I plan to educate my community on financial literacy by sharing what it not only looks like but also how to have the means to do so. When a child is in an environment where their family's livelihood is wholly dependent on a check coming every month, it creates a narrative that not only does one not need to have anything else but those monthly checks, but that way of life is the only option. That is why I want to start a nonprofit that centers around young people. Habits start young. Recognizing more than one narrative at a young age is crucial to better equip for adulthood. By first sharing opportunities to make a livable income, whether first by going to college, military, trades, or stepping right into the workforce, I seek to emphasize that it does not matter exactly what path you take, but what you do with it. I would love to emphasize this concept in my organization by having seminars with guest speakers of everyday people who have chosen different paths and are financially secure. It is one thing to hear from one person, but having a diverse community echoing the same thing is monumental. As a young person, I know I listen to advice best from more than one mouth. Why else is Gen-Z so eager to seek advice on Reddit, YouTube, and other social media platforms and not simply rely on their loved ones' experiences? Different perspectives matter. In my nonprofit, I also want to emphasize that having a budget and sticking to it is not optional to become financially free. By having mock budget stimulations inside the main building and also set up on mobile devices, I want to build an interactive game that goes with my organization and focuses on learning the incredible benefits and freedom that ultimately come with being more aware and mindful of money. Although young children would be my main focus, I would also like to help black families struggling to become more financially independent and not rely on external sources. Implementing other options may mean more work, but means more freedom. Generational wealth is incredibly important. Oftentimes, however, reaching a goal takes achieving smaller goals. I would like my organization to help older black Americans retire by aiding in resources of different retirement plans and living arrangements that are not as known by the mainstream perspective. As a community, Black households spent an average of $639 on footwear in 2019, compared with $419 for all households, according to the Labor Department’s 2019 Consumer Expenditure Survey. While generalizing this to be based on weak spending habits would not be fair, it is also unfair to not recognize the discrepancy. I seek to address this by speaking to young people about the freedom that comes when one becomes no longer tied to objects that can later become a burden. When it comes down to it, balance is key. Financial literacy is a principle that prides itself on being mindful and balanced. But there never really is a final point of success. Being financially literate does not stop after you have reached a certain credit score or pay grade. Financial liberty is a lifelong journey of learning and growing. And I plan to bring that point home to my organization focusing not only on the steps, but the unique individual making those steps into financial independence.

"Abeni, focus on cooking, not books. Become a good wife before courtship." This is what my grandmother used to hear constantly as a teenager in Ogun, Nigeria. She obeyed — until she didn't. Every day after school, my grandmother would carry her textbooks on her head as she walked south to pick up okra for her family and then head east to her home, miraculously finding the strength to study for the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination. Every Nigerian high school student must pass the UTME to apply to university. Most of my grandmother's peers, however, felt no need to take it. They would follow the most compatible route; drop out of secondary school after sophomore year, find construction work as a man or start peddling as a woman, and then after a few years, start courting. That path did not satisfy her. Keeping to her duties at home while remaining studious in her studies, my grandmother scored in the 98th percentile on the 1968 UTME. Within three and a half years, she graduated from the University of Nigeria with a bachelor of science in business administration. My grandmother was the first woman in her tribe to attend college and the first to start a business. More than forty years later, her hair care business is still standing. And more than forty years later, the importance of a college education is still questioned. A college education ignites the desire to make an imprint on this world. It forces us to get out of our own bubbled perspective of how one subject functions, to become even freer in our way of thinking. For me, that subject is economics. My grandmother is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. Since I was raised with the knowledge that being able to freely express yourself is a privilege, as many people don't have that opportunity, my family made sure that I was involved in many self-expressive activities starting as a child. These ranged from theatre to choir to dance, and now, as of last year, speech and debate. From the get-go, Original Oratory drew me in. I loved being able to engage with an audience in a more authentic way than what I was used to on a theatre stage, and, in the process, bring light to issues that were important to me. This year, I left my comfort zone and came back to my theatrical roots to try Program Oral Interpretation. And I again fell in love with the event. The ability to become different characters while speaking on something dear to my heart was ultimately the best of both worlds for me. This past February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Tournament for both events. I am humbled by the opportunity to travel in June to Arizona to compete. Joining Speech and Debate hasn't been just a highlight for me, but a stepping stone. Even though I got involved halfway into my high school career, it feels like I've been on the team forever. My coach, teammates, and the community have been crucial to my development into the young woman I am becoming. Just as crucial as my Grandma Abeni, who has been the biggest supporter of my pursuits and is, to me, the example of what speech and debate teaches — utmost dedication to following through with the goals you set for no one but yourself.

