AKATWIJUKA GRACE

The Girl With Parents Who Refused to Pass On Their Suffering

I grew up in Ibanda District, in the rolling hills of Western Uganda. It is a place of breathtaking beauty—green terraces, banana plantations, and skies that stretch forever. But beauty does not fill stomachs. Beauty does not pay school fees. Beauty does not protect a girl from the hard realities of poverty.

My family was not wealthy. We were, in fact, poor. But poverty was not the whole story.

The whole story is this: my parents refused to let their suffering become my inheritance.

My Mother: The Girl Who Studied Through Everything

My mother's life was hard from the very beginning. She grew up in poverty so deep that she often walked to school hungry. She lacked proper uniforms, decent shoes, enough books. While other children had parents who could help with homework, she had no one—her own parents were uneducated and struggling simply to survive. There were days when studying felt impossible, when hunger made concentration a luxury she could not afford.

But she stayed in school. She studied by kerosene lamp when there was kerosene. She walked kilometers on empty stomachs, determined that education would be her ladder out of poverty. She faced challenges I cannot fully imagine and she kept going.

My mother completed her education despite everything. That achievement—a girl from a poor village, with no resources, no connections, no safety net—is the foundation of everything I am. She proved that circumstances do not define destiny. She proved that determination, discipline, and faith can carry you through impossible odds. And then she did something even more remarkable: she made sure my path would be easier than hers.

My Father: The Boy Who Trusted God and Stayed in School

My father's story is similar. He grew up with nothing. There was never enough money for school fees. There were days when studying felt impossible, when hunger gnawed at his belly while he tried to concentrate on his books.

But he had two things: discipline and faith. He trusted God and kept going. He stayed in school when leaving would have been easier. He worked when there was work and prayed when there was none. He learned that education was the only inheritance he could ever give his children and he was determined to give it.

My father completed his education through sheer stubborn faith. He did not have an easy path. He did not have advantages. He had grit, prayer, and an unshakeable belief that tomorrow could be better than today.

The Girls Who Walked Beside Me

I did not walk this path alone. I grew up with five girls who were my sisters in every way but blood—Annet, Grace, Mary, Robinah, and Sylvia. We sat together on broken desks, sharing textbooks with missing pages. We walked the same dusty roads to school, our bare feet slapping against the red earth. We dreamed under the mango tree of the women we would become at Kiburara Primary School and Good Hope Primary School.

• Annet wanted to be a nurse. She could solve equations in her head faster than anyone.
• Grace wanted to be a writer. She loved English so much and found pride in being well-spoken.
• Mary wanted to be a teacher. She had the patience and kindness that children need.
• Robinah wanted to be an artist. She could draw from nothing at all.
• Sylvia wanted to travel the world. She dreamed beyond our village, beyond Uganda, beyond Africa.

We promised each other that we would all make it. We promised that we would rise together. But life had different plans.

And I—I kept walking. I kept studying. I kept rising. Why me? Why was I the one who made it while my friends were left behind?

The answer is simple: my parents chose differently. They chose to break the cycle.

What It Means to Break the Cycle

When I say "break the cycle," I mean something very specific. I mean that a parent who grew up hungry chooses to feed their children, even if it means going without themselves. I mean that a parent who was pulled out of school fights to keep their daughter in class.

Breaking the cycle is not easy. It requires sacrifice. But it is possible. My parents proved it. When a girl's parents break the cycle for her, she grows up knowing that things can be different. And when she becomes a mother, she breaks the cycle for her own children. This is how poverty ends.

The Ripple Effect: How One Girl Transforms Generations

Imagine a girl named Brenda. Her mother struggled but chose differently. Brenda stays in school, graduates, becomes a nurse. Brenda has a daughter who grows up with an educated mother. That daughter becomes a doctor.

This is the ripple effect. One girl, given a chance, transforms not just her own life but the lives of her children, her grandchildren, and generations yet unborn. This is not charity. This is not pity. This is the most powerful investment any community can make.

The Path to Law

My parents supported every dream I ever had. When I wanted to be a Civil Engineer, they cheered. When I discovered my calling in law, they said: "Go. Become. We are with you."

I am currently in my fourth year of law school, pursuing a degree that I believe is essential to the work of breaking cycles. I chose law because I understand that lasting change requires more than safe spaces and scholarships—it requires changing the systems that fail girls in the first place. I want to be the lawyer who stands between a girl and abuse, fights for policies, and challenges discrimination.

African Girl Rise Initiative: What We Do

While studying law, I founded African Girl Rise Initiative—a registered Ugandan initiative dedicated to ensuring that no girl in my community walks the path my friends walked. We are not an initiative that comes in from outside and tells communities what to do. We are of this community. We are from this community. We are for this community.

The Vision

My vision is simple and enormous: I want every girl in Ibanda District—every girl in Uganda—every girl in Africa—to have the chance I had. I want every girl to have parents who believe in her enough to break the cycle. I want every girl who was left behind to know that her life matters. And I want every girl who rises to reach back and pull another up behind her.

"Rise. Then reach back. Always reach back."