As I learned Python for the first time in the Tech Scholars program, I looked around the classroom that reflected faces that didn’t look like mine. I was the only black girl, confirming the gender and race gap I’d heard so much about in STEM. I wanted to create a tight-knit community where BIPOC girls from NYC could learn how to succeed in STEM fields and feel empowered, combatting the imposter syndrome many of us faced. Even if STEM and STEM advocacy is not a space made for us, we can make our own and thrive in it. That is when I learned that the most important quality to a successful leader is being collaborative and leading their community to impactful change. I decided to found a Women In STEM club at my school where I teach coding and help members conduct STEM research in their field of interest. I led my club to code websites for small black-owned businesses as we helped marketing. It was gratifying to see small enterprises achieve prosperity in my community first-hand as a result of the club’s efforts. After establishing this club, I realized we could be both a community for each other and a community for change. Our common identity motivated us to bring attention to the issues that are not only manifested at a social level but also within STEM fields. Black pregnant women do not have equal access to medical treatment which stems from the racial bias in the medical field. Through our research, we learned the origins of gynecology created the myth that black people do not feel pain. Unfortunately, this idea has lived on for many years in the medical field, which prompts certain doctors and nurses to ignore the concerns of black women, especially during labor, leading to high mortality rates of black pregnant women in hospitals. We decided to channel our anger at this injustice into developing a solution collectively. Based on previous evidence-based interventions, we have decided to create a dually-driven approach. First, we will encourage government officials to implement rigorous discrimination training for medical professionals. Additionally, we plan to create an app that will connect women of color to midwives since black women who worked with a midwife reported that they felt more listened to, empowered, and trusting of the treatment. Through this app, pregnant BIPOC women will be able to find a midwife that will listen to their concerns and work with doctors to provide the correct treatment. My club has not only empowered BIPOC girls in my community to pursue their passions in STEM in a safe community but also use their voices to dismantle systemic issues.

My life is destined for innovation— it was written in the stars. As a child, I dreamt of being on the frontiers of creation and technological advancement, using my imagination to create new trinkets to benefit others. At age thirteen, I joined a Tech Scholars program, hoping to explore possible career paths. I instantly fell in love with coding: armed with a keyboard and a new language, I turned my imagination into a reality by creating interactive software. As I worked on my first game on Python, the words on a computer screen ran smoothly, motivating me to learn more. This thrilling experience, accomplishing a challenging task, sparked my dream of becoming a computer engineer. However, as I learned Python for the first time in the Tech Scholars program, I looked around the classroom that reflected faces that didn’t look like mine. I was one of the few minority students and the only black girl, and the gender and race gap I’d heard about in STEM was confirmed. I felt it was my responsibility to make a space where BIPOC women could have access to representation. Even those resources were not enough and required adaptation for effectiveness in communities of color, and the other club members and I took on the challenge with unparalleled determination. I then started a STEM club to teach black girls how to code and share this life-changing skill (coding) with my community. I hope to continue to inspire women, who are heavily underrepresented within STEM fields, to step into their light. In pursuit of becoming an engineer and helping others, I decided to intern at the Lift and Shift Foundation, where I integrate my coding skills to help veterans suffering from PTSD find relief in problem-solving therapy using robotics. Our annual competition, Battle of the Bots, is a chance for veterans to team up to program gigantic robots and challenge each other. As an intern, I work with electrical engineers to build these robots and use my coding skills to host conferences to teach veterans how to program the robots using Scratch or Python. Each day, I bonded with coworkers and ex-soldiers alike, and they are my second family. It brought me so much joy, seeing each veteran finally rediscover a sense of inner peace and happiness through robotic therapy. Being an intern has been a chance of enlightenment in which I worked in a trance, fascinated by the intersectionality between mental health, coding, and robotics. As my love for Computer Engineering grew, I knew I wanted to continue impacting others through engineering into adulthood. This would require me to earn admission into a college with an innovative engineering program. While I wait for my turn at the college admission process, I search for scholarships that will help me afford college as a low-income student. This prompted me to do extensive research on programs that give high school students access to funds. I finally came across "Your Success" Youssef Scholarship, which caters to low-income students, providing a $1,000 scholarship. I was instantly excited, seeing how this scholarship can combat the issue of classism by helping low-income students afford college, and giving me a fighting chance to lead a similar life like Youssef Hasweh.