"It is not money or wealth that uplifts and abolishes poverty but knowledge. Money is just a temporary relief that will soon vanish if you do not have the knowledge that is required to sustain yourself." These words from Sir William Arthur Lewis frame what he stood for: freedom is no longer freedom without economic freedom. In 1979, the economist was awarded the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics for his work in modeling the economic obstacles that impact West African countries. He later became the UN economic adviser to the prime minister of Ghana and set up the Caribbean Development Bank. Positions that he made sure to stress the importance of economic prosperity and a healthy relationship between supply and demand. Sir Lewis loved Africa. He made sure others knew his African pride before his involvement in the region was ever brought to the table. He loved her not only because of who she was but because of who she could become. I love Africa in the exact same way. Sir Wiliam Art Lewis's extraordinary work and character have led me to a keen interest in economics. And because of the power of economic freedom, I seek to be an Economics major at Tuskegee University. I aim to pursue my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. I seek to focus my efforts on finding these solutions in Sub-Saharan Africa, as a proud African. I only wish to build off Lewis's work in the process, as he made it unmistakably clear that building economic prosperity is not an effortless task and can rarely be accomplished in one or even two generations. Alongside my Ph.D., I intend to start a Nigeria-centered business. Specifically, one that brands itself on organic skincare products. Many such products have African roots, including cocoa butter and aloe vera. My mother still makes the same cocoa butter moisturizer that her mother made, and so on. I strive to spread native African skin care recipes that have been passed generationally. Entrepreneurship is a crucial step in achieving economic prosperity globally. The primary issue of poverty in Africa is unemployment, which results in people not learning how to become entrepreneurs. When nearly all African nations are at the bottom of the Doing Business Index, an indicator that tells how easy it is to start a business in a country, it becomes clear that much of Sub-Saharan Africa has little to no economic freedom. Corruption reigns supreme as it becomes clear that one needs to pay a bribe to institute a business. And corruption then continues to breed through. Nations are poor because their citizens have no money. They have no money because they do not have jobs. They have no jobs because their laws prevent small businesses & entrepreneurship. Bringing money and capital into poor economies through establishing local manufacturing operations will allow African nations to be more economically secure. I seek to be part of the security. Bringing about inclusive prosperity, a pushback against negative stereotypes, and a message of freedom for an international audience, are things that Sir Lewis took great pride in and are actions that I only seek to expound on as an economist and business owner. While poverty in Africa continues to be a prevalent issue as of 2023, as a future African economist and business owner, I intend to be part of the making of building economic power throughout a continent that I treasure, a path that Sir Lewis committed himself to for over 40 years.

I've always had a love for stories. Accordingly, I have been a proud theatre kid since freshman year. I've won awards in pantomime and slam poetry. Last year, out of dozens of entries, I was the only monologue to qualify to perform in the Utah Shakespeare Festival. In February, as speech and debate captain, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Tournament for Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. As my school's journalist, I treasure sharing unknown stories, ranging from my school's first Black Student Union to appreciation for my school’s custodial staff. I'm also a radio host. My first work stemmed from the amplified political divide due to the Black Lives Matter movement. I also created another show surrounding the Salt Lake City Juvenile system. Talking to several involved teens was a surreal experience. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners and 100 streams. Stories are gateways to people's hearts, gateways to human connection. So what happens when they aren't allowed to blossom? All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Economic knowledge is freedom. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

I've always had a love for stories. Accordingly, I have been a proud theatre kid since freshman year. I've won awards in pantomime and slam poetry. Last year, out of dozens of entries, I was the only monologue to qualify to perform in the Utah Shakespeare Festival. In February, as speech and debate captain, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Tournament for Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. As my school's journalist, I treasure sharing unknown stories, ranging from my school's first Black Student Union to appreciation for my school’s custodial staff. I'm also a radio host. My first work stemmed from the amplified political divide due to the Black Lives Matter movement. I also created another show surrounding the Salt Lake City Juvenile system. Talking to several involved teens was a surreal experience. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners and 100 streams. Stories are gateways to people's hearts, gateways to human connection. So what happens when they aren't allowed to blossom? All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Economic knowledge is freedom. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

I've always had a love for stories. Accordingly, I have been a proud theatre kid since freshman year. I've won awards in pantomime and slam poetry. Last year, out of dozens of entries, I was the only monologue to qualify to perform in the Utah Shakespeare Festival. In February, as speech and debate captain, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Tournament for Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. As my school's journalist, I treasure sharing unknown stories, ranging from my school's first Black Student Union to appreciation for my school’s custodial staff. I'm also a radio host. My first work stemmed from the amplified political divide due to the Black Lives Matter movement. I also created another show surrounding the Salt Lake City Juvenile system. Talking to several involved teens was a surreal experience. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners and 100 streams. Stories are gateways to people's hearts, gateways to human connection. So what happens when they aren't allowed to blossom? All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Economic knowledge is freedom. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

