By Alek Wek
Alek Wek has been the face of advert campaigns for firms starting from trainer to Michael Kors to Nars and has labored the runways on behalf of designers comparable to Diane von Furstenberg and Christian Dior. but her defining moments expand past the runways of recent York, Milan, Paris, and London. Born to a middle-class kin within the Sudan, Wek came upon her existence without warning inverted whilst civil warfare broke out between outlaw militias, the Muslim-dominated executive, and southern rebels. The clash not just killed million humans, it created a complete neighborhood of refugees, together with Wek's family—many of whom fled to London. this is Wek's very good, bold tale of emerging from refugee to overseas twiglet.
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Extra info for Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel
The sun came up, and my mother gave us each a cup of water to start the day. That was it. I hoped we ’d ﬁnd some fruit along the way, or maybe some roots to chew on, because otherwise there would be no food until nightfall. We packed up our things and started walking straight across the bush. Sometimes there would be a cattle trail, or a path that people had used, but often we were just tramping through the grass. Soon we reached the jungle, which was hot and slow going, espeAlek cially for my father, whose hip was getting more painful and stiff with each passing mile.
We walked on, looking for a place to spend the night, until we ﬁnally found an abandoned hut. “The animals won’t come near a place where people have lived,” said my father. We didn’t break in, because that wouldn’t be right. Instead, we swept the ground outside the hut with leafy branches to make a hard surface. Then we lay our blankets on the dirt while my mother beat the ground with a big stick to let any wild animals in the area know that we were here and that we were human and that they’d better stay the heck away.
Instead, we swept the ground outside the hut with leafy branches to make a hard surface. Then we lay our blankets on the dirt while my mother beat the ground with a big stick to let any wild animals in the area know that we were here and that we were human and that they’d better stay the heck away. ” I said. I hated snakes. I always have. “The snakes don’t want to eat little Alek,” my father said. ” I asked. “Lions want a fat girl, not a skinny little girl like you,” he said. ” He was right. Where else were we going to go?
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