On hot summer days, my fellow pirates and I, their captain, would set out to find hidden treasures around our community. During these moments with the neighborhood children, my imagination spurred me forward, and I believed that I lived in a limitless world. However, the reality of the world was very different. I lived in a shelter complex plagued with gang disputes and the constant barrage of eviction notices. My family tried to escape this; we lived in various apartments, occasionally staying with my uncle for five years. Eventually, my mother forbade me from playing outside altogether and replaced my imagined safety of the world with the real dangers lurking everywhere. At the age of ten, my mother tried to protect me again by beginning to perm my hair. This time, she was trying to shield me from the false narrative of Black women, protecting me from the prejudice she endured when immigrating from Nigeria to America. Each Saturday, my mother slathered curl relaxer onto the roots of my hair; the toxin would slowly seep into my scalp, dripping and leaving a single scar above my ear. Despite the pain, I looked forward to the moment my hair transformed from coarse wool to straight silk. The idolization of American beauty standards in Nigerian culture meant that my unruly curls needed to be tamed. Moreover, “better” hair promised a better chance of avoiding the discrimination I would face if I fully embraced myself. This need to be someone else— someone that society would accept— made me constantly feel that I was not good enough. In high school, I watched my peers develop their passions and themselves while I stood paralyzed by my past setbacks. My fear of not measuring up discouraged me from participating in class discussions and pursuing my passions. One day, as I sat in the chair getting a perm, I wondered, “Was this worth it?’ The pain. The burns. The scars. All my life, I ran away from the freedom of my fro, the knowledge of the kink, and the courageousness of the curl. This bondage kept me from charting unknown territory and finding comfort in my natural state. I started cutting my straight, relaxed hair, watching pieces of my self-hate, ignorance, and insecurity fall to the floor. Gradually, I began to embrace my true form as a black girl— stepping out of the shadows of what previously defined me and into the light of a new existence. Seeing me grow this way inspired my mother to step into her light finally, and our discoveries of self-love through hair intertwined. I emerged from my shell of anxiety with a newfound desire to engage with my community. As my confidence returned, I rediscovered the imagination I had lost so long ago; my eyes fell on the bountiful treasures within computer coding. In class, I learned to use coding to recreate my childhood adventures. Developing games were challenging, but I faced these storms of difficulty head-on. Seeing the words on a computer screen run smoothly motivated me to continue my passion. I then started a STEM club to teach black girls how to code and share this life-changing skill with my community. I hope to continue to inspire women, who are heavily underrepresented within STEM fields, to step into their light. Embracing my natural hair gave me a voice— one that I wield loudly and proudly. And just like the natural hair that freely springs from my roots, I will continue to grow every day. As I set sail on the next journey of my life, I look to the future with courage as I triumphantly feel the winds of this newfound confidence blow through my hair. My transition from straight to natural hair signifies the liberation from labels, an end to the scars on my ear, and an embracement of the beautiful Black girl I am today, Basilia.

It’s Saturday night: my mother slathers the relaxer onto the roots of my hair, letting the toxin slowly seep into my scalp, leaving a single scar above my ear. Oddly enough, I looked forward to these days where my hair transformed from coarse wool to straight tresses. My Nigerian mother made sure I always looked presentable, meaning that my unruly curls needed to be tamed. Eurocentric features were idolized in my household, and once I had “socially acceptable” hair, I was one step closer to emulating the model minority. As other people’s perception of me turned into my greatest fear, the need to be “perfect” led to my social anxiety. Anytime my hair appointments were delayed, I was left to deal with my kinky roots. This was a daunting task: my natural curls were difficult to style, I always resorted to pulling it back into a messy bun in an attempt to hide my mane, and with it my African roots. In concealing my hair, I inadvertently concealed my true self. As I wandered through high school, I grew exhausted by these perm sessions. My childlike excitement at the prospect of straight hair slowly developed into resentment and anguish. Seven scars now rested above my ear, and as I sat in the chair, I reflected— “Is the natural me really unacceptable?” All my life I ran away from the freedom of the fro, the knowledge of the kink, and the courageousness of the curl. This bondage kept me from charting unknown territory and finding comfort in my natural state. I was like a cult member, brainwashed into thinking less of myself and, subsequently, barred from exploring options outside the standard. To the confusion and mild horror of my mother, I stopped suppressing the parts of me I felt proud to have as a Black woman. I started cutting my straight hair, stripping my self-hate, ignorance, and insecurities. I immersed myself into my true form as a Black woman, stepping out the shadows of what I thought previously defined me and into the light of a new existence. Over time, my mother found similar beauty in the locks she had tried to hide for so long, and our discoveries of self-love intertwined. Although my transformation seemed only superficial, like a butterfly, I emerged from my cocoon of anxiety and fearfulness as a magnificent being radiating confidence and a newfound desire to engage amongst my community. I found new homes within the volleyball team, the Red Cross, the Save Our Streets Organization, and the debate team. Woven throughout these experiences are my interactions with influential and proud Black women who have empowered me to utilize my voice. With their help, I became passionate about activism and have protested against the multitude of injustices that the Black community faces. I began to walk straighter, hold my head higher, voice my thoughts louder, and make my own decisions. After being rejected from a precious STEM program, I started my own, where I teach Black girls how to code. I hope to inspire them to take their rightful places in a field where Black women are heavily underrepresented as I was inspired by those who came before me. My natural hair has given me a voice, one that I wield loud and proudly. I make sure to exude the utmost conviction, despite the obstacles I face. My transition from straight to natural hair, although frustrating, signifies the liberation from the European beauty standards to an empowering African diaspora, an end to the scars on my ear, and an embracement of the beautiful Black woman I am today, Basilia.

