Andri's Second Home

On the steep streets of Cazucá, where mud becomes a hurdle every time it rains, the life of Andri Rojas has unfolded at a pace quite different from other youths her age. At 17, Andri does not only carry the books for tenth grade; she also carries the responsibility of motherhood and the weight of a history marked by displacement and resilience.

Andri arrived in Bogotá fleeing distance and a family breakdown. In Santander, her life was marked by physical exertion: long 40-minute walks under the sun to reach a public school where the environment was often hostile.

"I had to walk a long way... the other school was public, and there wasn't much security. I remember the older students would start scolding the little ones and treating them poorly. I was treated poorly once, too."

Upon arriving in Bogotá, Liceo Nueva Vida became her new stage. She remembers her first day with a mixture of shyness and surprise at the warm welcome: "I came in my regular clothes because I didn't have the uniform yet, and all the girls looked at me and said 'hello' and asked how I was. The teachers—every teacher who walked in—asked me my name... I felt comfortable."

At 14 years old, while in eighth grade, Andri's life took a turn that could have derailed her future. During social studies class, dizziness became frequent. It was during the rehearsals for English Day, while trying on a tight dress, that the secret could no longer be hidden.

"It was very hard, honestly, because at 14 years old, I practically thought: 'I am a child and now I have to take care of another child.' I didn't know how to tell my mom, my dad... I thought they would be disappointed in me."

In a country where teenage pregnancy is often a cause for dropping out of school, Liceo Nueva Vida chose to be the exception. Instead of closing its doors, the institution built a bridge. The coordinators—or "Las Cordis," as she affectionately calls them—helped her manage the news psychologically and adapted her academic reality to her new life as a mother.

"The school helped me immensely. They gave me leave, and when I returned, they let me arrive a bit later for my nursing hour. Mr. Juan Pablo keeps a close eye on the baby; he gives me milk and groceries... Tatiana and all the coordinators would take my baby and dote on him so that I could be in class."

When rumors spread in 2024 that the school would close its doors due to a lack of resources, panic took hold of Andri. For her, the Liceo is not just a brick structure; it is her support network, the place where Mr. Juan Pablo called her "daughter" and where she found a father figure she was missing.

"I got very scared because I said: 'And now what do I do?'. I was afraid to leave my baby somewhere in a daycare where they wouldn't take him, or that another school wouldn't accept me because I was a mom. I was so happy when it was saved. I feel like this is my school... like it's my second home."

Today, Andri dreams of studying International Business. Her ambition is not just personal; she wants her son to grow up in the same hallways that saw her become a woman. And she has a plan for when success knocks on her door: "If I have money in the future, I would invest in this school. I would fix the streets so that the students could have a better road around here, because when it rains, it's very ugly."

For those who sustain the school with their donations, Andri has a final message, filled with the wisdom that only comes from trials overcome: "I thank you very much. May God always bless you. What you give, God returns to you; what you give is not lost."