I come from a world where ambition often collides with reality. Growing up in North Africa, shaped by both Arab and Amazigh traditions, women like me are often taught to be humble, modest, and quiet. Yet I chose something else. I chose to dream boldly and unapologetically. Today I study Computer Science and Business Intelligence at Augustana College in the United States. I am thousands of miles from my family, a first-generation hijabi student on an F-1 visa, determined not only to succeed but to carve out a space for women like me in fields where we are often overlooked. The past two semesters have been the most defining of my life. I have maintained academic excellence while tackling demanding courses in algorithms and database systems. Alongside a full course load I work multiple campus jobs. I manage food distribution for international students, tutor ESL learners to help them find their academic voices, and contribute to a research team developing a mobile app for patients with hyperacusis, a rare auditory condition. This project blends technology and healthcare, proving that science can heal and women in hijab can innovate and lead. Behind every achievement is a financial reality that weighs heavily on me and my family. My tuition alone exceeds one hundred thousand dollars for four years, not counting books or the graduate degree I hope to pursue. My parents support me while caring for my three siblings, each deserving of their own future full of promise. Every dollar spent on me is a dollar not spent on them. This scholarship would lift that burden. It would allow me to focus deeply on my studies, pursue internships aligned with my passions, and build a future driven by purpose, not survival. Chris Jackson’s story deeply resonates with me. Like him I have faced financial and social obstacles. His greatest gift was his unwavering presence and ability to truly listen and make others feel valued. I strive to embody that spirit, to be fully present in my work and lift others as I rise. His journey from hardship to a rewarding technology career inspires me daily to persevere knowing that passion and resilience change lives. As a hijabi woman in STEM I face both visible and invisible barriers. I have been talked over, dismissed, or reduced to a symbol. But I wear my scarf with pride because it is mine. I am here not despite my identity but because of it. I want to prove to young girls like me that we belong in classrooms, boardrooms, labs, and leadership roles. Receiving the Chris Jackson Computer Science Education Scholarship would be more than financial support. It would be a turning point and a way to honor a man whose legacy embodies resilience, presence, and generosity. It would change my life, my family’s life, and through me the lives of many others. I am ready to carry that legacy forward with passion, ambition, and unwavering purpose.

I come from a world where ambition often collides with reality. I grew up in North Africa, shaped by both Arab and Amazigh traditions, where women are taught to be humble, modest, and quiet. I chose something else. I chose to dream. I now study Computer Science and Business Intelligence at Augustana College in the United States, thousands of miles away from my family. I came here as a first-generation, hijabi international student. I came here with a suitcase and a mission, not only to succeed, but to make space for women like me in fields where we are rarely seen, let alone heard. The last two semesters have been the most challenging and defining of my life. I’ve maintained academic excellence while taking upper-level courses in algorithms and database systems. I’ve balanced a full course load while holding multiple jobs on campus. I work at Campus Ministries, managing free food distribution for international students like myself through the Campus Cupboard. I tutor ESL students at the Reading and Writing Center, empowering them to find confidence in their academic voice. And I’m part of a research team developing a mobile app to help patients with hyperacusis, a rare auditory condition. This project blends tech with healthcare, and I’ve worked on both development and design, proof that science can be used to serve, and that women in hijab can innovate, lead, and heal. But behind these achievements is a financial reality that weighs heavily on me and my family. My tuition alone is over $100,000 for four years, and that’s without counting books or the graduate degree I hope to pursue next. My parents are doing everything they can to support me, but I also have three siblings, equally deserving of a future filled with opportunity. Every dollar they spend on me is a dollar they can’t spend on them. I carry that guilt every day. This scholarship would lift that weight. It would give me the freedom to focus on my studies and research, to take internships that align with my goals rather than ones that just pay the bills, and to build a future not out of survival, but out of purpose. As a hijabi woman in STEM, I face challenges that are both visible and invisible. There are moments I’m talked over, dismissed, or seen as a symbol rather than a person. But I continue to wear my scarf with pride. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s mine. Because I want to prove to the world, and to young girls like me, that we belong in classrooms, in boardrooms, in labs, and in leadership. I am not here despite my identity. I am here because of it. What drives me isn’t just the desire to achieve. It’s the desire to give back. I’ve already started mentoring students from North Africa who want to study abroad, offering them guidance I never had. I’m building a free summer bootcamp for them, filled with resources, application strategies, and encouragement. One day, I hope to fund scholarships for them too, so no girl with potential has to give up her dream because of her passport or paycheck. This scholarship is more than financial help. It’s a turning point. It’s the chance to take everything I’ve fought for and carry it further. It would change my life. It would change my family’s life. And I would spend the rest of my life making sure it changes others’ lives, too.

