To me, recovery means finding yourself again after losing parts of who you were. It’s not about forgetting the pain, but about learning to live with it and choosing to grow anyway. After failing my national exam, I felt completely broken. I lost my confidence, and the silence of people I once called friends only deepened the wound. I started questioning everything — even my faith. The emotional weight I carried was invisible, yet unbearable. Then one day, I was on a bus, silently crying. My eyes were blurry — from tears and my nearsightedness. Sitting across from me was a man with strabismus. His eyes didn’t align, yet something in his gaze struck me. In that moment, I realized: I could see. I was alive. I still had something — and that was enough to begin again. I slowly returned to prayer. A close friend supported me with kindness. Day by day, I started rebuilding myself. I realized recovery isn’t a straight line — it’s full of setbacks, but also strength. Today, I speak fluent French, fairly good English, and some Spanish. I studied biology, philosophy, and more — but this lesson on mental health was the most powerful of all. In college, I hope to support others the way I was supported. Because when you’ve seen darkness and found your way back, you carry a light — not just for yourself, but for others too.

My name is Aissatou Kane, a 21-year-old student from Senegal. I completed my high school education in Dakar, where I studied a wide range of subjects including history, geography, mathematics, physics, chemistry, philosophy, and life and earth sciences. These studies helped shape my critical thinking, my curiosity, and my desire to understand the world deeply — both scientifically and humanly. Language has always been a key part of my identity. I speak fluent French, my primary academic language, and I have been learning English since middle school — a language I now speak with confidence. I also studied Spanish during my high school years and continue to improve my skills in it. Of course, my native language remains a deep part of who I am, grounding me in my culture and my roots. Learning and navigating multiple languages has taught me how to listen, how to adapt, and how to understand others — essential skills for the global citizen I hope to become. In college, I plan to major in forensic biology, as I believe science can be a powerful tool for justice. My dream is to become an international human rights lawyer, using both science and law to defend those who are silenced by injustice. But before I could even dream that far, I had to learn one of life’s most difficult lessons: how to take care of my mental health. During high school, I faced a painful period of self-doubt. After failing my national exam, I felt broken. Friends distanced themselves, and I sank into loneliness. I questioned everything — even my faith. But in the quiet of my own pain, I started noticing small signs of hope. One day, during a bus ride, I looked into the mismatched eyes of a stranger. In that brief moment, I remembered something so basic yet powerful: I could see. I had eyesight. I was alive. That realization was the beginning of my healing. I reconnected with God, returned to prayer, and leaned on a friend who reminded me of the strength I had forgotten. I learned that mental health is not just about visible suffering — it’s about the silent weight we carry, the moments we cry alone, the courage it takes to ask for help. I also realized that mental strength is not measured by silence, but by honesty, vulnerability, and resilience. In the years to come, I will carry these lessons with me. As a college student, I will be an advocate for mental health, especially for students like me — international students, women of color, and those who may feel unseen. I will speak up, offer support, and build safe spaces where people can feel heard. My journey through darkness gave me empathy, and I intend to use it. Because even the smallest light — a prayer, a kind word, a memory — can guide someone out of the dark. And if I’ve found my light, it’s now my responsibility to share it.

What does legacy mean to me? Legacy, for me, is not about wealth or fame. It’s about the positive mark we leave in people’s hearts and in the world around us. It’s the values we stand for, the lives we touch, and the courage we show in difficult times. My dream is to leave a legacy of justice, resilience, and hope—especially for young girls like me who grow up in environments where dreams often feel too big. I come from a humble background in Senegal, raised by a mother who had to carry responsibilities alone after my father abandoned us. Watching her strength and sacrifice taught me that legacy is also about what we pass on through our actions, not just words. She didn’t have much, but she gave me dignity, discipline, and faith. That upbringing shaped me more than anything else. It made me mature early, and it fueled my desire to fight for others who face injustice, abandonment, or silence. At one point, I felt broken. I failed my final exams, lost friends, and even questioned my faith. But in that darkness, I found something powerful: a renewed connection to God, a growing love for knowledge, and the belief that every setback is a redirection, not a defeat. I remembered the verse: “Your Lord has not forsaken you, nor has He abandoned you.” That reminder changed my mindset. I realized I didn’t have to inherit pain. I could inherit purpose. Because of how I was raised, I became more determined to break certain cycles. In my community, many girls don’t get the chance to study or follow their passions. Some are silenced, underestimated, or pushed into paths they didn’t choose. I want to break that cycle. I want to be the first in my family to go abroad for studies, the first to stand in an international courtroom, the first to bring back change—not just for me, but for all the others who are watching quietly, hoping it’s possible. That’s why I chose to study biology, with a focus on forensic science. I want to use science to uncover truth, and law to fight for justice. Later, I’ll pursue a master’s in international human rights law. My goal is to represent vulnerable communities and give them the voice they deserve. This scholarship would help me move forward without being slowed down by financial limitations. More than that, it would remind me that I’m not alone in this journey. It would be part of the legacy I carry with me—proof that even a girl from a small room in Senegal, with courage and support, can reach places her ancestors never imagined. In the end, legacy is about choosing to heal, to build, and to inspire. And I plan to do all three, with every step I take.

