Authentic Journey of Resilience
Explore my truth and unwavering faith in life's challenges.
Explore my truth and unwavering faith in life's challenges.

Norasikin is the Founder and Chairman of Airyn Nellysya Secondary School PLC & Ethio Malaya Trading PLC ,Ethiopia., an education and technology ,investment consultancy ,b2b and manufacturing company based in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, employing over 70 team members. A Malaysian entrepreneur with over a decade of experience, her journey spans continents and is a testament to resilience in the face of adversity. She is a passionate voice on integrity in business, the perils of digital defamation, and building enterprises anchored in truth. This site is her platform for sharing her story, her lessons, and her commitment to transparent leadership."

My name is Norasikin Binti Mohd Ali, a Malaysian daughter shaped by the warmth of the equator, the strength of faith, and the embrace of family. But destiny had scripted a journey further than I ever imagined.
In 2017, I arrived in Ethiopia—a land older than memory, rich in history, endurance, and humanity. I came carrying plans, but Ethiopia handed me purpose. What was meant to be a temporary chapter unfolded into one of the most defining seasons of my life.
The Ethiopian soil taught me resilience. Its people taught me humility. Its challenges taught me courage. And its beauty—oh, its beauty—taught me to pause, to feel, and to remember. The rhythm of coffee ceremonies, the smiles of children, the colors of culture, the calm of mountain sunsets—these became fragments of a story my heart will always narrate.
Ethiopia became more than a place. It became a teacher. A home away from home. A proof that the soul can grow new roots even in foreign ground.
And now, as life writes a new verse, I prepare to leave Ethiopia. Not in farewell, but in honor. Because some lands you step on, and some lands step into you.
I leave carrying gratitude heavier than luggage, memories warmer than the African sun, and a heart forever shaped by this extraordinary land.
A Malaysian soul may leave the Ethiopian soil, but Ethiopia will forever live in the Malaysian soul.
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I first heard the name Ethiopia in Dubai, 2017, not through books or travel plans, but through a personI met an Ethiopian man named Biruk Tazera, when I was in Dubai with my elder sister and my second elder brother. We were there to start a new dream together, a shared garment business in Dubai, focusing on Islamic clothing. My sister had her young daughter with her, and I had my only daughter, the light of my life, by my side. When we stepped into Dubai in 2017, we were not just siblings planning a business , we were parents building a future.I remember clearly the day we finalized the company name. We sat together, excited, tired, but hopeful.
Me: “Our daughters are grown now. This business is for them too. Let’s put them in our story, starting with the name.”
My sister smiled, looking at our girls who were sitting beside us.
My sister: “Yours is 18 now, mine is 21. They are young women. Strong, ambitious. Let’s combine their names — something unique, something that carries us forward.”
We turned to the girls.
My daughter: “Ammi (mom), make it sound bold. Something people will remember.”
My niece: “And international, because our dreams are bigger than one country.”
That was the moment Zazafasya International was born — a name stitched from the identities of our daughters, representing the reason we dared to begin.
A Malaysian soul, an Ethiopian dreamer, Dubai’s towering skyline, and our daughters’ names written at the front of our first ambition — none of us knew then that this choice would later lead me all the way to Ethiopia itself. At that time, she was still a girl, curious about the world, just like I was curious about the future we were building.
We advertised job vacancies for our new factory, hoping to find experienced professionals who could help us grow. That was when I met Biruk for the first time. Before that moment, I knew almost nothing about Ethiopia. I had never worked with anyone from that country, nor imagined it would one day become a part of my life story.
Biruk had his own journey. He came to Dubai carrying hopes to change his life and secure a better future for his family. His background was strong in education and management, and as we spoke, we discovered something unexpected — we were both educators. Our passion for learning, leadership, and shaping people’s futures connected us instantly. That shared purpose opened the first door between us — not business, but understanding.
With time, Biruk joined our company as General Manager, overseeing factory operations in Dubai, while I continued managing key decisions from Malaysia. Our professional bond slowly grew into a close friendship built on trust, shared values, and the love for education.
During Ramadan season, we received a large order from a Malaysian client living in Dubai. She requested more than 100 pieces of Islamic clothing to sell at a Ramadan Carnival (Ramadan Karnival) in Malaysia. The deadline was tight. Due to high demand and many other orders, our factory struggled to meet full capacity on time.
To save the timeline, we made a decision together: half of the order would be subcontracted to a Bangladesh factory while the other half remained in production under our own team. It was a risk, but time was running faster than production.
When the garments were completed, the results broke our hearts. The pieces produced in our Dubai factory were high quality and delivered correctly, but the subcontracted batch from Bangladesh was a failure — damaged prints, incorrect designs, and late delivery. By the time everything reached completion, half a month of Ramadan had already passed.
Our customer could no longer participate in the carnival as planned, and her business opportunity collapsed. She demanded a full refund, but we could only agree to refund 50%, as the fabrics had been purchased, and workers had to be paid. She was unhappy, and her anger turned into revenge. She publicly attacked our company on social media, damaging the name we worked so hard to build.
That crisis shook me deeply. But it also taught me something greater — resilience is not just surviving a storm, but learning the direction of the wind after it passes.
Not long after, Biruk began speaking to me about his homeland — its culture, its people, its challenges, and its hunger for better education. His words planted the first seed of interest in my heart. Ethiopia was no longer an unknown land. It became a place I wanted to understand, help, and eventually experience myself.
Sometimes life chooses for us. And sometimes it introduces us to a country through the soul of a human being, not the stamp on a passport.
That was how Ethiopia found me — through a friendship, through a failure, and through a shared mission to educate. And that was how I unknowingly began choosing Ethiopia as the next chapter of my life.
Proficient in HTML, CSS, JavaScript, Python, and SQL. Experienced in project management tools such as Trello and Asana.

