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 akin to Diane von Furstenberg and Christian Dior. but her defining moments expand past the runways of latest York, Milan, Paris, and London. Born to a middle-class relations within the Sudan, Wek discovered her lifestyles all at once inverted whilst civil struggle broke out between outlaw militias, the Muslim-dominated executive, and southern rebels. The clash not just killed million humans, it created a whole neighborhood of refugees, together with Wek's family—many of whom fled to London. this is Wek's outstanding, bold tale of emerging from refugee to overseas stick insect.
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Extra resources for Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel
I learned just how little it takes to survive. I also know that it could all disappear in a heartbeat. It’s good to keep that in perspective, which is why I don’t waste things—food, money, friendships, or opportunities. As the sun set on our little camp, I don’t think I had ever felt so glad to be with my family. They were everything to me. We had no home, no town, no government. All we had were each other, our blankets, and the stars above, which, since there were no electric lights for miles and miles, shined brighter than I’d ever seen them.
It tasted so fresh and pure. I felt very far removed from the mud puddles and thirst of our journey. The villagers gathered around us and stared, while the elders caught up on the news with my mother and father. My siblings and I stared back silently. Almost all of the villagers were barefoot. Many of the women just had brightly colored wraps around their waists and no tops. Some of the men wore long beige trousers and Alek tunics but most wore nearly nothing, and almost all of the men carried spears, for hunting or ﬁghting enemies, or scaring the living daylights out of us—who knew?
Then there was utter silence, even more frightening than the sound of the rockets. I was sure we were going to die. Somehow I was so tired that somewhere between that thought and the roosters crowing, I dozed off. When I woke up, the air smelled of death. I wanted to vomit. Then my mother walked into the room. “Alek, what are you dreaming about? It’s time to get up,” she said. She stood over me and my sisters, stirring the air over our heads with a wush-wush-wush of her hands. ” I opened the door to the early-morning sunlight.
Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel by Alek Wek