My name is Aissatou Kane, and I am currently a biology student with the dream of becoming an international human rights lawyer. I come from a modest background in Senegal, and despite the obstacles I’ve faced—financial, personal, and emotional—I have never given up on the belief that I was meant to serve a greater purpose. I plan to first specialize in forensic biology, a field where science meets justice. Then, I intend to pursue a Master’s degree in international law so I can work with organizations like the United Nations or the International Criminal Court. My ultimate goal is to stand up for oppressed communities and ensure that truth and justice prevail, even in the darkest corners of the world. To pay for my studies, I plan to apply for as many scholarships as possible, work part-time, and reach out to organizations that believe in empowering young women like me—women who have vision, passion, and the will to make change. I know that the road won’t be easy, but I have already come a long way, and every challenge I’ve faced has made me stronger and more determined. Part of what has helped me through my hardest times has been music—especially TXT. I became a MOA during a very difficult period of my life. I was struggling with self-doubt, failure, and isolation. Then one day, I came across TXT’s music. Their lyrics spoke to me in a way no other group ever had. They weren’t just singing—they were telling my story. Themes like identity, fear, youth struggles, and growth resonated deeply with me. I felt like they understood everything I was going through, and that emotional connection gave me the strength to keep going. Among the members, Yeonjun has a special place in my heart. His versatility, leadership, and work ethic inspire me. He never gives up and always supports the rest of the group with love and humility. I admire that because I try to be the same way in my own life—resilient, kind, and committed to helping others. One of my favorite songs by TXT is “Anti-Romantic.” It’s not just about love—it’s about vulnerability. The lyrics reminded me that it’s okay to feel broken sometimes. Healing doesn’t mean pretending everything is perfect. It means accepting your scars and growing from them. That message changed the way I saw myself. TXT’s journey has shaped the way I see my future. They’ve taught me that authenticity is powerful, and that we don’t need to fit into a mold to succeed. Their creativity and courage have shown me that my voice matters. That’s why I want to become a lawyer—not just to fight legal battles, but to tell stories that have been silenced, to be a voice for the voiceless. In many ways, TXT helped me reconnect with hope. Every time I felt like giving up, their music reminded me of who I am and why I keep going. One day, I hope to be a source of light for others—just like they’ve been for me. Whether it’s in a courtroom, a community, or simply by showing kindness to someone in pain, I want my life to have an impact.

If we were sitting down for coffee, I’d tell you that I come from a place where technology is growing faster than our ability to understand or protect ourselves from its risks. In my community in Senegal, access to the internet has opened many doors—but it has also opened windows for cybercrime, scams, and exploitation. Most people around me, especially elders, students, and small business owners, use smartphones and social media daily, yet they remain unaware of basic digital security practices. I’ve seen friends get their accounts hacked, small businesses lose money to phishing schemes, and students targeted by online predators—all because no one taught them how to navigate the digital world safely. That’s where I believe I can make a meaningful difference. I plan to use my cybersecurity knowledge not just as a personal skill, but as a tool to uplift others. My dream is to create free cybersecurity literacy programs within my community—workshops that are practical, accessible, and delivered in local languages like Wolof and French. These sessions would cover topics such as how to create strong passwords, recognize scams, secure social media accounts, protect personal data, and use two-factor authentication. I want to partner with schools, mosques, and local radio stations to spread awareness, especially among youth and women, who are often left out of digital conversations. But I don’t want to stop at awareness. I want to empower. Cybersecurity can open doors to jobs, entrepreneurship, and innovation. By training students not only in safety but also in basic ethical hacking, digital forensics, and data privacy, I hope to inspire a new generation of cyber defenders—young people who can protect their communities and build solutions tailored to African realities. In a world where most digital tools are created in the West, it’s time for African youth to take ownership of their own cyberspace. I also envision launching an online platform where people can report cybercrimes anonymously, receive support, and access free resources. This would be especially important for women facing cyberharassment or revenge porn—topics often stigmatized in conservative societies. Cybersecurity, to me, is not just technical; it is social, emotional, and deeply human. It’s about restoring control to those who feel powerless and teaching people that their digital lives matter just as much as their physical ones. Through my work, I want to contribute to building a digital culture of trust, resilience, and responsibility. I want my community to feel safe enough to explore online education, e-commerce, and global opportunities without fear of exploitation. And I believe that when people feel safe, they thrive. Growing up in a world where mental health, gender equality, and digital rights were often overlooked, I’ve come to understand that real change starts with awareness—but it grows with action. My experience overcoming personal challenges, including a period of depression, has taught me that no knowledge is meaningful unless it is shared. And so, I don’t just want to study cybersecurity for myself—I want to bring it to my people. Over this cup of coffee, I’d tell you that I see a future where African youth are not just users of technology, but creators and protectors of it. I want to be one of the people leading that movement. Not for fame, not for profit—but because I know what it feels like to be unprotected in a digital world. And I never want my community to feel that way again.

My mental health journey began long before I faced academic failure or lost friends. Even as a child, I often felt like I carried a weight inside me — a deep sadness that I couldn’t name. I didn’t understand why I felt so hollow, so isolated in a world full of noise and people. I smiled when I had to, performed well in school, and fulfilled expectations, but deep down, I was battling something invisible. That silent struggle later took shape as depression. When I eventually failed my high school exams — a turning point for many — the sadness that had always been quietly present in me turned into a storm. Friends distanced themselves. People whispered. Some even mocked. But worse than their words was the silence of those I loved most. I felt abandoned — by them, by life, and even by God. That’s when I reached my lowest point. For a while, I was angry at everything, especially at God. I couldn’t understand how He could let me fall so hard when I had tried so hard to be “good.” I prayed less. I questioned everything. But life has a way of sending signs when we need them most. One day, while on a bus, I noticed a stranger with unusual eyes — a mixture of light and dark — and something in me shifted. I suddenly became aware of my own blessings: my vision, my ability to walk, to breathe, to think. Even in the middle of pain, I was still gifted with so much. That small moment sparked a huge transformation. I remembered a verse from the Qur’an that I had once learned as a child: “Your Lord has not abandoned you, nor has He forgotten you.” It pierced through the fog. Slowly, I returned to prayer — not because I had all the answers, but because I was ready to seek peace again. This journey with mental health has redefined my life. It gave me depth, purpose, and compassion. I no longer see the world as black and white. I know what it’s like to feel invisible, hopeless, and unheard. That’s why I’ve chosen to pursue a career in international human rights law — starting with a background in forensic biology. I want to be a voice for those who are silenced. Whether it’s defending marginalized communities or fighting injustice on a global scale, my pain has become my fuel. This experience has also changed the way I build relationships. I no longer seek perfection in people. I look for authenticity, for kindness, for shared humanity. I’m more patient, more forgiving, and more aware that everyone is fighting their own battle — even if they never speak about it. I no longer idolize strength as the absence of tears; I’ve learned that real strength is continuing even when you feel like giving up. In the end, my mental health journey taught me resilience, empathy, and faith. It taught me that even in darkness, we can choose light. That we can fall, and rise again — not in spite of the fall, but because of it.