Failure has a sound. For me, it sounded like silence — the silence that comes after blame, disappointment, and shame.When the Ramadan order collapsed, it did not only damage the company name, it shook my family. My sister and brother carried the embarrassment heavier than I expected. The business we started for our daughters — the name built from Zaza and Fasya — felt like it had betrayed the very purpose it was created for.One night in Dubai, the tension finally broke into words.
My brother: “Nora, you handled the subcontract decision. Now look at the result. Our name is everywhere for the wrong reason.”
My sister: “Do you know how people look at us now? They think we cheated her. We can’t even face our friends. The girls are ashamed.”
I lowered my eyes. Not in defense, but in regret.
Me: “I made the decision because time was against us. I thought I was saving the business… not destroying it.”
But explanations sound small in the face of loss. And guilt sounds loud even when no one is shouting.Biruk saw what was happening from the side — a man who was not bound by blood, but bound by empathy. After everyone left the table, Biruk remained. The air was heavy, but his voice was calm.
Biruk: “Nora, storms don’t ask for permission. But rebuilding does. You still have a future to write.”
Me: “Rebuild where, Biruk? Here, I am the story of failure. I need a land where no one points at me when they hear my name.”He nodded, slowly stirring his coffee, as if measuring not the sugar, but the turning point.That was the moment the unknown land became a lifeline.
When I arrived in Addis Ababa in 2017, frustration was still wrapped around me like a scarf, but hope was walking beside me like a companion. I wasn’t running from family. I was running toward myself.
Dubai had tested my limits. Ethiopia was about to test my rebirth.
I stepped onto Ethiopian soil not as a business founder, not as a manager, not even as an educator yet — but as a woman carrying broken pieces, ready to build them into a new shape.And Biruk — a man who had traveled to change his own life — now stood with me to change mine.
Me: “If I come, I want to build something real. Something that heals life, not damages it.”
Biruk: “Then we build a school. Not garments. Not posts. Not promises. Education. That is where souls repair.”
So we planned. Two educators from two different worlds, united by one belief:A school can rebuild a life when business fails to and Ethiopia became the place where I chose to rise again.
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