Kwachi- 17-year-old girl, South Sudanese, speaks ok English, fluent in Swahili Me- 17-year-old girl, Nigerian, fluent in English...that's about it The morning of my first day at my town's Refugee and Immigrant Center, I walked in feeling confident. I did not expect to be an English tutor. I was so against the idea that I made sure it was my last choice on the volunteering options sheet. That did not work in my favor. On my first day, I was placed in a classroom. At that moment, I wanted to throw up. I suck at languages. The idea of teaching even my native one made me anxious. I then had to think about why I wanted to volunteer in the first place. I wanted to meet some interesting people. This was a way to do that, no matter how frightening. So, I walked into the classroom. That is when I met Kwachi. She was around my age and came to Utah just a few months prior from South Sudan. It became clear that she had the same attitude as me. She did not like languages either. Sessions would go by with no progress. I decided for us to communicate, I would need to learn the basics of Swahili. I knew this from the jump but had been suppressing it. Now, it was unavoidable. It was not a fun thought. But how could I teach if I didn't know how to communicate? It took a lot of work. Bit by bit. Just the alphabet, simple words, to learn where Kwachi was coming from phonetically. With this new knowledge, I started understanding why Kwachi knew the vowels well. Swahili uses the same vowel phonemes as English! Swahili also does not have any tones, which makes pronunciation undoubtedly easier. Yay for me! Little by little, our conversation started to carry more depth. We went from just "hello" to our favorite movies, career goals, boys, and other things. Kwachi and I became language study buddies. With my studying with her, I realized how difficult English is. There aren't steady rules on how to pronounce certain vowel words. It's all trial and error that one has to memorize. While in Swahili, you need to learn a few two-letter combinations. When I decided to take these things in my mind, I helped Kwachi and she helped me. She would say, "This doesn't make sense, Chioma," and I couldn't say anything else but "Yeah, I know." We would just laugh about sometimes the absolute nonsense English can be. We both got better at our language learning and also learning about each other's cultures. Nigeria and South Sudan's deep history, food, tribes, and so on. There was even one day when we brought each other our native food. Me, jollof rice, while her Kofta. Absolutely delicious! When it was time for Kwachi to take her literacy test, I took a Swahili test. It was only fair. We have been learning each other's languages for over six months. We both passed! (Kwachi with flying colors) I helped Kwachi because she was in need. But in reality, I also was in need. I was in desperate need of a new friend, new exposure to a different culture, and a new revelation of the beauty of languages. Kwachi and I needed each other. And because we knew this fact, even though it took a while at first, that first day of dreaded volunteering ended in the making of a dear, eye-opening friendship that we both treasure to this day.

Economic knowledge is freedom. All over the nation, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are unfairly and unconstitutionally restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece)" is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an national economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to local and federal economic inequalities. Finding ways for how the United States can better build a free market allows us to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In some states, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities in the way I would have wanted. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth teller for national unlimited free expression.

"Colonization is the reason why Africa is so poor. " But it was not until last year that I recognized that this impulsive defense was not the root cause of Africa's condition. Singapore was a British colony for about 144 years. Singapore now has a much higher GDP per capita than its former colonizer. But for some reason, many decide to forget that. Or don't know that. Or think that Africa is much too different to replicate that. And so, why is Africa poor? It comes down to one thing: economic freedom. The ability to enterprise. Entrepreneurship is a crucial step in achieving economic prosperity globally. The primary issue of poverty in Africa is unemployment, which results in people not learning how to become entrepreneurs. When nearly all African nations are at the bottom of the Doing Business Index, an indicator that tells how easy it is to start a business in a country, it becomes clear that much of Sub-Saharan Africa has little to no economic freedom. In Nigeria, to start a business, one must get regulatory permits, register new property, protect investors, and pay incredibly high tariffs, the typical amount being forty-five percent. In the United States, it is a mere two percent. Corruption reigns supreme as it becomes clear that one needs to pay a bribe to institute a business. And corruption then continues to breed through. Because of the power of economic freedom, I seek to be an Economics major at Tuskegee University. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Alongside my Ph.D., I intend to start a Nigerian-centered business. Specifically, one that brands itself on organic skincare products. Many such products have African roots, including cocoa butter and aloe vera. My mother still makes the same cocoa butter moisturizer that her mother made, and so on. I strive to spread native African skin care recipes that have been passed generationally. I intend to keep the formulae intimate while spreading Africa's captivating culture in a mainstream manner. Nations are poor because their citizens have no money. They have no money because they do not have jobs. They have no jobs because their laws prevent small businesses & entrepreneurship. Bringing money & capital into poor economies through value-creation, establishing and purchasing from local manufacturing operations, purchasing local goods, services, and indigenous resources, and establishing supply chains through local markets will allow Africa and other regions to prosper in the ways they should. Promoting movements such as free markets, property rights, and institutions will build strong economic reforms throughout Africa. Bringing about inclusive prosperity, a pushback against negative stereotypes, and a message of freedom for an international audience, is something I seek to expound on as an economist and business owner. While poverty in Africa continues to be a prevalent issue as of 2023, as a future Nigeria-centered business owner, I intend to be part of the making of more jobs throughout the continent. The North Stars Dreamers Memorial Scholarship will allow me to pay for my school fees in my undergrad. With this scholarship, I will not have to invest in my education too early with loans. An investment that I will end up possibly having to make in graduate school and certainly as a future Nigerian business owner. I seek to do the changing, not simply wait around for others to. With the North Stars Dreamers Memorial Scholarship, I will be better equipped to act on building Africa's economic prosperity.

Immediately checking that “Theatre I” box, freshman year, made me an adamant story teller. In February, while being my school's speech and debate captain, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Tournament for Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. As a radio host, my recent work stems from how my generation can grow with our differences. On air, there were about four thousand listeners and a hundred streams. Being my school's journalist, I have shared the voices of my school's first Black Student Union to the hardworking custodial staff. For the past four years, I have been a volunteer at my local Refugee and Immigrant Center. The center specializes in the education of young women. Women who had little choice but to leave their first homes and engulf in a new one full of unfamiliarity. I have been able to help tutor, mentor, and overall build incredible relationships with extraordinary women who seek to be the best they could be in and out of the circumstances. Their stories have been an insurmountable blessing to me as I grow in my womanhood. Also for the past for years, I have written over a hundred poetry pieces that are aimed to better unify our confusing, divided climate. This year, I have been actively working on publication. I continue to share, create, and learn stories. Whether that be in the form of acting, speaking, writing, or just talking, it's a gift I wish to only strengthen as I grow in my education.