Prompt: Describe how you display the five traits below in your everyday routine. Please also share your future goals, the reason why you are pursuing a degree, and explain what leadership means to you. ⸻ Leadership, to me, is not about commanding others—it’s about being present, reliable, and inspiring others by example. It is the courage to take initiative when things are uncertain, the wisdom to listen before acting, and the humility to serve others even when you’re struggling yourself. These values define how I live and why I fight for the future I believe in. As a university student in Senegal, sharing a small room with others and juggling academic and personal responsibilities, I’ve learned to lead not with authority but with empathy. Whether I’m organizing informal tutoring sessions before exams or resolving conflicts in our dorm, I make it a point to communicate clearly and with respect. I listen deeply to others’ perspectives and try to find solutions that benefit everyone. In study groups, I help break down complex biology topics so everyone can understand—because I believe leadership isn’t about being the smartest person in the room, but about making sure no one is left behind. Resilience has become part of my identity. After failing my first baccalaureate exam, I was devastated. Friends distanced themselves, and I felt ashamed. But I refused to let failure define me. I took a breath, prayed for strength, and started again. I studied harder, changed my habits, and eventually earned my place at the university. That experience taught me that setbacks don’t disqualify us—they refine us. Today, whenever I face obstacles, I remind myself: “Your Lord has neither forsaken you nor turned away,” a verse that gives me peace and perseverance. My unselfishness comes from both faith and personal experience. I know what it feels like to be abandoned and misunderstood, so I try to make sure others never feel that way around me. I often help my roommates financially when I can, share meals, or offer emotional support. I believe that success is more meaningful when it is shared, and community care is at the heart of who I am. My focus and determination are anchored in my purpose. I want to become an international human rights lawyer, starting with a degree in forensic biology. My goal is to stand in court for those whose voices have been silenced—victims of war, injustice, and abuse—especially women and oppressed communities. I chose forensic biology because science can uncover the truth that words alone cannot. After my undergraduate studies, I plan to pursue a master’s in international law and work with institutions like the International Criminal Court or the United Nations. This goal keeps me disciplined every day. I wake up early to study, I manage tight schedules between classes, chores, and prayer, and I still find time to mentor peers or write essays late at night. My work ethic isn’t based on external rewards—it’s driven by the belief that education is my path to impact, and that God has given me both the responsibility and the strength to carry it through. Pursuing this degree means more than just earning a diploma—it means becoming the woman I was meant to be. It means transforming personal pain into global purpose. And this scholarship would not only ease the financial burden on my family, but also bring me one step closer to fulfilling my mission: to serve, protect, and uplift others through knowledge, justice, and compassion.

Mental health is a necessity, not a luxury. My unique contribution would be to create a culturally sensitive, multilingual mental health platform that combines technology, community support, and affordable access—especially for underserved populations like those in my home country, Senegal. The platform would offer peer-led emotional support, where trained volunteers provide guidance in local languages, reducing stigma and isolation. It would feature AI-based companions, built with ethical programming and informed by cognitive behavioral science, offering 24/7 support for those unable to afford or access therapy. To bridge financial barriers, I’d implement a sliding-scale therapy model supported by donations and grants—so that no one is turned away due to cost. I would also offer offline options, like SMS-based counseling and radio segments, to reach rural communities without reliable internet. By partnering with schools and local organizations, the platform would include mental health education for young people, promoting early resilience and emotional literacy. As a future forensic biologist and human rights advocate, I believe justice begins with healing. I want to fight not only for legal rights but also for emotional dignity, ensuring that everyone—regardless of income, background, or location—can access care that is compassionate, affordable, and effective. This scholarship would empower me to build that vision and serve the world with both science and heart.