On Saturday evenings, my mother would slather the relaxer onto the roots of my hair, letting the toxin slowly seep into my scalp, leaving a single scar above my ear. Oddly enough, I looked forward to these days where my hair transformed from coarse wool to straight tresses. My Nigerian mother made sure I always looked presentable; which meant that my unmanageable curls needed to be tamed. Eurocentric features were idolized in my household and once I had socially acceptable hair I was one step closer to emulating the model minority. As other people’s perception of me became my greatest fear, the need to be “perfect” led to my social anxiety. Anytime my hair appointments were delayed, I had to deal with my kinky roots. This was a daunting task, my natural curls were difficult to style so I always resorted to pulling it back into a messy bun in an attempt to hide my mane, and perhaps hide not only my hair roots but my African ones as well. In concealing my hair, I concealed my true self inadvertently. As I entered high school, I became exhausted by these perm sessions. My childlike excitement at the prospect of straight hair slowly developed into resentment and anguish. I now had 7 scars above my ear and as I sat in the chair I reflected, “Is the natural me really unacceptable?” I slowly realized all my life I’d been running away from the freedom of the fro, the knowledge of the kink, and the courageousness of the curl. This bondage kept me from charting unknown territory and finding my sense of comfortability in my natural state. I was like a cult member, brainwashed into thinking less of myself and subsequently being kept from exploring options outside the standard. I decided I was not going to continue this harmful cycle of suppressing my identity as a Black woman. I started cutting my straight hair, stripping my self-hate, ignorance, and insecurities. I immersed myself into my true form as a Black woman, stepping out the shadows of what I thought previously defined me and into the light of a new existence. Although on the surface my transformation seemed outwards only, like a butterfly I emerged from my cocoon of anxiety and fearfulness as a butterfly radiating confidence and a newfound desire to engage amongst my community. I joined the volleyball team, the Red Cross, the Save Our Streets Organization, and am now the President of the debate team. Woven throughout these experiences are my interactions with influential and proud black women who have empowered me to utilize my voice.With their help, I became passionate about activism and began to protest against the multitude of injustices that the Black community face. I began to walk straighter, hold my head high, voice my thoughts, and make my own decisions. After being rejected from a precious STEM program, I started my own, where I teach Black girls how to code. I hope to inspire them to take their rightful places in a field where Black women are heavily underrepresented as I was inspired by those who came before me. My natural hair has given me a voice, one that I wield loud and proudly.I make sure to exude the utmost confidence, despite the obstacles I face. My transition from straight to natural hair, although frustrating, signified the liberation from the European beauty standards to empowering African diaspora which has shaped me into the beautiful Black woman I am today, Basilia.

