Download Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel by Alek Wek PDF

Download Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel by Alek Wek PDF

By Alek Wek

Alek Wek has been the face of advert campaigns for corporations starting from trainer to Michael Kors to Nars and has labored the runways on behalf of designers equivalent 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 relations within the Sudan, Wek came upon her existence 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 group of refugees, together with Wek's family—many of whom fled to London. here's Wek's terrific, bold tale of emerging from refugee to foreign twiglet.

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Extra resources for Alek: From Sudanese Refugee to International Supermodel

Sample text

Just past the brewery, the pastureland at the sides of the road turned into wetlands, with tall reeds stretching out as far as we could see. There were only a few trees here and there—I’d never seen anything like this. Soon we reached the Jur River. Since it was the rainy season, the river was high on the banks. It seemed so wide that I couldn’t imagine what was on the other side. The river alone was terrifying. Everyone knew that in places it teemed with crocodiles and hippopotamuses and other animals, though my father assured us that there weren’t any around here.

I had to pee but I held it in. It got painful but I wasn’t about to step outside after what had happened to my father a few nights before. More Katyushas went off, closer this time, and when they exploded, I swear, the ground shook. 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.

It was the home of a man who owned a large brewery on the edge of town, near the river. There were so few rich people in Wau we never thought of the differences between them and us, but we knew they had more possessions. While I wasn’t jealous or covetous, I loved imagining myself living in that house, with its upholstered furniture and electricity generator. Just past this mansion—which, in truth, was probably no larger than the average middle-class American house in the suburbs—was a road that went left up the hill to where I had once spotted planes.

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