“The Key to Freedom: Epictetus and the Art of Inner Control” ⸻ Selected Passage – Epictetus, The Enchiridion, §1: “Some things are up to us and some are not. Up to us are our opinions, our impulses, our desires, our aversions—in short, whatever is our own doing. Not up to us are our body, our property, our reputation, our office—in short, whatever is not our own doing.” ⸻ Thesis Statement: In this foundational passage, Epictetus posits that human freedom and peace can only be achieved by recognizing the strict boundary between what we can and cannot control; by internalizing this division, we liberate ourselves from suffering caused by external forces and discover the true seat of power within our own rational will. ⸻ Introduction Philosophy often begins with a question: What can we control? For the Stoic philosopher Epictetus, this question was not abstract or academic—it was central to the project of human flourishing. In the very first paragraph of his Enchiridion, Epictetus lays out the most essential distinction in Stoic ethics: the separation between what is “up to us” and what is “not up to us.” This division becomes the key to unlocking a life of tranquility, freedom, and moral strength. It calls for a radical reorientation of our values and our emotional investments, away from the unstable world of external things and toward the stable domain of our own thoughts and choices. In the modern world, where anxiety, frustration, and helplessness are widespread, Epictetus’ words resonate deeply. His teaching offers not just a philosophy, but a psychological tool and spiritual discipline. In this essay, I will explore how this short paragraph reflects a complete ethical worldview—one that insists on self-mastery, redefines freedom, and offers a profound strategy for dealing with suffering and injustice. ⸻ I. The Division of Control: A Moral Compass Epictetus begins by dividing all aspects of human life into two categories. First, the things that are within our power: our judgments, impulses, desires, and aversions. These, he argues, are our “own doing”—they come from within us and are under our control. Second, he lists things beyond our power: our body, property, reputation, and social status. These belong to the external world and are ultimately outside of our command. This distinction seems simple, but it is extraordinarily powerful. It provides a kind of moral compass, guiding us away from fruitless emotional investment in things we cannot change. Much of human suffering arises from confusion about this boundary. We lament illness, obsess over others’ opinions, envy success, and fear death—yet none of these are within our full control. Epictetus tells us that this is a mistake of perception: we are treating externals as if they were internals, as if our well-being depended on them. If we accept his division, a radical implication follows: nothing external can harm us morally. Only our own responses—our false judgments, uncontrolled desires, and irrational fears—can truly damage us. Everything else is simply an event in the world, like weather. As Marcus Aurelius, another Stoic, would later write: “You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” ⸻ II. Freedom Redefined: Inner Autonomy as True Liberty Most people equate freedom with the ability to do whatever they want—to go where they please, to speak as they choose, to control their surroundings. But for Epictetus, such freedom is fragile and illusory. If it depends on externals, it can be taken away by illness, poverty, or tyranny. True freedom, for Epictetus, is inner autonomy—the power to govern one’s own mind regardless of external constraints. This idea is especially striking considering Epictetus’ background. He was born a slave in the Roman Empire. His body, property, and legal status were all under the control of others. And yet, through philosophy, he claimed a form of freedom that no master could touch. He writes, “No man is free who is not master of himself.” Thus, even a slave can be free if he has command over his own will. This version of freedom is demanding. It shifts responsibility away from society and fortune and places it squarely on the individual. You cannot blame the gods, or fate, or other people for your unhappiness—because only your own beliefs and attachments make you suffer. This Stoic view is both empowering and humbling. It gives us the keys to our liberation, but only if we are willing to change ourselves. ⸻ III. Desire, Aversion, and the Root of Suffering Epictetus names four specific faculties that are “up to us”: opinion, impulse, desire, and aversion. These are the sources of our actions and emotions. If misused, they become the roots of suffering. For instance, when we desire what is not in our control—like wealth, beauty, or admiration—we set ourselves up for disappointment and emotional turmoil. When we fear things outside of us—like illness, poverty, or death—we become anxious and powerless. The Stoic solution is to discipline desire and aversion so that they align only with what is under our control. Instead of desiring success, desire to act virtuously. Instead of fearing poverty, fear losing your integrity. In this way, you train your emotions to support your reason, not to fight it. This doesn’t mean suppressing emotion or becoming cold. The Stoics were not robots. Rather, they sought to develop eupatheiai—good emotions, like rational joy, caution, and love of justice. By aligning our desires with what is stable and right, we experience emotional peace. In modern psychological terms, this resembles cognitive behavioral therapy, which also focuses on identifying irrational beliefs, replacing them with realistic thoughts, and changing emotional reactions through disciplined attention. In this sense, Epictetus was not just a philosopher but also a kind of ancient therapist. ⸻ IV. Reputation, Wealth, and the Trap of External Validation Epictetus explicitly names reputation and office—social status—as things that are “not up to us.” This is a major challenge to modern values, which often place enormous importance on how we are seen by others. Social media, career ambition, and consumer culture encourage us to tie our self-worth to visibility and praise. Epictetus warns us against this trap. If your sense of self depends on the approval of others, you are giving away your freedom. You become a puppet pulled by the strings of public opinion. One day you’re praised, the next you’re mocked—and your happiness rises and falls with the tide. The Stoic alternative is to base your identity not on what others think, but on whether you are living according to reason and virtue. Are you honest, just, disciplined, courageous? These qualities, Epictetus argues, are under your control—and they are sufficient for dignity. This view is not just moral but strategic. When you stop needing validation from others, you become emotionally independent. You cannot be flattered into foolishness or bullied into despair. You become, in the Stoic sense, invulnerable. ⸻ V. The Role of Reason and the Nature of the Human Being Why does Epictetus believe we are capable of this kind of mastery? Because, as a Stoic, he believes that human beings are defined by reason. Animals follow instinct. Humans can reflect, choose, and form judgments. This rational faculty is what makes us human, and it is the source of our dignity. By using reason to align ourselves with nature, we fulfill our proper function. For the Stoics, nature is not chaotic but ordered by divine reason (the Logos). When we accept what happens with understanding and act with integrity, we live in harmony with the universe. This is the Stoic definition of happiness (eudaimonia): not pleasure, but the well-lived life. This cosmic perspective also offers consolation in the face of tragedy. If a loved one dies, or if we are struck with misfortune, we grieve—but we also remind ourselves that this is the order of things. We do not control the universe, but we can control our response to it. And in that response lies our greatness. ⸻ VI. The Political and Ethical Power of the Stoic View Epictetus’ message is not only personal—it is political. A society of Stoic individuals would be one where people do not chase empty wealth or fear persecution, but act according to justice and reason. This philosophy has inspired political resistance throughout history—from early Christians to civil rights leaders. For instance, the African-American abolitionist Frederick Douglass found strength in Stoic ideas. The dissident Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius governed according to Stoic principles. Even Nelson Mandela read Stoic texts while imprisoned on Robben Island. This is not surprising. The Stoic idea that no one can enslave your mind is a powerful weapon against tyranny. It teaches oppressed people that dignity does not come from status or privilege, but from character. In a world where injustice often seems overwhelming, Epictetus reminds us that the first revolution is internal. ⸻ Conclusion: Owning What Is Ours The first paragraph of The Enchiridion is only a few lines long, but it contains a universe of insight. Epictetus challenges us to sort the contents of our lives into two baskets: the things we control, and the things we don’t. He tells us to let go of the second and focus all our energy on the first. This is not easy. It requires courage, humility, and daily discipline. But the reward is immense: freedom, peace, and resilience. In a world filled with chaos and unpredictability, Epictetus offers a radical form of stability—the stability of a soul that governs itself. We cannot stop the storm. But we can become the captain of our own mind, and that, says Epictetus, is enough.

Growing up, I learned early that strength isn’t always loud, and love isn’t always easy. My life changed the moment I became a caregiver—not by choice, but by circumstance—for a family member living with a disability. That experience, though difficult, has deeply shaped who I am today. It taught me patience, resilience, and the quiet courage required to carry both my dreams and someone else’s needs at the same time. At an age when most of my peers were focused on school and social life, I was helping manage medications, attending hospital visits, and interpreting medical information for my loved one. I became the bridge between them and the outside world—the translator of emotions, the listener in the silence, and the hands that steadied what was shaking. There were days I felt exhausted, overwhelmed, even invisible. But I never resented the responsibility. In fact, it grounded me. It made me more human. Caring for a family member with a disability strips away superficial things. It forces you to pay attention to what truly matters: dignity, empathy, presence. I learned to recognize emotions not through words, but through small shifts in behavior. I became more intuitive, more emotionally intelligent, and more mature than most people my age. While others learned theory in class, I was learning compassion in real time. This role also shaped my vision for the future. Seeing firsthand how people with disabilities often face injustice—not just in health care, but in education, employment, and society—ignited something in me. I knew I couldn’t stay silent. I wanted to be a voice for those who are too often ignored or dismissed. That’s why I chose a path rooted in justice and science. I’m currently pursuing forensic biology because I believe truth backed by evidence can be a powerful tool for change. But I don’t want to stop there. I hope to become an international human rights advocate, working to defend those whose stories are overlooked, especially in marginalized communities. Being a caregiver didn’t stop me from dreaming. It made me dream differently. It gave me purpose beyond myself. I don’t just want success—I want impact. I want to create systems that are more accessible, more compassionate, and more inclusive. I want to remind the world that behind every person with a disability is a life full of strength, potential, and stories worth hearing. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my academic journey—it would honor the unseen labor of caregivers like me who have learned to give even when they have little, to fight even when they are tired, and to hope even when the odds feel heavy. I carry my family’s story with pride, and I am determined to turn it into something meaningful—for them, for myself, and for others walking the same path.

