Then in late 1989, when I was 12, we heard rumors of war. Charles Taylor and his rebels destroyed every village in their path. The rebels saw our big house and captured my stepfather. We sat there waiting for him, but he never came back. My mother was on vacation in the States with my three little brothers at the time. For months, I was on my own with my older brothers, who were 15 and 16, hoping our stepfather would return. The rebels took our cars and raided our house. One said he would come back and take me as his wife. That's when we decided to leave.
It took us about six months to walk to the Ivory Coast, where there was a refugee camp. Then it took almost three years to get our immigration papers. By this point, my mother was working a couple of jobs and living in the projects in Newark, New Jersey. This wasn't the America I expected.
But I loved high school here and even modeled some. I got a degree in electronic communication at college and worked in fashion. I was living this great life but realized I had forgotten where I'd come from. In 2004 I started the MacDella Cooper Foundation. We send clothes and school supplies to more than 500 children at five orphanages in Liberia, run a scholarship program, and renovate the orphanages. I spend Christmas there and throw a party for all the kids. We play games and have a warm meal, and they each get a gift bag with toys and necessities. I was lucky to escape civil war; I have a responsibility to give something back.

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