My tears burn my cheeks as they slowly roll down my face. Between the heat-induced sweat and the layer of dirt from dusty roads, it makes the untimely tears that much more uncomfortable. I try to choke them back and search for an explanation: “Maybe it’s just the third-trimester pregnancy hormones. Or maybe it’s just that awful…” To this, everyone quickly extended sympathy and support, “No, it’s just that awful.”

As the academic year comes to a close, our grade six students must complete the National Primary School Exit Exams, or TENAFEP, that took place over two days at various school sites around the country. Our schools, which are viewed as safe and well-constructed, were selected to host hundreds of grade six students sitting for the exams.

In the rebel-held village of Kalembe hours from the main city, with ongoing raids and mass displacement in the area, the government was unsure how to organize the exams in the village and decided to cancel the exam just days before the exams were set to take place. This would spell disaster for our students, and they would effectively lose out on the past year of schooling and would be forced to repeat the year. Not only that, but in the village, the alternative to studying often looks like enlisting as a child soldier or early child marriage. A harsh reality that our students are all too familiar with.

We later came to find out that in order to complete their exit exams, our students, their teachers, and the school principal decided at the last minute to walk to a “nearby” exam site to ensure that our kids could complete the TENAFEP. The journey? A 12-hour walk in rebel-held territory. Leaving at 6 am, our students didn’t arrive in the host village until roughly 6 pm with nothing more than a few bananas that they had for their trip. That night, because they didn’t have connections in that village, they all slept in the jungle, eagerly awaiting their big test the next day.

Without internet connection or cell phone reception, we didn’t find out about the government’s decision to cancel the exam sites or our student’s decision to walk until Monday morning.

I couldn’t stop crying.

I felt humbled that these kids would risk so much for an education. I felt guilty that we didn’t know sooner and we weren’t able to offer them the support they needed ahead of time. The drive in these 12-year old kids, knowing the cost of missing the exam, and understanding the potential risks if they didn’t receive their education and finish primary school, was overwhelming to say the least.

I just kept imagining the 12-hour walk on empty stomachs, and yet, knowing the context and circumstances in that village, I realize that the tough reality is that our students are actually the lucky ones.

As the academic year comes to a close, thank you, from the bottom of our hearts for supporting and standing with our students. I couldn’t imagine a more deserving group of kids.

If you’d like to become a Peace Partner or “Adopt a Justice Rising School” it makes all the difference and offers a level of protection to our kids who live in protracted conflict.

A note from Co-Founder, Cassandra Lee