Living with a chronic medical condition—whether through my own body or through someone close to me—has shaped the way I see the world. It has challenged me, slowed me down, and forced me to become more patient with myself and with life. But more than anything, it has awakened in me a quiet strength, a deeper empathy, and an unshakable desire to make a difference. Chronic illness often teaches lessons that good health never could. There are days when energy comes in short supply, when your mind is ready but your body says no, and when frustration builds because you wish you could do more, be more, move faster. I’ve lived those days. I’ve watched them steal time, confidence, and sometimes even joy. But I’ve also seen how much power there is in simply continuing—choosing to show up, to keep trying, to not let pain or fatigue have the final word. What inspires me to push forward, despite the limitations, is knowing that my struggle is not mine alone. There are millions of people living with silent battles—students, workers, parents—who are often expected to function as if everything is fine. I carry them with me. I think of those who don’t have a voice, who are misunderstood, or who have been told their dreams are out of reach because of something they didn’t choose. Every time I open a book, enter a classroom, or plan my future, I remember that I’m not just doing this for me—I’m doing it for every person who’s ever been underestimated because of a condition they didn’t ask for. This experience has also clarified my purpose. I don’t want to succeed just for the sake of a title or a degree. I want to use what I’ve learned—the resilience, the discipline, the compassion—and put it into action. My goal is to work in the service of justice, science, and humanity. I want to uncover the truth in places where silence once reigned. Whether it’s in a lab, a courtroom, or a community, I hope to bring light where there has been confusion or neglect. Most of all, I want to empower others like me. To show them that their path may be different, but it is no less worthy. That they are not broken, but built differently—and beautifully. That the very limitations they carry can become their driving force, their reason to rise, and their testimony to others. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial relief—it would be a vote of confidence in someone who has turned pain into purpose. It would help me continue a journey shaped by hardship but defined by hope. And it would bring me one step closer to making the impact I know I was meant to make

Growing up in Senegal with a single mother was not just my reality—it was my foundation, my school of resilience, and the source of my deepest values. After my father walked away, my mother became everything: my protector, my role model, and my compass. Watching her navigate life with strength, dignity, and faith despite overwhelming challenges shaped me into the woman I am today—ambitious, compassionate, and determined to make a difference. We didn’t have much in terms of material wealth, but my mother gave me something far more valuable: courage. She worked long hours, often juggling multiple roles to provide for our small family. She faced every hardship in silence, never allowing her pain to disturb the little world she had created for me. Yet, I could see it in her tired eyes—the price she paid to see me smile, to keep me in school, to make sure I never felt unloved or abandoned. What shaped me most wasn’t only her sacrifice—it was her unwavering belief in me. When I failed my high school exam, I felt like my world had collapsed. I was ashamed, disappointed, and broken. But she didn’t let me stay there. Her words were gentle but firm: “Your journey is not over. Allah does not abandon us—He redirects us.” That moment became a turning point. It reminded me that failure doesn’t define us—how we rise does. Her quiet but unwavering faith reignited the fire in me. I returned to my studies with greater determination, knowing that I wasn’t just chasing a diploma—I was honoring everything she had fought for. Living with a single mother also opened my eyes to the silent suffering of many others. I saw how justice often failed the most vulnerable—especially women and children—because there were no tools, no investigations, no evidence. That reality disturbed me deeply. I knew I wanted to fight for them, but I also knew that good intentions weren’t enough. I needed science. I needed facts. I needed truth. That’s why I chose to study forensic biology. Forensic science is not just a subject to me—it’s a mission. I believe it’s one of the most powerful tools to fight injustice. Through it, I want to give a voice to the voiceless, especially those whose stories are ignored because no one bothered to seek the truth. My long-term goal is to become an international human rights lawyer and represent oppressed communities on the global stage. But first, I want to ground myself in evidence-based justice—through biology, through forensic investigation, through truth. Every step I take in this journey is rooted in the lessons my mother gave me: to fight with grace, to believe in the unseen, and to never forget where I come from. She is my hero, my strength, and my reminder that even when the world turns its back, Allah never does. Receiving this scholarship would not only ease my financial burden—it would be an investment in a journey rooted in struggle, strengthened by resilience, and driven by hope. I carry my mother’s strength, and I’m ready to carry the weight of responsibility that comes with the opportunity to study, to grow, and to serve

Since I was a child, I’ve been deeply moved by the pain of injustice—by the stories of oppressed people who cry out for help but receive no answer. Growing up in Senegal, I have witnessed how injustice can silence dreams and how a lack of resources and legal representation can keep entire communities in cycles of suffering. These experiences have shaped my ultimate goal: to become an international human rights lawyer who stands for the voiceless before global institutions like the International Criminal Court (ICC) or the United Nations (UN). To achieve this, I plan to begin my academic journey with a bachelor’s degree in forensic biology in the United States. This field will give me a strong foundation in science, which is vital for understanding evidence-based investigations in cases of war crimes, genocide, and state abuse. It also reflects my deep interest in both truth and justice—not just in theory, but in concrete facts and results. After completing my undergraduate studies, I intend to pursue a master’s degree in international law and human rights, focusing on legal frameworks that protect vulnerable populations around the world. My dream is to work on international cases that involve child soldiers, displaced populations, and victims of systemic violence, and to one day return to Africa to build stronger legal institutions and awareness around human rights. However, despite my determination and vision, I am facing significant financial obstacles. Coming from a modest background, with no financial sponsor, I must rely on my own efforts and the kindness of those who believe in potential. This scholarship would be a life-changing opportunity—it would not just support my academic journey, but unlock a future where I can give back to those in need. With this scholarship, I will be able to: • Pay for my tuition and other academic expenses. • Afford the visa, travel, and settlement costs required to study abroad. • Focus on my education without the constant anxiety of financial instability. • Access resources and opportunities that are not available in my current environment. More than just financial help, this scholarship would mean that someone believes in me—in my ability to carry this mission, to rise above my challenges, and to create real impact in the world. It would give me the strength to keep pushing forward when things get hard, and the responsibility to honor that support by giving my very best. One day, when I stand in a courtroom defending the rights of a forgotten people, I will remember the moment when someone gave me a chance. And I will make sure to pass that chance on to others—through mentorship, advocacy, and service. In conclusion, this scholarship is not just a door to education—it is a gateway to justice, change, and service. I am not only pursuing a degree; I am pursuing a life dedicated to helping others, to making sure that no child, woman, or man is left without a defender. Thank you for considering my application and for possibly being a part of my journey toward justice.

