For more than two decades, Richard Verity (1978, C) built a career at the highest level of corporate consultancy. As a Partner at McKinsey & Company, he specialised in strategy, supply chain, and operating model transformation for some of the world’s largest chemicals and energy companies. It was challenging, intellectually rewarding work – but something was missing.
In 2018, Richard and his wife, novelist and publisher Meike Ziervogel, experienced what he calls a “synchronised midlife crisis.” They left behind London boardrooms and publishing deadlines for Beirut’s Shatila refugee camp, where they encountered first-hand the urgent need for education among Syrian refugee teenagers. What began as a temporary detour has since become a life-changing vocation. Together, Richard and Meike founded Alsama – a pioneering education project that today runs four schools for nearly 900 young refugees, with thousands more waiting for a place.
For Richard Verity, the journey from corporate boardrooms to refugee classrooms has been profound. “I didn’t expect to find teaching Syrian refugee children such a joyous experience,” he reflects. “But I have. And that’s why I’m here: because this work matters.”
Richard discusses his unusual career path, what Alsama has taught him about resilience, and why a career change can be one of the healthiest decisions you ever make.
You spent more than 20 years in corporate consultancy. What did that period of your career look like?
I started out at Booz Allen Hamilton, later Booz & Company, and eventually became Vice-President leading the chemicals practice. In 2014, I joined McKinsey as a Partner. For most of my career, I specialised in strategy and operating model transformation for downstream oil and chemicals companies.
That often meant working on projects of extraordinary scale: helping to integrate a $10 billion merger, restructuring supply chains across continents, or designing new operating models for some of the world’s largest petrochemical companies. The work was global – I spent long stretches in the US, Europe, and the Middle East – and it was demanding but exciting.
The skills I gained were invaluable: problem-solving, structuring change, managing teams. But as fulfilling as the intellectual challenge was, the social impact wasn’t obvious. I found myself asking: is this all there is?
What triggered the shift away from that world?
In 2018, Meike (my wife) and I both reached a crossroads. She had published five novels and run her own independent publishing company; I had been in consultancy for more than two decades. We both felt restless, like we were living successful but incomplete lives.
That year I took a sabbatical to become interim CEO of an NGO in Lebanon serving Syrian refugees. It was a baptism of fire. I quickly discovered that being a management consultant doesn’t automatically make you a good NGO leader. I was impatient, tried to fix too much at once, and at times alienated my team. By the end of the year, everyone – myself included – was ready for me to step away.
But something unexpected happened. In our last week in Beirut, a delegation of 40 children came to see us. They were teenagers I had been teaching cricket – the only thing I could coach without speaking Arabic – and girls who had been attending Meike’s empowerment classes. They begged us to stay. They wanted more: more English, more maths, more opportunities to learn. That moment planted the seed for what became Alsama.
Tell me about founding Alsama.
We started in January 2020 with a youth empowerment centre in Shatila camp. The word Alsama means “sky” in Arabic – the idea being to give new horizons to teenagers who had none.
Very quickly it became clear that what the young people wanted most was education. So, we opened a full-time secondary school inside the camp. Within months we had 220 students, many of them girls determined to avoid early marriage, many of them arriving illiterate. In six months, that illiteracy rate dropped to zero.
Today, Alsama runs four schools in Beirut’s Shatila and Bourj al-Barajneh camps, teaching nearly 900 students aged 12 to 18. We have 2,000 more on our waiting list. Our model condenses 12 years of schooling into six, combining Arabic, English and Maths with employability skills, IT, yoga, and cricket. Ninety-seven percent of our students attend every day. After only six years, they are ready for university.
What makes Alsama’s model distinctive?
Firstly, we serve teenagers. Most NGOs working with refugees focus on primary-aged children. Secondary education opportunities are almost non-existent. We are often the only option for a 14-year-old who has never set foot in a classroom.
Secondly, we treat education as holistic. Alongside academic subjects, our students learn critical thinking, financial literacy, teamwork, leadership. Yoga and cricket are woven into the curriculum, not as extras but as essential tools for resilience and collaboration.
Cricket, in particular, has been transformative. It’s non-contact, so boys and girls can play together. It teaches strategy, discipline, and leadership. Many of our older students now coach younger ones, developing confidence and responsibility. One of our graduates recently said, “Cricket taught me how to solve problems. It’s not just a game – it’s life.”
Finally, we measure everything. Attendance, academic progress, parental feedback – we run the schools more like a start-up than an NGO. Data helps us prove impact and refine our approach.
How did you and Meike cope during moments of crisis – for example, when Beirut came under bombardment?
After October 2023, as conflict escalated, we found ourselves under drone strikes and bombing in southern Beirut. At one point, both Shatila and Bourj al-Barajneh camps were evacuated. Some of our students went back to Syria, others slept rough.
There was pressure on us to close. But Meike – who is Alsama’s CEO – insisted we carry on. Within days we had reopened schools where possible, and for others we distributed SIM cards so lessons could continue on WhatsApp. At one point we were the only four schools in Lebanon still operating.
That resilience was recognised internationally. In 2023 Alsama won the US Library of Congress Literacy Award, an extraordinary endorsement of our model.
What have you learned from the students themselves?
That there is no shortage of talent in a refugee camp – only a shortage of opportunity.
Most of our students arrive from environments of deep poverty, early marriage, and years of missed schooling. Many grew up under ISIS, witnessed war, and now live in overcrowded slums. You might expect trauma to define them. Instead, what we see every day is resilience, hunger for learning, and joy.
They see school as a privilege. They fight to stay in class until the very end of the day. They astonish us with their ability to self-heal and to support each other. I often say the secret of Alsama’s success isn’t our policies or curriculum – it’s the students themselves.
You still balance consultancy with your NGO role. How do you see those two worlds now?
I still work part-time as a strategic advisor in the corporate sector, but my centre of gravity has shifted. Consulting gave me skills and discipline, but Alsama gives me meaning.
There’s also an irony: the skills that used to help petrochemical companies become more efficient are now helping refugee teenagers gain an education. I spend as much time with spreadsheets, financial models, and KPIs at Alsama as I ever did in London. But the difference is that here, every number represents a child’s life chances.
You’ve spoken about money and philanthropy. How has your perspective changed?
When you work with refugee teenagers, you realise how powerful money can be when spent wisely. It costs about $900 a year to educate a student at Alsama – less than the price of a new phone. A full school costs $200,000.
Many of us in the West have resources that go far beyond our basic needs. I believe in using that surplus purposefully. Not just handing it down as inheritance, but deploying it where it can change lives. For me, education is the ultimate use of money because its effects radiate for generations.
Finally, what advice would you give to ORs considering a career change, or wanting to make a greater social impact?
Don’t be afraid to change. Careers don’t have to be linear. The skills you build in one field can translate powerfully into another – even into contexts you’d never imagine.
Earning money can be rewarding, but it is rarely as fulfilling as seeing your work transform lives. If you feel the pull towards something with greater purpose, follow it. Whether through volunteering, trusteeship, or a full career shift, you may find it to be the most valuable chapter of your life.
Alsama today is more than just schools. It is a model of what refugee education can be: rigorous, holistic, empowering, and transformative. With more than 2,000 children still waiting for a place, the need is urgent. Find out more and support Alsama visit the website, or head to the Alsama YouTube channel to hear from the students themselves.
