldn’t afford college, so teaching became my way forward.

I wasn’t trained; I would read biology at night and pray I wouldn’t lie to my students the next day. I’d use theater exercises before starting lessons. Many students knew there was a dead end in the camp, but they still showed up because school was a place where you could forget your trauma. It became a space where all communities that had fled would find themselves together.

Now through Elimisha Kakuma, you’re creating ripples far beyond that first classroom. What does that impact look like?

After getting into a program in Rwanda that prepared refugees for international education, I met others who shared my vision. We started Elimisha Kakuma while we were still college students ourselves. We wanted five students for our pilot program, and 100 applied! We ended up taking 12, even though we had no funding at the time.

Now, four years later, we’ve placed over 30 students in universities across the United States, Canada, the U.K., Europe, and Latin America on full financial aid. But the real story is in the ripples they create.

One of our students at the University of Calgary, for example, started the Kakuma Empowerment Program that currently mentors over 500 kids within the camp. Another went back last summer to run a coding boot camp. Our first cohort is in their junior year now, mentoring incoming students.

When you give one person a spot, the ripple effect becomes powerful. Everything adds up — from people wanting to volunteer, to teachers willing to teach, to Virginia Tech bringing the very first two students to campus through the Cranwell Foundation and the support of the College of Liberal Arts and Human Sciences, the College of Science, and the Pamplin College of Business. These are huge, life-changing reforms.

How has Virginia Tech contributed to this mission?

The partnership with Virginia Tech, particularly through the Center for Refugee, Migrant, and Displacement Studies, has been transformative. It started with small connections — Virginia Tech students mentoring our students, helping them navigate college applications and essays — but has grown into something much more comprehensive. University professors, students, and recent grads volunteer to teach our students, bringing subjects like art and neuroscience to students who previously had limited access to such specialized knowledge.

One of our most impactful collaborations was a hybrid research class where Virginia Tech students worked alongside Elimisha Kakuma students to study barriers to education in refugee camps. That report is now being shared with UNHCR to help drive systemic change.

These aren’t just academic exercises — they’re creating real change in how refugee education is understood and delivered.

This partnership has given our program credibility and opened doors we couldn’t have imagined. When we approach other universities now, we can point to this successful partnership as a model.

What message do you want to share with the Virginia Tech community?

I want students to know that displacement is universal — whether it’s from war, a hurricane, or leaving your hometown. That feeling of not belonging, of losing your sense of home, touches everyone. It could be as profound as fleeing conflict or as personal as leaving childhood behind.

My story isn’t just about refugees; it’s about the human experience of displacement and how we respond to it. I hope we can have difficult conversations, question assumptions, and learn from each other. Because every time I tell this story — and I’ve told it thousands of times — I discover a new perspective.

The world currently has over 120 million displaced people. Those aren’t just numbers — they’re doctors, mothers, children dreaming of a world beyond themselves. Through education and storytelling, we can create the ripples that will eventually become waves of change.

This interview has been edited and condensed

Maker will deliver the keynote address at Virginia Tech during International Education Week, sharing her vision for transforming refugee education and empowering the next generation of leaders. Her free talk, which is open to the public, will take place from 3-4:30 p.m. Thursday, Nov. 14, at the Moss Arts Center.

• Events planned for International Education Week 2024