My name is Aissatou Kane, a first-year biology student at university in Senegal. As someone who grew up navigating the weight of abandonment, limited financial means, and academic setbacks, my journey into STEM is not only rooted in intellectual curiosity but in a deep desire to serve a greater purpose. My dream is to specialize in biological sciences as a foundation to eventually become an international human rights lawyer, using science as a tool to defend the oppressed before global institutions like the International Criminal Court and the United Nations. This vision keeps me grounded, but the path toward achieving it is lined with challenges—especially financial ones. The reality of pursuing higher education, particularly one that leads to an international professional program, is costly. From standardized test fees (TOEFL, SAT, or GRE), application charges, transcript processing, agency costs for student visas, and even basic study materials—all of it creates an overwhelming financial barrier. For instance, the agency facilitating my journey to the United States requires a guarantor, a service that alone costs over 400,000 FCFA, which I am currently struggling to gather. Add to that the potential 10 million FCFA or more needed for the visa process, flight, and settlement, and it becomes clear that dreams like mine are too often blocked not by lack of talent or drive, but by limited access to resources. Despite these difficulties, I have refused to let financial hardship define or limit me. After failing my baccalauréat the first time, I felt broken—abandoned by friends, unsupported by my father, and lost. But I found strength in faith. A verse from the Qur’an, “Ton Seigneur ne t’a ni abandonné ni délaissé” (“Your Lord has neither abandoned you nor forgotten you”) became my anchor. I rose again with more focus and faith, and eventually passed. Today, I study with purpose: not just to succeed academically, but to fight for justice using science and law together. Receiving this scholarship would be a turning point in my life. It would lift a heavy burden and allow me to focus fully on my studies, applications, and preparations for a future abroad, instead of constantly worrying about how to fund each next step. It would also affirm that someone believes in my dream — not just as an idea, but as something achievable and worth investing in. With this support, I would be able to afford the exams, purchase proper study materials, and confidently submit applications to programs that align with my career goals. But this scholarship is not just about me. I carry the weight and dreams of many girls like me — those born into modest circumstances, whose potential often goes unseen. I plan to give back by creating a mentorship network for young African women interested in STEM and human rights, especially those who’ve faced rejection or financial limitations. I want to offer free workshops, guidance on applying for international programs, and emotional support to help them believe they too can succeed. I also dream of establishing a non-profit organization that connects scientific expertise with legal advocacy in Africa — providing forensic support in cases of injustice, war crimes, or violence, where evidence can protect the innocent and expose the guilty. In every step I take, I carry my past, my faith, and my people with me. I am not only trying to build a career — I am trying to be a bridge between what is and what should be. This scholarship would turn my resilience into action and help make my dreams — and those of others seeking justice — a reality.

How I’m Different — And How I Use It to Make a Difference, Even When No One’s Watching What makes me different isn’t something visible to the eye. It’s not my grades, my background, or my achievements. It’s something that has been shaped through pain, failure, and faith — something built quietly in the shadows. I’ve been through moments where I felt completely abandoned — not just by people, but by life itself. I failed my baccalauréat once. My father, who should have stood by me, turned his back on me. And friends I thought would stay disappeared when I needed them the most. But even in those dark moments, something in me refused to die. Instead of giving in to despair, I learned to turn inward — and then upward. I realized that Allah never abandoned me, even when everyone else did. I remembered the verse from the Qur’an that says: “Ton Seigneur ne t’a ni abandonné ni délaissé.” That one line carried me through many silent nights. I repeated it when I couldn’t find answers, when I had no one to talk to, and when I didn’t even have the words to make dua properly. It reminded me that my worth isn’t defined by my circumstances, but by the One who created me. That resilience — born from heartbreak, hardship, and healing — is what makes me different. I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m still growing, still learning, still dreaming. But I now carry within me a strength that doesn’t break easily. A softness that doesn’t make me weak. A faith that doesn’t require constant miracles to stay alive. These qualities don’t always make noise, but they make impact. And that’s how I try to make a difference — even when I have no idea who’s watching me. Maybe it’s my roommate, Onnorine, who sees how I wake up for Fajr no matter how tired I am. Maybe it’s a friend who watches how I carry myself with dignity despite my struggles. Or maybe it’s a girl out there — just like I once was — scrolling through life and looking for a sign that things will be okay. If she sees me hold on, maybe she’ll hold on too. I try to live in a way that reflects hope, faith, and purpose. I want people to see, not just what I say, but how I live. That even when I have little, I can still give. Even when I’m struggling, I can still be kind. Even when I don’t get what I pray for, I still believe Allah knows best. I try to let my life be a quiet testimony that patience is power, and that dignity doesn’t depend on money or status, but on the heart. I dream of becoming an international human rights lawyer, defending the voiceless before the world’s highest courts. But I also know that impact begins long before I wear a suit or stand before a judge. It begins here — in how I treat people, in how I face difficulty, and in how I keep showing up with sincerity. So even when I think no one is watching, I keep going. Because I know that someone, somewhere, might be looking for a reason not to give up. And if my journey — with all its wounds and faith and dreams — can help even one person hold on a little longer, then I’ve already made a difference. And even if no one ever tells me that I inspired them, that’s okay. Because I know Allah sees.