On Saturday evenings, my mother would slather the relaxer onto the roots of my hair, letting the toxin slowly seep into my scalp, leaving a single scar above my ear. Oddly enough, I looked forward to these days where my hair transformed from coarse wool to straight tresses. My Nigerian mother made sure I always looked presentable; which meant that my unmanageable curls needed to be tamed. Eurocentric features were idolized in my household and once I had socially acceptable hair I was one step closer to emulating the model minority. As other people’s perception of me became my greatest fear, the need to be “perfect” led to my social anxiety. Anytime my hair appointments were delayed, I had to deal with my kinky roots. This was a daunting task, my natural curls were difficult to style so I always resorted to pulling it back into a messy bun in an attempt to hide my mane, and perhaps hide not only my hair roots but my African ones as well. In concealing my hair, I concealed my true self inadvertently. As I entered high school, I became exhausted by these perm sessions. My childlike excitement at the prospect of straight hair slowly developed into resentment and anguish. I now had 7 scars above my ear and as I sat in the chair I reflected, “Is the natural me really unacceptable?” I slowly realized all my life I’d been running away from the freedom of the fro, the knowledge of the kink, and the courageousness of the curl. This bondage kept me from charting unknown territory and finding my sense of comfortability in my natural state. I was like a cult member, brainwashed into thinking less of myself and subsequently being kept from exploring options outside the standard. I decided I was not going to continue this harmful cycle of suppressing my identity as a Black woman. I started cutting my straight hair, stripping my self-hate, ignorance, and insecurities. I immersed myself into my true form as a Black woman, stepping out the shadows of what I thought previously defined me and into the light of a new existence. Although on the surface my transformation seemed outwards only, like a butterfly I emerged from my cocoon of anxiety and fearfulness as a butterfly radiating confidence and a newfound desire to engage amongst my community. I joined the volleyball team, the Red Cross, the Save Our Streets Organization, and am now the President of the debate team. Woven throughout these experiences are my interactions with influential and proud black women who have empowered me to utilize my voice.With their help, I became passionate about activism and began to protest against the multitude of injustices that the Black community face. I began to walk straighter, hold my head high, voice my thoughts, and make my own decisions. After being rejected from a precious STEM program, I started my own, where I teach Black girls how to code. I hope to inspire them to take their rightful places in a field where Black women are heavily underrepresented as I was inspired by those who came before me. My natural hair has given me a voice, one that I wield loud and proudly.I make sure to exude the utmost confidence, despite the obstacles I face. My transition from straight to natural hair, although frustrating, signified the liberation from the European beauty standards to empowering African diaspora which has shaped me into the beautiful Black woman I am today, Basilia.

On Saturday evenings, my mother would slather the relaxer onto the roots of my hair, letting the toxin slowly seep into my scalp, leaving a single scar above my ear. Oddly enough, I looked forward to these days where my hair transformed from coarse wool to straight tresses. My Nigerian mother made sure I always looked presentable; which meant that my unmanageable curls needed to be tamed. Eurocentric features were idolized in my household and once I had socially acceptable hair I was one step closer to emulating the model minority. As other people’s perception of me became my greatest fear, the need to be “perfect” led to my social anxiety. Anytime, my hair appointments were delayed, I had to deal with my kinky roots. My natural curls were difficult to style so I always resorted to pulling them back into a messy bun. In an attempt to hide my mane I concealed my African roots and my true self inadvertently. As I entered high school, my childlike excitement at the prospect of straight hair slowly developed into resentment. I now had 7 scars above my ear as I sat in the chair and reflected, “Is the natural me really unacceptable?” I realized all my life I’ve ran away from the freedom of the fro, the knowledge of the kink, and the courageousness of the curl. This bondage kept me from charting unknown territory and finding my sense of comfortability in my natural state. I decided I was not going to continue this harmful cycle of suppressing my identity as a Black woman. I started cutting my straight hair, stripping my self-hate, ignorance, and insecurities. I immersed myself in my true form as a Black woman. Stepping out of the shadows of what I thought, previously defined me. Although on the surface my transformation seemed outwards only, I emerged from my cocoon of anxiety and fearfulness as a butterfly, radiating confidence and a newfound desire to engage amongst my community. Since embracing my hair and maunvering through highschool, I’ve joined the Save Our Streets Organization and am now the President of the debate team.Woven throughout these experiences are my interactions with influential black women who empowered me to utilize my voice. I became passionate about activism and began to protest against the multitude of injustices that the Black community face. I began to walk straighter, hold my head high and make my own decisions. I started my own STEM club where I teach Black girls how to code. I hope to inspire them to take their rightful places in a field, where Black women are heavily underrepresented. My natural hair has given me a voice, one that I wield loud and proudly.I make sure to exude the utmost confidence, despite the obstacles I face. My transition from straight to natural hair, although frustrating, signified the liberation from the European beauty standards to empowering African diaspora which has shaped me into the beautiful Black woman I am today, Basilia.