As a first-generation Nigerian gay girl, I'm seen as one-dimensional. It may seem with my many identities, that I would be seen as multi-faceted. But that's not my reality. Every time a guy checks me out, I squirm because I realize he is attracted to me. For the longest time, I wished I could wear a lifetime's worth of bug juice, and have all of my curves and boobs flat as cardboard, so I wouldn't have to deal with the staring. These are high school boys who don't mean any harm. They are just growing hormones, like me, however, I just never returned those feelings. As a young girl, I was taught by my Nigerian immigrant parents the role of a woman in a home. The woman is to be a homemaker. Growing up with those narratives, I internalized them as truth. My mother, however, was not a typical Nigerian woman in that sense. She has worked ever since I could remember. So I have always been getting two messages, one that was said but then one that was seen. And as the saying goes, actions speak louder than words. So I grew up confused as to what being a woman was, what being a woman meant. I knew I was gay at a Sunday service. Sister Wilkins, my Sunday school teacher, asked the class what they thought about Moses and the number of important things he did for the Israelites. While everyone in the class loved the miracles Moses performed, I was in awe of Moses's wife, Zipporah. Her courage, her resilience for always finding ways to keep her family protected drew me to her. I wanted to be with her. When I told Sister Wilkins, she gave me a long look and slowly said I could be with her if I wanted. So I guess, I have always been gay since I could remember. I mean, it just who I am and my parents, even with their rather conservative beliefs, learned to accept it. But the world didn't seem to, nor did my body help in any manner. I like girly clothes. But sometimes I just don't want to draw attention to my body. When I decided I wanted to run cross country in seventh grade, I wanted to run with a boy's tank top. My school coach said that that was not possible, why couldn't I just wear a girl's tank top, and get a bigger size? My coach didn't back down until my parents came in. I'm not trans. I just wanted to wear the tank. I wonder how different it would be to someone who identifies in that way. I kept running. And I kept wearing boy tanks. It's funny. Looking back at how much my gayness, Nigerianness, and womanliness, affected my childhood. How they still affect me now in the best of ways. Because of my identities, I want others to be free to express themselves, not just their sexuality, but in other ways too, throughout the world. Because of this desire, I want to become an international economist. Every summer, I visit my business owner's auntie in Nigeria. She is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often says. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

As a first-generation Nigerian gay girl, I'm seen as one-dimensional. It may seem with my many identities, that I would be seen as multi-faceted. But that's not my reality. Every time a guy checks me out, I squirm because I realize he is attracted to me. For the longest time, I wished I could wear a lifetime's worth of bug juice, and have all of my curves and boobs flat as cardboard, so I wouldn't have to deal with the staring. These are high school boys who don't mean any harm. They are just growing hormones, like me, however, I just never returned those feelings. As a young girl, I was taught by my Nigerian immigrant parents the role of a woman in a home. The woman is to be a homemaker. Growing up with those narratives, I internalized them as truth. My mother, however, was not a typical Nigerian woman in that sense. She has worked ever since I could remember. So I have always been getting two messages, one that was said but then one that was seen. And as the saying goes, actions speak louder than words. So I grew up confused as to what being a woman was, what being a woman meant. I knew I was gay at a Sunday service. Sister Wilkins, my Sunday school teacher, asked the class what they thought about Moses and the number of important things he did for the Israelites. While everyone in the class loved the miracles Moses performed, I was in awe of Moses's wife, Zipporah. Her courage, her resilience for always finding ways to keep her family protected drew me to her. I wanted to be with her. When I told Sister Wilkins, she gave me a long look and slowly said I could be with her if I wanted. So I guess, I have always been gay since I could remember. I mean, it just who I am and my parents, even with their rather conservative beliefs, learned to accept it. But the world didn't seem to, nor did my body help in any manner. I like girly clothes. But sometimes I just don't want to draw attention to my body. When I decided I wanted to run cross country in seventh grade, I wanted to run with a boy's tank top. My school coach said that that was not possible, why couldn't I just wear a girl's tank top, and get a bigger size? My coach didn't back down until my parents came in. I'm not trans. I just wanted to wear the tank. I wonder how different it would be to someone who identifies in that way. I kept running. And I kept wearing boy tanks. It's funny. Looking back at how much my gayness, Nigerianness, and womanliness, affected my childhood. How they still affect me now in the best of ways. Because of my identities, I want others to be free to express themselves, not just their sexuality, but in other ways too, throughout the world. Because of this desire, I want to become an international economist. Every summer, I visit my business owner's auntie in Nigeria. She is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often says. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

