This is a story from before I started my business, when I was volunteering in Ethiopia.
At that time, there was a girl living with my host family in the same compound. She had been brought from a rural area and was working as a live-in domestic helper. Her name was Zelalem. She was cheerful and hardworking, but she could hardly read, write, or do basic calculations.
Since Zelalem and I were relatively close in age compared to the rest of the family, we quickly became friends.
One day, when I asked her about her dreams, she told me, “I would like to go to school someday.”
In Ethiopia, live-in domestic helpers are often expected to work around the clock. As a result, employers are frequently reluctant to allow them to attend school. Zelalem, who had worked as a domestic helper since childhood, had never had the opportunity to go to school.
I shared her wish with my host family and helped mediate between them. Although there were many twists and turns along the way, she was eventually granted permission to attend evening school starting the following year.
Long before her first day of school, Zelalem had been eagerly looking forward to attending classes.
Then came her first day. When she returned home, she excitedly told me with a smile, “I learned some letters today!”
But when I handed her a piece of paper and a pen and said, “Then try writing them,” she paused and, looking embarrassed, replied, “I forgot.”
At the time, I had only just begun learning Amharic myself, so I wrote out the alphabet for her.
“Maybe it looked something like this? Why don't you try copying it next to mine?”
Even with my encouragement, her hand did not move. When I placed my hand over hers and tried to guide her pencil, I realized that she was gripping it so tightly that her hand was trembling.
It was then that I realized something.
For someone who was never given the opportunity to learn at the stage of life when learning comes naturally, starting from scratch as an adult and learning to read and write presents challenges far beyond what most of us can imagine.
I learned hiragana as a child and spent years practicing writing. Because I had that foundation, I could naturally imitate and write new languages such as English and Amharic. But for someone who had grown up without ever being exposed to written language and without even knowing how to properly hold a pencil, this was far from natural.
After that, once Zelalem finished school each day, she would come to my room and we would study together. We continued this routine day after day. Yet no matter how much time passed, she was unable to write even a single letter from memory.
Eventually, she stopped going to school. She also stopped coming to my room to study.
One day, I asked her, “Haven't you been going to school lately? If you're having difficulties because of work, I can talk to your employers again. Why don't you keep trying?”
She simply replied,
“It's okay. It wasn't as interesting as I thought it would be."
(Photo taken while I was teaching at a vocational training school in Ghana after completing my volunteer assignment in Ethiopia.)
After completing my volunteer assignment and returning to Japan, ten more years passed. When I returned to Ethiopia to prepare for launching my business, the very first thing I did was visit my host family.
Everyone was doing well and was delighted to see me again after so many years. Zelalem, who had grown into a young woman, was still working as a domestic helper. I was happy to see her again, but it did not seem that her circumstances had improved at all, and that realization left a painful ache in my heart.
It was then that I truly understood how profoundly access to education can shape a person's future.
When I started my company, I established a system that allows employees to continue their education while working. For example, employees who submit proof of enrollment or academic records can receive reduced working hours without any reduction in salary, making it easier for them to attend evening classes. We also provide interest-free loans to help cover tuition fees.
To ensure that these programs are administered fairly, we have continued to refine and update the policies over time.
Of course, the program has been greatly appreciated by our staff. In particular, those who had some experience with formal education in the past—even if only through the early years of elementary school—but had to stop for various reasons have taken advantage of the system and resumed their studies.
However, those who, like Zelalem, never had the opportunity to receive any education at all seem to have already given up on using the program. In truth, they are the very people I most hope will benefit from it, so I encourage them time and time again. But it is not something a company can force upon anyone.
Sometimes they tell me,
“I may not be suited to reading and writing, but I have learned how to make bags from scratch here, and I am able to support myself because of it. I am satisfied with that. I will continue learning and improving my craft here, so why do I need to go to school?”
When I hear words like these, part of me feels that I should respect the life they have chosen for themselves. Yet at the same time, I cannot help but wonder what would happen if, for one reason or another, they wished to work for another company in the future. Without basic literacy skills, it is unlikely that they would be able to earn the same level of income that they do today.
Creating a system in which artisans can take pride in themselves and in their work, and find joy in what they do.
Enabling our customers to feel pride in choosing products made within such a system, and joy in owning and using them.
Through ANDU AMET, I hope to expand this cycle.
Yet there is no simple answer. Even after living in Ethiopia for more than ten years and continuing to run this business, I find myself constantly questioning, reflecting, and searching for the right path.
Still, I do not want to give up. I want to keep thinking, learning, and striving to do better.