One of the most meaningful projects I’ve worked on is a mobile application developed to support individuals living with hyperacusis, a rare neurological condition that causes extreme sound sensitivity. For people with hyperacusis, something as ordinary as the clinking of utensils or the hum of a refrigerator can cause physical pain or anxiety. When I joined this cross-departmental research team at Augustana College, I saw a chance to use my knowledge of computer science not just to build something useful, but to create something healing. My role on the team involved front-end development and user experience design. But from the beginning, I realized this would be unlike any other project I had taken on. I couldn’t just rely on code that worked, I had to think deeply about how it felt to use the app. Could it be calming rather than stimulating? Could it guide a user gently, without overwhelming them? These were the kinds of questions I found myself asking. To answer them, I immersed myself in the research, learning from sound therapists and psychology experts to understand the emotional, sensory, and physiological dimensions of the condition. Using this knowledge, I worked to design simple, intuitive navigation and minimalistic visual layouts, while also integrating soothing animations and customizable features that allow users to build their own sound therapy plans. I paid special attention to accessibility, ensuring that the app felt inclusive and non-intimidating for users of different ages and tech literacy levels. Every design choice became an act of empathy, and every line of code became a way to make someone’s life just a little more manageable. What made this project even more meaningful to me was how it aligned with my personal mission. As a North African hijabi woman and a first-generation college student, I’ve often had to navigate spaces that weren’t built with people like me in mind. In technology, I’ve found not just a field, but a platform, one where I can build those missing spaces myself. Working on the hyperacusis app taught me that innovation isn’t always loud or flashy. Sometimes, it’s quiet, intentional, and deeply personal. And sometimes, it’s about using technology not to dazzle, but to dignify. That realization has shaped everything I do. It’s why I’ve taken on multiple roles at my college: tutoring ESL students at the Reading and Writing Center, managing the Campus Cupboard to support food-insecure international students, and mentoring North African students who dream of studying abroad but don’t know where to begin. I want to show them that someone who looks like them can succeed in STEM, and not by leaving their identity behind, but by letting it lead. This project wasn’t just another item on my résumé. It was a moment of clarity. It reminded me why I’m in this field: because I believe in the power of human-centered technology. I believe that engineers can be builders of empathy. And I believe that success in STEM should be measured not just by what we invent, but by who we uplift. Working on this app lit a fire in me, one that continues to guide my academic and career goals. I want to become a software engineer who designs ethically, builds thoughtfully, and leads with heart. Because to me, the future of technology should look like the world we want to live in, one that is inclusive, compassionate, and just a little more human.

From a young age, I knew that education would be my way forward, but I also knew that as a North African, first-generation, hijabi woman in STEM, the road would never be easy. Growing up in Morocco, I taught myself video editing in internet cafés, led creative projects, and eventually co-founded a card game company as a teenager. That entrepreneurial spark and love for problem-solving led me to computer science, and now I’m pursuing a degree in Computer Science and Business Intelligence at Augustana College. As exciting and rewarding as this journey has been, it has come with intense financial strain. Coming to the U.S. on an F-1 student visa meant that most scholarships, grants, and financial aid options were closed to me. Every admissions test, application fee, and textbook felt like a small mountain to climb. I worked multiple on-campus jobs, sometimes at odd hours, to afford housing and basic needs. I served in dining services, monitored dorm safety, managed food distribution for international students through Campus Ministries, and tutored ESL students in academic writing. I didn’t do these things just to make ends meet; I did them to stay grounded in purpose. But the financial weight never goes away. Now, as I look toward graduate and professional programs, I know the costs ahead, admissions tests, application fees, study materials, will only grow. I worry about having to limit where I apply, not because of lack of ability, but because of lack of funds. This scholarship would help ease that weight. It would allow me to focus on preparing for what’s next, refining my coding skills, continuing my research on a mobile app for individuals with hyperacusis, and seeking out internships that align with my mission to use tech for good, rather than constantly worrying about how I will afford the next step. My dream is to become a software engineer who builds ethical, inclusive, and human-centered technology. I want to develop tools that improve lives, whether it’s making healthcare more accessible through data or creating platforms that uplift underserved communities. I also want to continue mentoring North African students, especially young women, who are dreaming of international education but don’t know where to start. I’ve already begun building a free online summer bootcamp for them, filled with resources and guidance I wish I had when I was applying. I wear the hijab proudly, not as a barrier but as a banner of belief. I want to be living proof that women like me can lead in STEM, not despite who we are, but because of the perspective and strength we bring. With this scholarship, I wouldn’t just be supported, I’d be empowered to keep building toward a future where others like me don’t have to struggle in silence. This opportunity would not only help me continue my education, it would allow me to continue being of service. That, to me, is the truest measure of success.