I am a proud Nigerian. Ken Saro Wiwa was also a proud Nigerian. At the peak of his non-violent campaign, Ken Saro-Wiwa was murdered by the hands of a nation he was trying to protect. A member of the Ogoni ethnic group, who at only half a million holds little leverage in a country of two hundred million, Saro-Wiwa was central to mobilizing a popular movement that demanded accountability for companies that were extracting oil in the creeks of the Niger Delta. That movement is MSOP (Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People.) The MSOP gave an unignorable mouthpiece to the Ogoni people's resentment of oil exploration due to its destruction of the region’s economic foundations and its poisoning of crops and aquaculture. His book, "Genocide in Nigeria: The Ogoni Tragedy," supports that mouthpiece. The work caters to the absolute breaking point of the mentality of what is often deemed credible as decimation. The prominent environmentalist drives the notion that the destruction of a people’s natural environment is, in fact, a state of genocide. It would be nice to discuss how much has changed in the Niger Delta in the last nearly thirty years — how pollution from oil extraction has been reduced, how oil companies have cleaned up past spills, how the Ogoni no longer suffer from poisoned waterways, fishing areas, and surface soil. Unfortunately, that can’t be said, because the devastation continues. Many oil companies today talk about corporate responsibility. Their media and academia apologists encourage Shell, Eni, and other oil industries to clean up their act after decades of devastation and collusion to pollute and destroy environments. Many of the oil companies' efforts, however, are little more than a public relations stunt aiming at Western audiences and relieving investor guilt than making a lasting impact on the communities exploited by years of oil spills, gas flaring, and systemic land dispossession. Because of Ken Saro-Wiwa's mission to dismantle the dependent economic relationship between many African countries and oil industries, I seek to major in economics and later receive my Ph.D. to become an Environmental Economist that focuses on international concerns. I aim to conduct cost-benefit studies of industrial activities and propose regulations involving natural resources between transnational oil and gas pipelines. With these analyses, I want to develop policy proposals that address fossil energy's continual killing of land, of people, and seek to find cost-effective ways to implement environmental technologies and industries globally. As I said earlier, I am a proud first-generation Nigerian American. Being born in a developed country, I see every day the vast amount of technology that is available here that isn't common in many other parts of the world. I also see every summer, the amount of hope and anticipation that comes from Nigerians when it comes to economic prosperity, of no longer having to rely on these corporate entities who do not have any relationship with the lands but a monetary, parasitic one. No one is above the monster that is environmental carnage. Ken Saro-Wiwa was a pivotal turning point in what it means to be Nigerian, an African. By reading his books, and watching his interviews it is clear that being an African not only means being one with your tribe and community, but an African must also be one with the natural environment in which he lives in, in his words an environment, "God gifted His people." Saro-Wiwa was the embodiment of fearlessness. He never stopped, even for the security of his own life. I hope to build a piece of his character as an international environmental economist.

“If you are planning for a year, sow rice; if you are planning for a decade, plant trees; if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.” This quote by Confuscious speaks to the heart of what educators mold for society. Teachers open the eyelids of students, which then allows students to see in a brand new way. Numerous studies talk about the positive impacts that occur when students have the right teacher. Nearly everyone can name a teacher that brightened their outlook on their future. After completing my undergrad, I seek to pursue a Ph.D. to become a professor, a profession that continues to grow year by year. I want to be a part of planning for a lifetime that consists of expanding the hearts of minds of so many. I have had my share of passionate and kind teachers who have also not been afraid to show their students who they are. But with all of those teachers, none of them could relate to me based on a significant part of my identity. I have never had a black teacher. And with that, I grew up to think, subconsciously, that people who look like me just weren't cut for the task. In fifth grade, I remember watching a particular video. There was a black teacher who was speaking about the importance of learning. Before the interview, the kids were confused, asking to what merit she could say the things she said. "Who is she?" was the response to the woman's appearance. Mrs. Payne, my teacher then, said with slight bafflement that she was the teacher. Kids stared with mouths open. I just sat still. With the lasting impacts the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 had on perceptions and biases, I came to fully address the undeniable notion that I had that a black person just wasn't teacher material. Growing up in Utah, black people are never seen in the educational atmosphere, whether in real life or in media. This is so out of the ordinary that when I began high school and saw a black educator, Mr. Ijeika, even though he couldn't be my instructor, he taught French, my shoulders always seem to relax whenever I see him in the hallways. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Starting from playing Miss Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. My business owner auntie is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often says. Economic knowledge is freedom. As an Economics professor, I want to ensure young people, can understand that having libration by economic means opens the door to being fully liberated. I want to give addresses that would build knowledge. I want to instill excitement and creativity in business and economics to even a fraction of the degree that the greats have done, from Dr. Sadie T.M Alexander to Dr. Thomas Sowell. I know the Alma J. Grubbs Education Scholarship will allow me to build the framework I desire for my future students.

"Abeni, fojúsí, bu omi, oti awon iwe a iyawo to dara saaju." "Abeni, focus on cooking, not books. Become a good wife before courtship." This is what my grandmother, my iya, used to hear constantly as a teenager in Ogun, Nigeria. My iya obeyed: until she didn't. Every day after school, my grandma would carry her senior secondary large, bulky textbooks on her head as she walked south to go to the peddle to pick up okra and plantain for her family and then head east back to her complex, depleted, miraculously finding the strength to study for the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination until the peak of dawn. The UTME is a crucial exam. Every Nigerian high school student must pass it to apply to university. Most of my grandma's peers felt no need to take it. They would follow the most compatible route. Drop out of secondary school after 2nd year, find construction/factory work as a man or start peddling as a woman, and then after a few years, start courting. That path did not satisfy my iya at eighteen years old. She was relentless about taking the exam. Keeping to her duties at home while remaining studious in her studies, my iya scored in the 98th percentile on the UTME. Within three and a half years, she graduated from the University of Nigeria with a bachelor of science in business administration. My grandmother was one of the first women in her tribe to attend college. She then became one of the first women in her tribe to start a business. More than forty years later, her hair care business is still strong throughout Ogun. And more than forty years later, the importance of a college education is still questioned. A college education ignites the fire that so many have to make an imprint on this world. It forces us to get out of our own bubble of biases and perspectives of how one subject functions, in order to become even freer in our way of thinking. For me, that subject is economics. Economic knowledge is freedom. Every summer, I visit my grandma in Nigeria. She is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. “It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo mi,” (my granddaughter) is something she often says. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. with an emphasis on international affairs to eventually become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I intend to be Economic Data Analyst Intern during my undergrad before working myself up to an International Economist after grad school. Being able to find solutions to anything would be difficult without an academic background. I intend to have at least that part down. In the words of English author Lewis Carroll, "One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth doing is what we do for others." Oftentimes, a college education is the best way to embrace that deep secret. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to be a truth teller for worldwide economic equality.

