As refugees, we are frequently counted but rarely heard. When journalists write about where I live, the Bidibidi Refugee Settlement in northern Uganda, they often first note that it is home to half a million people, including more than 280,000 South Sudanese refugees. From there, our lives continue to be reduced to statistics: the number of arrivals, of tents, of food rations, of education places.
While these metrics matter, they don’t at all mirror the human complexity that marks the life of a refugee. Each person here carries a distinct history made by war, displacement, survival, hunger, loss, resilience, humour, grief, creativity, faith, and contradiction, almost none of which makes it into spreadsheets.
The fact that we ended up here is the result of many, many inspiring stories, and all the time we are living through new ones. Refugees face many barriers to telling our narratives: limited access to technology, lack of safe platforms, language exclusion, fear of misrepresentation, fear of loss of culture and simply not being asked.