Stelios Aktipis crossed an ocean to pursue his education. So did I. As a North African woman with Arab and Amazigh heritage, I arrived in the U.S. with a suitcase, a student visa, and an unwavering belief that education could change not just my life, but the lives of those around me. I came alone, far from home, and like Stelios, I brought with me a quiet ambition, to learn deeply, to serve meaningfully, and to build something that lasts. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Computer Science and Business Intelligence at Augustana College, but my education began long before that. As a teenager in Morocco, I taught myself to edit videos in an internet café, eventually helping grow a YouTube channel to millions of followers. I later co-founded a card game company that reached national recognition. At the time, I didn’t see it as entrepreneurship. I just followed my curiosity and my drive to create. But now I understand it for what it was: the beginning of a lifelong commitment to building, innovating, and learning with purpose. What connects me most to Stelios Aktipis is not just our shared path of leaving home for knowledge, it’s our shared belief in giving back. On campus, I manage the Campus Cupboard, ensuring international students like me have access to free food and essential resources. I work at the Reading and Writing Center, helping ESL students grow in confidence and academic language, knowing firsthand how hard it is to learn in a language that is not your own. I also mentor students in North Africa who are applying to colleges abroad, guiding them through the process that once felt so overwhelming to me. These small acts of service feel like part of something larger: building bridges so others can cross more easily than I did. I’m also a student researcher developing a mobile app to assist people living with hyperacusis, a rare sound sensitivity disorder. I contribute as both a programmer and a designer, using code to build empathy into technology. This work has taught me that service can take many forms. Sometimes it’s face-to-face, and sometimes it’s embedded in the tools we create. Wearing the hijab in these spaces adds a layer of complexity to my journey. I chose to wear it as a child, and I continue to wear it here in the US, not to make a statement, but to quietly prove something to myself and others. That women like me belong in science, in innovation, in leadership. That identity and ambition can co-exist. That faith and progress are not opposites, but companions. My long-term goal is to become a software engineer who builds not just efficient systems, but ethical ones. I want to create businesses rooted in both innovation and cultural integrity. And I want to continue investing in the next generation, especially students from underrepresented backgrounds, by offering mentorship, resources, and eventually, scholarships of my own. Receiving the Stelios Aktipis Scholarship would mean more than financial relief. It would feel like a continuation of the legacy he began, a legacy of crossing borders not just physically, but intellectually and socially, to bring new ideas into the world. I see that same spirit in myself: a commitment to education, service, and entrepreneurship that is not loud, but deeply rooted. I am proud to carry that forward.

I grew up between the sounds of the call to prayer and the quiet hum of late-night internet cafes, where I first taught myself how to edit video. Somewhere between tradition and possibility, I learned that stories could move people, and that technology could build them. As a Moroccan woman with Arab and Amazigh roots, I was raised to understand the weight of representation. At a young age, I chose to wear the hijab. It wasn’t expected of me, it was something I embraced with conviction. And now, years later, walking into American classrooms and tech labs as a hijabi feels like a quiet rebellion. There are days I feel invisible, and others when I am unmistakably hyper-visible. But I wear it still, not out of stubbornness, but out of faith in something greater: the belief that someone like me deserves to be here. That hijabis can code. Can build. Can lead. When I arrived in the U.S. as an international student, I came with a suitcase full of hopes and a heart full of pressure. I was 5,000 miles away from home, speaking in my third language, navigating a system that wasn’t built for students like me. So I did what I’ve always done, I worked, real hard. I worked at dining halls, front desks, ministries. I designed websites at the EDGE Entrepreneur Center, wrote code for a mobile app treating hyperacusis hearing disorder, and guided ESL students as a tutor in the Reading and Writing Center. I helped international students find food security through the Campus Cupboard, while building my own stability with every hour I could manage.My path has never been linear, but it’s been rich. At seventeen, I was editing videos that reached millions of viewers across the Middle East. At eighteen, I co-founded a card game business in Morocco that gained national traction. By twenty, I was mentoring other students across North Africa on how to apply abroad, helping them craft stories that might open the same doors I once thought were locked. And still, I dream bigger. I want to become a software engineer at a company that doesn’t just value innovation, but humanity. I want to keep building: startups rooted in culture, tech tools built for equity, and programs that help marginalized students study anywhere they choose. I want to continue my summer bootcamp for North African students and fund scholarships of my own one day. Because no student should feel like they have to shrink themselves to belong. I know what it’s like to be underestimated before I even speak. To be doubted before I even try. But I also know what it feels like to prove them wrong, with grace, with grit, and with results. This scholarship wouldn’t just relieve a financial burden. It would amplify a story already in motion, a story I plan to keep writing, not just for myself, but for every student who looks like me and wonders if they can do it too.