"Abeni, fojúsí, bu omi, oti awon iwe a iyawo to dara saaju." "Abeni, focus on cooking, not books. Become a good wife before courtship." This is what my grandma, my iya, used to hear constantly as a teenager in Ogun, Nigeria. My iya obeyed: until she didn't. Every day after school, my grandma would carry her senior secondary large, bulky textbooks on her head as she walked south to go to the peddle to pick up okra and plantain for her family and then head east back to her complex, depleted, miraculously finding the strength to study for the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination until the peak of dawn. The UTME is a crucial exam. Every Nigerian high school student must pass it to apply to university. Most of my grandma's peers felt no need to take it. They would follow the most compatible route. Drop out of secondary school after 2nd year, find construction/factory work as a man or start peddling as a woman, and then after a few years, start courting. That path did not satisfy my iya at eighteen years old. She was relentless about taking the exam. She would often peddle to save up money for the exam fee. Keeping to her duties at home while remaining studious in her studies, my iya scored in the 98th percentile on the 1968 UTME. Within three and a half years, she graduated from the University of Nigeria with a bachelor of science in business administration. My grandmother likes to say she has a fire in her. To her, she was able to accomplish so much because she refused to back down to oversabis, the naysayers. She was one of the first women in her tribe to attend college. She then became one of the first women in her tribe to start a business. More than twenty years later, her hair care business is still strong throughout Ogun and much of Nigeria. My grandma is the epitome of feminism. Feminism breaks the boundaries of the oversabis, the naysayers, that say a woman cannot amount to anything more than society's limiting expectations. In today's more progressive climate, oversabis are still very common, especially in more developing parts of the world. I want to share similar stories to my grandmother's globally. Because of this desire, I volunteer at my local Refugee and Immigrant Center. The center specializes in the education of young women. Women who had little choice but to leave their first homes and engulf in a new one full of unfamiliarity. For the past four years, I have been able to help tutor, mentor, and overall build incredible relationships with extraordinary women who have that same, immediately recognizable fire as my iya to be the best they could be in and out of the circumstances. That fire they have, I only wish it to ignite it in others. Whether it be in the form of having some of these peers of mine talk about their immigration experiences on my radio show internship, sharing their perspective in my school's newspaper, or even being someone who simply listens, their stories have been an insurmountable blessing to me as I grow in my womanhood. This, in essence, is what feminism embraces, the ability to kindle that fire in one's soul and turn it into a canon large enough to shatter through the often naysaying rubble this world ripples. Throughout history, this fire has been repeatedly started. I only seek to further ignite that start and stop it from dwindling.

As a first-generation Nigerian gay girl, I'm seen as one-dimensional. It may seem with my many identities, that I would be seen as multi-faceted. But that's not my reality. Every time a guy checks me out, I am confused until I realize he is attracted to me. For the longest time, I wished I could wear a lifetime supply of bug juice, and have all of my curves flat as cardboard. I knew I was gay in Sunday service. My Sunday school teacher asked the class what they thought about Moses and the number of cool things he was able to do for the Israelites, while everyone in the class loved the miracles Moses did, I was in awe of Moses's wife, Zipporah. Her courage made me want to be with her, not Moses. When I told my teacher, she gave me a long look and then slowly said I could be with her if I wanted. So I guess, I have always been gay since I could remember. It was just who I was. But the world didn't seem to, nor did my body help in any manner. I like girly clothes but sometimes I just don't want to draw attention to my body. When I decided I wanted to run cross country in seventh grade, I wanted to run with a boy's tank top. My school coach said that that was not possible, why couldn't I just wear a girl's tank top, and get a bigger size? My coach didn't back down until my parents came in. I'm not trans. I just wanted to wear the tank. I wonder how different it would be to someone who does identify in that way. I kept running. And I kept wearing boy tanks. It's funny. Looking back at how much my gayness, Nigerianness, and womanliness, affected me. Because of them, I seek for others to freely express themselves, not just their sexuality, but in other ways too, throughout the world. I decided to be part of my school's journalism team senior year. I loved the idea of seeing my work published publicly. I have been able to share unknown voices, ranging from my school's first Black Student Union to appreciation for custodial staff. Last year, I was a radio host intern. One of my best shows stemmed from the Salt Lake City Juvenile system. I was able to talk to peers who have made some mitsakes just like we all do. Even if they may not be the same kind, I was able to help bring their vocies to the forefront and make them seen. It was surreal. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners and it has 100 streams. Because I adore sharing voices, I want to be an international economist. Every summer, I visit my business owner's auntie in Nigeria. She is always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often says. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

