S3G Advisors NextGen Scholarship

The problem started simple enough. The temple I volunteered at was losing donations because the process was too confusing. People wanted to give, but when they asked how, the answer was essentially "figure it out." There was no clear system, no dedicated account, and the owners were older and didn't have anyone to walk them through setting something up. Some people gave cash when they came in. Most didn't give at all because there was no easy way to do it remotely. The owners knew money was being left on the table but didn't know where to start. I told them I'd figure it out. I didn't actually know if I could. My first attempt was straightforward; I thought I could just link a personal PayPal account to a Zelle account and have donations come in there. That lasted about an hour before I realized the problem. Transactions were routing inconsistently, there was no separation between personal and temple funds, and there was definitely no way to notify the owner automatically when something came in. The owner was checking manually, which meant donations were sitting unacknowledged sometimes for days. That wasn't going to work. I went back to the documentation. I spent a few hours reading through PayPal's business account setup, understanding how to configure a dedicated account that was entirely separate from any personal finances, and figuring out how Zelle's notification system actually worked. The key thing I hadn't understood the first time was that the routing logic and the notification trigger were two separate configurations; I had been treating them like one thing. Once I separated them in my head, the solution became clearer. I set up a dedicated temple business account, configured PayPal to route all incoming donations directly into it, and set up automatic notifications so the owner received an alert the moment any transaction came through. The first test transaction worked. Someone across the city sent a donation from their phone, the money hit the account, and within seconds the owner got a notification on hers. She called me into the room to show me like I hadn't just set it up myself. That part was genuinely satisfying. What didn't work perfectly was the documentation for new donors. People still occasionally sent money to the wrong place because we hadn't made the instructions visible enough. I put together a simple one-page instructions sheet that we posted on the temple website and shared in the community group chat, which cut down on the confusion significantly but didn't eliminate it entirely. If I were doing it again, I'd build a dedicated donation page on the website with the instructions embedded directly rather than as a separate document one fewer step for the donor, one fewer thing to miss. That experience taught me something I've thought about a lot since. The first version of a solution is almost never the right one, and the gap between "this should work" and "this actually works" is where most of the real learning happens. I'm building a mini ERP app right now with the same temple, and I think about that template system constantly; every time something doesn't behave the way we expected, I know what to do. Go back to the documentation, separate the problem into its parts, and try again.

As the Coding Club President at St. Hubert Seminary Senior High School in Kumasi, Ghana, I faced one big problem that was affecting all of us students every term. After we finish major exams like the WASSCE(West African Senior School Ceritifcate Examination) mocks or end-of-term tests, students had to go and queue for long hours at the administration block just to check their results. The school office will print the results on big papers and paste them on the notice board. But many times the lists were not complete, they come late, or the rain will spoil the paper. Some students even travel from far hostels only to reach there and the results are not yet ready. We used to miss our meals and afternoon classes because of this. Standing in the hot sun for hours was really frustrating and it made us feel anxious. It was hard to know how we were doing in our studies. I wanted to change this situation. Since I was the president of the coding club, I decided to build a simple web application for students to check their results easily. I used ReactJS for the front end and a basic backend. Students could just login with their index number and see their results private on their phone. I started small. First I made a prototype during our club meetings and tested it with some of my close friends. After that I went to the ICT teacher and begged him to allow me demonstrate it to the administration. What worked well was the speed and convenience. Once the data was uploaded, students could check their results instantly without any queuing. Many of my classmates started using it and they gave me positive feedback. Some even told me it saved them a lot of time and stress. But what didn’t work at first was that the school administration was scared to give me the full results database because of privacy. So I had to enter sample data manually at the beginning. Also, not every student had good internet or smartphones, so some people still couldn’t use it properly. If I get the chance to do it again or improve it, I will work closely with the school to make it an official and secure platform that connect directly with their system. I will add new features like result trend tracking and send notifications to students when results are ready. This whole experience taught me that technology can really solve real problems especially in places like Ghana where resources are limited. It has made me even more determined to study Computer Science at Beloit College so I can create more useful tools that help people in my community and beyond.

