In the heart of Nakivale, where the wind carries voices from Congo, Somalia, Rwanda, Burundi, Eritrea, and beyond, a quiet leader was rising—Amina, a 19-year-old Somali refugee.
She never called herself a leader. She didn’t wear a badge or sit at the front of meetings. But people listened when she spoke—not because she was loud, but because she was honest.
It started with water.
When her zone’s tap broke down for three weeks, women walked kilometers to find clean water. Children missed school, and tempers flared at the collection points. Amina watched it unfold, then decided: enough waiting.
She gathered five friends—girls from different countries and languages. Together, they mapped the water problems in their zone, talked to elders, and wrote a petition. They didn’t wait for outside NGOs to notice—they invited them in. They translated the complaints. They organized the community to fix what they could while pushing for long-term repairs.
The taps were restored in 12 days.
But something else had been restored too: trust in youth voices.
People began to look to Amina—not just for water problems, but for ideas. She helped create a rotating youth council that included everyone: girls, boys, different tribes, different faiths. She said,
“Leadership isn’t a microphone. It’s a circle where every voice fits.”
She introduced “community circles” every Friday—safe spaces to talk about issues like school dropout, gender-based violence, mental health, and entrepreneurship. With a team of peers, she started training other young women on conflict resolution and public speaking. Soon, the circles grew into a movement called “Sauti Yetu”—Our Voice.
Now, Amina is mentoring younger teens to take her place. She says real leadership isn’t about how long you stand at the front—it’s about who you lift as you rise.
And in Nakivale, thanks to her, leadership doesn’t always wear a suit.
Sometimes, it wears a hijab, carries a notebook, and listens more than it speaks.