⸻ I chose forensic biology as my field of study because I believe science can be a powerful voice for justice. Growing up in Senegal, I witnessed how often crimes go unresolved, especially those involving women and children, because of a lack of evidence, scientific tools, or qualified professionals. I want to change that. I believe that by combining biology with criminal investigation, I can help uncover truth, support victims, and fight against injustice—not just in laboratories, but also in courtrooms and policy spaces. In the short term, my goal is to complete my undergraduate degree in forensic biology in the United States, where I can receive advanced scientific training, gain hands-on experience in crime labs, and learn from professionals in the field. I want to take full advantage of internship opportunities, research labs, and academic networks to build a strong foundation in both science and ethical investigation. In the long term, I plan to pursue a master’s degree in international human rights law. I want to become an advocate at the global level, working with institutions like the United Nations, the International Criminal Court, or nonprofit organizations that investigate and defend the rights of oppressed communities. My dream is to use forensic science not only to solve crimes, but also to hold perpetrators accountable—especially in cases of gender-based violence, war crimes, and systemic oppression. Being an underrepresented minority in this field deeply influences my career goals. As an African woman from a low-income background, I am painfully aware of how much talent is overlooked simply because of geography, gender, or financial situation. There are very few Black African women represented in forensic science or international justice. I want to be one of them—not just for my own success, but to open the door for others. I want young girls in Senegal, and across Africa, to see that they can be scientists, lawyers, and leaders. Representation matters. When people see someone who looks like them doing meaningful work, it changes what they believe is possible. My background has not been easy. I was raised by a single mother after my father abandoned us. I’ve faced financial hardship, emotional struggle, and rejection even from parts of my own family. Despite this, I’ve remained focused on education as my way forward. Every exam I passed, every class I attended, and every dream I held onto was an act of resilience. But even resilience has limits when financial barriers stand in the way. That’s why this scholarship means so much to me. It’s not just financial support—it’s a lifeline. It will help cover tuition, learning materials, and living expenses that my family cannot afford. It will relieve the pressure of having to work multiple jobs while studying full time. It will allow me to focus on excelling academically, building professional experience, and giving back to others. With this scholarship, I will not just be a student—I will be a future scientist, a future advocate, and a future role model. In conclusion, I chose forensic biology not because it is easy, but because it is meaningful. My goals are rooted in service, in justice, and in hope. As an underrepresented voice in STEM and global justice, I am ready to rise and help others rise with me. This scholarship will not only change my life—it will help me change many others.

Although I am still early in my journey with artificial intelligence and machine learning, my experience with algorithms and the C programming language has sparked a deep curiosity about the ways technology can be used to solve complex real-world problems. Coming from a background in forensic biology, I never imagined that coding could be a part of my future—but once I was introduced to programming through my studies, I began to see its value not only in science, but also in the fight for justice and human rights. My first exposure to programming came through coursework in algorithmics and the C language. At first, it was challenging to understand how lines of code could translate into real-world solutions, but over time I began to grasp the logic, precision, and structure behind it. I learned how to write basic programs, understand loops, conditions, and data structures, and build a solid foundation in problem-solving through code. Even though I haven’t yet built a complete app or machine learning project, I now understand how algorithms are the building blocks of intelligent systems. What excites me most is how this knowledge can be used to serve others. As someone who wants to work in forensic science and eventually become an international human rights lawyer, I see technology—especially AI—as a tool to fight injustice and improve lives. In many parts of Africa, including my home country of Senegal, forensic investigation is underdeveloped. Cases of domestic violence, abuse, and human rights violations often go unresolved due to lack of evidence or resources. AI and machine learning can help change that. Imagine systems that can automatically detect inconsistencies in witness statements, flag suspicious patterns in forensic data, or use image analysis to identify critical details in crime scene photos. These tools already exist in some parts of the world, but they are rarely accessible in developing countries. My dream is to be part of the generation that changes that. With further education, I want to deepen my knowledge in programming and AI—eventually learning languages like Python and exploring how machine learning can be applied in biology, medicine, and law. My goal is to collaborate with other students, researchers, and engineers to build tools that make evidence analysis faster, more accurate, and more accessible in under-resourced areas. I also hope to work on projects that protect women—especially those who are victims of violence—by creating digital platforms where they can report, store, and secure evidence safely. Beyond the technical side, I care deeply about the ethical use of AI. Technology can do great good, but it can also reflect the biases of the people who build it. I want to be part of those who ensure that AI is used to support truth and justice, not discrimination. By combining my background in science with my values and my cultural understanding of the communities I come from, I believe I can contribute something meaningful to this field. In conclusion, while I have not yet created an app or complex system, my studies in algorithmics and C programming have opened my mind to the potential of technology. I am determined to continue learning, to use what I gain to empower marginalized voices, and to create solutions that reflect both scientific innovation and human dignity. AI is not just a career path for me—it is a means to bring justice forward, and to help communities like mine move hacia delante.

am Aissatou Kane, a young woman from Senegal, a country rich in culture but facing many social challenges. Growing up, I experienced the impact of emotional abandonment within my family. My father left when I was very young, and as his only daughter, his absence left a deep mark. Although it was not physical violence, the emotional pain of rejection and neglect shaped my early life. However, I never allowed this to define me or limit my dreams. Instead, it became the fuel for my determination to succeed and to make a difference in the lives of others. My mother’s strength and resilience were my greatest inspirations. She raised me with love and determination, teaching me that no matter the hardships, education and faith could open doors to a better future. Her example showed me that women have immense power to overcome adversity and build new paths. This inspired me to pursue a career where I can help other women who face similar challenges. Domestic violence, especially emotional and psychological abuse, is often hidden in many African families. Cultural norms encourage silence and endurance, which unfortunately allows abuse to continue unchecked. I have seen many women suffer in silence, afraid to speak out for fear of shame or rejection. This reality deeply motivates me to be part of the change — to help break the cycle of silence and provide support for survivors. My passion for forensic biology was sparked by my desire to use science as a tool for justice. Forensic science allows us to uncover the truth behind crimes, giving survivors a voice through evidence that cannot be disputed. Unfortunately, many African countries lack the infrastructure and resources for proper forensic investigations, especially in cases of domestic violence and sexual abuse. This gap often leads to injustice and unprotected victims. Through my higher education, I aim to acquire the scientific skills necessary to improve forensic services in Africa. I want to help build systems that better collect and analyze evidence, which will strengthen cases against abusers and protect survivors. More importantly, I want to promote collaboration between medical professionals, law enforcement, and legal experts to ensure a coordinated and effective response. Beyond science, I plan to continue my studies in international human rights law. This combination will equip me to advocate for policies and programs that improve communication and care for survivors. Education is key; I want to help raise awareness about women’s rights and the resources available to them, empowering them to seek help without fear. I believe that improving outcomes for African women affected by domestic violence requires a holistic approach. It’s not just about collecting evidence but also about emotional support, legal protection, and community engagement. My goal is to be a bridge between science, law, and social support — someone who uses knowledge to protect human dignity and promote justice. My personal journey from pain to purpose has taught me that adversity can be transformed into strength. I am committed to using my education to create positive change, ensuring that no woman feels invisible or voiceless. I want to be part of a future where women are empowered to live free from violence, where justice is accessible to all, and where healing is possible. In conclusion, my experiences have shaped my passion and commitment to this cause. With the skills and knowledge I will gain through higher education, I plan to contribute to building better systems that protect and support women impacted by domestic violence. I am hopeful education will help me empower women and improve justice for survivors of domestic violence.

