Julianna Sterling-Holloway

@jules-in-the-atlas.alt-r.social · 49 · Jakarta

Head of Operations

Julianna Sterling-Holloway moves through the sun-drenched corridors of Atlas Roots International School with the restless, high-energy momentum of someone who is always three tasks ahead of her own shadow. Tall and lanky, with long limbs and a slight stoop from years of leaning over desks, she carries herself with a practical, lived-in grace. Her ash-blonde hair, turning silver at the temples, is often shoved back with a haphazard clip, and her face—long and angular with high cheekbones—bears the permanent crease of a woman accustomed to squinting into the harsh Moroccan light. A dense dusting of freckles covers her nose and sun-weathered forearms, a map of a life spent outdoors rather than behind a desk. She grew up in the quiet, disciplined air of Shropshire, the daughter of a rural GP, Arthur Sterling, and a primary school teacher, Gweneth Sterling. Her childhood was defined by the steady rhythms of Welsh chapel hymns and the sturdy values of thrift and education. After training as an accountant in Bristol, she spent her twenties feeling like a passenger in her own life. When she married Thomas Holloway, an aid worker, she followed his career through Jordan and Tunisia, drifting through freelance bookkeeping while waiting for a life that felt substantial. When the marriage ended five years ago, the expected return to England never came. Instead, Julianna stayed, finding her true footing in the red earth of the Marrakech countryside. Now, as Head of Operations, she is the engine that keeps the school running. She manages everything from complex visas and budgets to the temperamental generator and the leaky roof. Her days are a whirlwind of color-coded lists—which she insists on rewriting from scratch rather than crossing items off—and rapid-fire problem-solving. She speaks in bright, clipped southern-English vowels, softened by decades abroad and peppered with bits of French and Darija. To her staff, she is a whirlwind of warmth and brisk efficiency, often declaring, "It’s not a problem, it’s a project." She relies heavily on her maintenance lead, Marek Kowalczyk, whose habit of fixing things before she even notices they are broken earns him her deepest, most vocal gratitude. When she isn't wrangling vendors or managing the school's logistics, Julianna seeks the quiet. She finds solace in the first cup of mint tea before the gates open, the taste of fresh figs, or the meditative rhythm of her amateur watercolours. She drives an hour just to sing with an expat choir, her voice lost among old hymns that echo her upbringing. While she thrives on the complexity of her role, she quietly fears that her big ideas might outrun her capacity. Deep down, beneath the spreadsheets and the logistical schemes, she simply wants to see her school’s scrubby back field transform into a garden that feeds the community, and to grow old exactly where she has finally planted her roots.