At the peak of his non-violent campaign, Nigerian Ken Saro-Wiwa was murdered by the hands of a nation, at the time a military dictatorship, he was trying to protect. A member of the Ogoni ethnic group, who at only half a million holds little leverage in a country of two hundred million, Saro-Wiwa was central to mobilizing a popular movement that demanded accountability for companies that were extracting oil in the creeks of the Niger Delta. That movement is MSOP (Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People.) The MSOP gave an unignorable mouthpiece to the Ogoni people's resentment of oil exploration due to its destruction of the region’s economic foundations and its poisoning of crops and aquaculture. His book, "Genocide in Nigeria: The Ogoni Tragedy," gives support to that mouthpiece. The work catered to the absolute breaking point of the mentality of what was deemed credible as decimation. In this work, the prominent environmentalist drives the notion that the destruction of a people’s natural environment is, in fact, a state of genocide. Many oil companies today indeed talk about corporate responsibility. Their media and academia apologists encourage Shell, Eni, and other oil initiatives to clean up their act after decades of devastation and collusion to pollute and destroy environments. Many of the oil companies efforts, however, are little more than a public relations stunt aiming at Western audiences and relieving investor guilt than making a lasting impact on the communities exploited by years of oil spills, gas flaring, and systemic land dispossession. That is my concern. Because of Ken Saro-Wiwa's mission to dismantle the extremely dependent economic relationship between many governments and oil industries, I seek to major in economics and later receive my Ph.D. to become an Environmental Economist. I aim to conduct cost-benefit studies of industrial activities and proposed regulations involving natural resources between transnational oil and gas pipelines. With these analyses, I want to develop policy proposals that address the detrimental effects fossil energy has on a community and find cost-effective ways to implement environmental technologies and industries globally. Environmentalism is often seen as an idealogy only accessible to the wealthy. Ken Saro-Wiwa shredded that claim, and I am determined to do the same. No one is above the monster that is environmental carnage. Ken Saro-Wiwa was a pivotal turning point in what it means to be Nigerian, an African. Not only does it mean being one with your tribe, but one with the environment that in his words, "God gifted his people." Saro-Wiwa was the embodiment of fearlessness. He did not stop for anyone, even for the security of his own life. I wish I could build a bit of his character as I grow in my future profession.

When I was fourteen, I lost a friend to suicide. I was devastated by her death and overwhelmed by the rippling effects it had on my community. I realized that she was one of so many teenagers who felt worthless and alone. Unfortunately, the existing stigma around mental illness has kept kids from reaching out for help. In the face of such widespread distress, I felt helpless against the damage caused by mental illness and stigma in teens. After that experience, I resolved to never feel helpless again. I have become determined to do whatever I can to address and reduce mental illness, especially anxiety, and depression, in teenagers. I knew that mental illness in teenagers was a colossal problem that wouldn’t be solved overnight, or even during my lifetime. Still, I was determined to do what I could, and that started by trying to better understand the problem. Using the internet, I began researching the brain and how it worked. I read every neuroscience textbook I could get my hands on and supplemented my efforts through chemistry and AP Psychology classes at school. My understanding of the structures and functions of the brain led me to place in the Utah Brain Bee, a state-wide neuroscience competition for high schoolers. That summer, I worked as an intern in a real neuroscience research laboratory at the University of Utah and fell in love with laboratory science. Soon after, I founded the Eagle Brain Club, a neuroscience and psychology club at my school that meets twice monthly to learn about the brain through hands-on experiments and guest speakers. Then, at the beginning of 2022, I taught an eight-week Introduction to Neuroscience course meant to prepare for this year’s Brain Bee participants. My passion for brain science has led me to many wonderful experiences during the past three years, but at the heart of all this learning and growth, my drive has remained constant. I’m determined to fight the ongoing crisis of suicide and mental illness stigma in my peers, the teenagers of Utah. I am fighting the stigma around mental illness by teaching others about neuroscience. When we talk about depression and anxiety in terms of neurotransmitters and synaptic connections, they can be treated as medical problems instead of personal failings to hide or ignore. I want my peers to understand that it is okay to ask for help and seek treatment, the same way they would if they were physically injured or sick. I have decided to pursue neuroscience as a career. I hope that by contributing to humanity’s understanding of depression and anxiety at a chemical level through laboratory research, I can help us prevent teen mental illness. I plan on majoring in neuroscience and eventually pursuing a PhD so that I am best equipped to conduct this essential research. I look forward to continuing the battle against mental illness in teenagers.

Economic knowledge is freedom. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My auntie was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