My name is Aissatou Kane. I am a 21-year-old woman from Senegal, a country full of beauty, warmth, and struggle. I was raised by my mother, a courageous woman who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders after my father walked away and never looked back. I am his only daughter — but I was never treated like one. That absence shaped me more than his presence ever did. I didn’t grow up surrounded by opportunity. I grew up surrounded by resilience. Every time the lights went out during exam season, I studied by candlelight. Every time the noise of life got too loud, I turned inward — to my faith, to my dreams, and to science. But the turning point came after I failed my first baccalaureate exam. It felt like the world was crashing down. Friends disappeared. Shame weighed on me. I questioned everything — my intelligence, my worth, even God. One day, while on a crowded bus, I saw a man with a clouded gaze — a severe eye condition. And suddenly, something shifted. I realized I had spent so much time mourning what I didn’t have that I had forgotten to be grateful for what I did. I could still see. I could still try. I could still rise. That was the day I started to fight again. During that period of searching, I discovered forensic science. I was captivated. It was more than just biology; it was truth-finding. It was giving a voice to the voiceless. It was proof that science, when used with compassion and courage, could solve crimes, protect the innocent, and hold the guilty accountable. In Senegal, too many crimes — especially those involving women — go uninvestigated. Survivors are told to stay silent. There is no evidence, no lab, no justice. I want to change that. I want to bring forensic biology to the frontlines of justice. I want to make science a tool for dignity, not just discovery. Today, I’m pursuing a degree in biology with the long-term goal of specializing in forensic biology and later international human rights law. My dream is to stand before international courts — not just with legal arguments, but with scientific evidence that can’t be denied. I want to defend those whose voices have been ignored, whose stories have been buried. I want to be a light in rooms where darkness has lived too long. I carry my scars with pride because they remind me of what I’ve survived. I am the daughter of a silent father and a lion-hearted mother. I am a believer in justice, science, and the idea that no matter where you start, you can still change the world. This is not just a career for me. It is a mission. And I am ready to walk it — step by step, heart full, head high, eyes wide open.

My name is Aissatou Kane, and I come from Senegal, a country rich in culture, faith, and resilience — and yet, for many, limited in opportunities. I was raised by a single mother, a woman whose strength taught me the value of perseverance. I am my father’s only daughter with my mother, but he chose to abandon us, leaving my mother to carry the entire weight of raising me alone. That decision did not just create financial hardship; it created a void that I carried in my heart for years. Despite her limited income, my mother always tried to shield me from the full weight of our struggles. But as I grew older, I could see the truth in her tired eyes — the sacrifices she made so I could go to school, the nights she stayed awake worried about the future. We often lived with uncertainty, unsure if we would have enough for food, school fees, or even electricity. And yet, I never stopped dreaming. My academic journey was far from smooth. I failed my first baccalaureate exam, an experience that brought not only shame but isolation. Friends distanced themselves. I questioned my intelligence and my worth. But in my lowest moments, I turned to my faith. A verse from the Qur’an became a lifeline: “Your Lord has not forsaken you, nor has He detested you” (Qur’an 93:3). That verse helped me see that even in failure, I was not forgotten. Soon after, I had an unexpected encounter that changed my perspective completely. On a bus one day, I noticed a man with a serious eye condition. In that moment, I realized that even with my poor eyesight, I could still see. I remembered how often I had complained about my situation without noticing the blessings I still had. That moment sparked something in me — a deep desire to live with gratitude and to make a difference. I studied harder, passed my baccalaureate on my second try, and was accepted into university to study biology. Choosing biology was not just about academic interest. I was drawn to it because it offered answers — to how life works, how diseases spread, how bodies react, and how evidence can speak when people cannot. More specifically, I discovered a strong passion for forensic biology, a field where science and justice meet. In Senegal and many developing countries, forensic tools are underutilized, and justice is often denied due to lack of evidence. Victims of rape, violence, and false accusations often go unheard. I want to change that. I want to use science to bring truth to light, to give a voice to the voiceless. My dream is not only to work in forensic science but to continue my studies abroad and become an international human rights lawyer. I want to stand before the International Criminal Court or the United Nations and advocate for oppressed communities, war victims, and the falsely accused. My long-term goal is to merge forensic evidence with legal advocacy to build strong cases that lead to real justice. But dreaming big has never been the problem — financing those dreams has. Despite my academic efforts, my financial situation remains a barrier. I do not have a guarantor to support studies abroad, and my mother simply cannot afford the costs associated with international education. I work hard, apply for scholarships, and seek every opportunity available because I know what is at stake — not just my future, but the futures I hope to protect and serve. Being a woman in a society where gender expectations are limiting has also made this journey more difficult. Many people expected me to settle, to shrink myself to fit into a mold. But I am not interested in living a life that is “acceptable.” I want to live a life that is impactful. I want young girls from difficult backgrounds to look at me and see possibility. I want victims of injustice to know that someone like me — who once had nothing — is fighting for them. Everything I have lived — the abandonment, the poverty, the failure, the loneliness — has been preparing me. It taught me compassion, strength, and patience. It made me resilient, focused, and fearless. And above all, it gave me a purpose. This scholarship would mean far more than financial aid. It would be a declaration that someone sees potential in me, that someone believes my voice, my journey, and my mission are worth investing in. With your support, I will be able to study forensic biology, continue toward international law, and one day stand where justice is served — not just as a witness, but as a defender of those who need it most. Thank you for considering my story, my struggle, and my dream. Your investment in my future is not just an act of generosity — it’s a step toward a more just world.