From the moment my family arrived in the United States as refugees, healthcare became a labyrinth of unspoken rules and hidden barriers. I remember watching my mother's hands tremble as she filled out endless forms in a language she barely understood, seeing the confusion in my grandmother's eyes when doctors dismissed her traditional remedies as superstition, and feeling the weight of responsibility when I had to translate medical terms at age twelve that even I didn't fully comprehend. These experiences revealed a truth that would become my life's work: the American healthcare system, while advanced in many ways, systematically fails immigrant communities through a combination of linguistic isolation, cultural misunderstanding, and structural inequity. The problem I've become obsessed with solving goes beyond mere access to care, it's about transforming the entire experience of healthcare for populations who currently navigate it with fear, confusion, and far too often, preventable suffering. My obsession crystallized during a single heartbreaking night in the emergency room with my diabetic uncle. His blood sugar had spiraled out of control, but he'd avoided treatment until collapse because he feared the cost and didn't understand his medication instructions. As I watched the nurses work to save him, I noticed how their frustration at his "noncompliance" melted into compassion when I explained he couldn't read the English dosage instructions. That moment revealed the chasm between healthcare providers and immigrant patients—not due to malice, but to a system not designed for true cross-cultural care. The statistics paint a grim picture: Limited English proficiency patients experience significantly higher rates of medical errors, immigrants utilize preventative care at dramatically lower rates, and chronic conditions like hypertension and diabetes run rampant in our communities not because we don't care about our health, but because the system hasn't cared enough to make health understandable and accessible to us. What drives my passion is the knowledge that these barriers are solvable with the right combination of cultural competence, systemic advocacy, and community empowerment. As a nursing student, I'm already working to bridge these gaps by volunteering as a medical interpreter and developing visual medication guides that transcend language barriers. But my vision extends far beyond individual interactions. I dream of reforming intake procedures to be truly multilingual, creating training programs that teach providers not just medical terminology but cultural humility, and ultimately establishing community health centers where patients aren't just treated but truly understood. The path won't be easy, it requires challenging entrenched systems and confronting uncomfortable truths about healthcare inequity, but every time I see a elderly Somali woman light up because I greeted her in our shared language, or watch relief wash over a father's face when he finally understands his child's treatment plan, I know this is the work I was born to do. This scholarship would provide not just financial support, but validation that our community's health matters, that our voices deserve to be heard in hospitals and clinics as much as in our homes, and that the next generation of immigrant families might navigate healthcare with confidence rather than fear. That possibility of transforming a system that currently excludes into one that truly heals is what gets me out of bed for 6am clinicals and keeps me studying late into the night. Our communities have survived so much; we deserve healthcare that helps us thrive.

The problem I’m most passionate about solving is healthcare inequality in underserved and immigrant communities—a crisis I’ve lived through and committed to confronting. I dream of building solutions that bridge the gap between medical institutions and marginalized people—solutions rooted in cultural competence, compassion, and accessibility. I first realized the urgency of this issue as a child growing up in a working-class Mexican-American household in Chicago. My family, Indigenous Amuzgo and proud, often avoided going to the doctor. Not because they didn’t care about their health—but because healthcare wasn’t designed for people like us. My parents didn’t speak fluent English. We didn’t have consistent insurance. I remember interpreting for my mother at medical appointments as a young teen, feeling the burden of a system that ignored people like her. I knew then that healthcare should not be a privilege—but a right that meets every person where they are. As I matured, my frustration with the healthcare system transformed into action. I took on the role of President of the Future Health Professionals Club at Northeastern Illinois University, where I organize health education events and mentorship opportunities for students from low-income and immigrant backgrounds. I also co-founded the Islas-Muñoz Foundations, a nonprofit dedicated to mentoring Latino youth in Chicago through college prep workshops and motivational outreach. Most recently, I was selected as a ChicagoCHEC Fellow at Northwestern University, a cancer research and health equity program that deepened my understanding of how race, class, and geography intersect with access to care. These experiences have shown me the transformative power of action, and I am inspired to continue making a difference. This summer, I’ll travel to Burundi, Africa, on a fully funded medical service trip to assist in healthcare outreach and learn from international physicians. For someone who once lacked access, contributing to global solutions is humbling and empowering. I’ve also launched a small cleaning business, JM Building Cleaning Services, LLC, to help support my education and family—proving that even with limited means, there’s always a way forward. I’m triple-majoring in Human Resource Development, Psychology, and Pre-Medicine with a Spanish minor. I envision opening a bilingual community clinic that offers affordable primary care, mental health services, and preventative education for immigrant and low-income families. I want to create the safe, respectful, and inclusive space I wish my family had. My aspiration is not just to become a doctor, but to revolutionize the healthcare experience. This is not just a passion, it’s deeply personal. It’s my purpose. And I am unwavering in my commitment to making healthcare a system that serves everyone equally.