The morning of my first day as a volunteer at my town's Refugee and Immigrant Center, I walked feeling confident about the had no interest in being an English tutor. I was so against it that I made sure it was my last choice on the volunteering options sheet. That did not work in my favor. On my first day, I was guided into a classroom. At that moment, I wanted to throw up. I suck at languages. The idea of teaching even my native one made me anxious. I then had to think about why I wanted to volunteer in the first place. I wanted to meet some cool people. This was a way to do that, no matter how frightening. So, I walked into the classroom. That is when I met Kwachi. She was around my age and came to Utah just a few months prior from South Sudan. It became clear that she had the same attitude as me. She did not like languages either. Sessions would go by with no progress. I decided for us to communicate, I would need to learn the basics of Swahili. I knew this from the jump, but have been suppressing it. Now, it was unavoidable. It was not a fun thought. But how could I teach a language if I didn't know how to communicate? It took a lot of work. Bit by bit. Just the alphabet, simple words, to learn where Kwachi was coming from phonetically. With this new knowledge, I understood why Kwachi knew the vowels so well. Swahili uses the same vowel phonemes as English! Swahili also has no tones, which made pronunciation undoubtedly easier. Yay for me! Little by little, our conversation started to carry more depth. We went from just "hello", to talking about our favorite movies, career goals, boys, and other things. With my studying with her, I realized how difficult English is. There aren't steady rules on how to pronounce certain vowel words. It's all trial and error that one has to memorize. While in Swahili, you need to just learn a few two-letter combinations. When I decided to take these things in my mind, I was able to help Kwachi and she was able to help me. Multiple times she would say, "This doesn't make sense, Chioma," and I couldn't say anything else but "Yeah, I know." We would laugh. We both got better at our language learning and also learning about each other's cultures. Nigeria and South Sudan's deep history, food, tribes, and so on. There was even one day when we brought each other our native food. Me, jollof rice, while her Kofta. Delicious! When it was time for Kwachi to take her literacy test, I took a Swahili test. It was only fair. We both have learned about each other's language for a few months. We both passed! (Kwachi with flying colors) This first seemingly extraordinary scary thing ended in the making of a loving friendship that I hold dear.

Mmiri Flowing effortlessly, with the air as her companion, She walks with bound brown eyes, Her eyes firm not timid, bright not dim, She is barefooted. Her toes welcome every grain of sand, dust, and mud. She is a beauty that cannot be imitated. Yet, something about her is out of sight from the rest, Her crown. But it’s not truly hers. The crown has a mind of its own. Mighty, indignant, unstable, She holds it with both hands for it mustn't descend. The crown does not cease to spit if not handled with divinity. The woman is simply a subject to the crown. She has under the chapel, its cushioned throne, to satisfy the excellency. The beautiful woman continues, As she passes others, who share her gazes, who too have crowns raised. As she goes by, one by one, her lips twinkle ever so slightly, And is returned with alike counted twinkled lips. She resumes for a good way, And then halts. At a clay-built house. Molded with just the aid of human flesh. The crown´s presence is ever so great, For the door to this house opens as to welcome it, Emerging an older account of the beautiful woman. "My daughter." The woman's taut eye shatters, Into eyes whole of childhood yearning for a whiff of tenderness. The older account walks back inside the molded house for just a moment, and comes out, holding a container. That is not at all sophisticated as the crown in its endeavors, But isn't at all as tedious to subject to. She drops it by the feet of the younger woman effortlessly, The woman then slowly pulls the crown from its throne And pours. Pours into the lesser container, Pours until the crown has been relieved with vacuity. She peeks, Her soft eyes stiffen. The crown is placed back on its throne, "Soon Mommy." And the beautiful woman turns away from the clay-molded house, And walks. Walks with her bound brown eyes. Eyes that are not timid, but firm. Bright, not dim. Walks back to the stoned palace of the crown's origins, Where the crown fills to the brim with a novelty So blessed. So plain. But needless to say, indispensable. She continues. Flowing effortlessly, with the air as her companion. 'Mmiri' is an Igbo word that translates into 'water.'

Growing up in Utah, I had a single view of how the world looked. When imagining scenarios in my head, the individuals in them will always have pale skin. In second grade, I went to Nigeria for the first time. Although I was aware that it would be different, because of my parents' words, our views refuse to change until the difference is actually seen, not just heard. I witnessed for the first time my skin not having any other label than just that, skin. I was just a young girl in a sea of people. Nigeria transformed my bubble-like, exclusively white world. But I pushed that experience to the back of my mind. 2020, however, happened. And with that year came a movement that made me more in tune with my blackness than I have ever been, the Black Lives Matter Movement made me aware of the value of historically black colleges. With this revelation, I realized, at this time, my college list consisted of just PWIs. Because I have been the only black kid in my school for years, subconsciously, I accepted that this experience was inevitable no matter where I am in my education journey. Tuskegee University stuck out to me. Being of the most influential intellectuals of the late 19th century, Booker T. Washington was someone with who I was familiar with. After learning he founded Tuskegee University, I understood that HBCUs aren't just historically black colleges. But are imprints of some of the most extraordinary people this world has ever witnessed. I want to be a part of a culture that uplifts, guides, and is family, not one that would easily see me as a policy to fill a quota. After eighteen years, it is time for me to be part of that legacy.

When I decided to volunteer at the Refugee and Immigrant Center near my home, I had no interest in being an English tutor. I was so against it that I made sure it was my last choice on the volunteering options sheet. That did not work in my favor. On my first day, I was guided into a classroom. At that moment, I wanted to throw up. I suck at languages. The idea of teaching even my native one made me anxious. I then had to think about why I wanted to volunteer in the first place. I wanted to meet some cool people. This was a way to do that, no matter how frightening. So, I walked into the classroom. That is when I met Kwachi. She was around my age and came to Utah just a few months prior from South Sudan. It became clear that she had the same attitude as me. She did not like languages either. Sessions would go by with no progress. I decided in order for us to communicate, I would need to learn the basics of Swahili. I knew this from the jump, but have been suppressing it. Now, it was unavoidable. It was not a fun thought. But how could I teach if I didn't know how to communicate with my "student?" It took a lot of work. Bit by bit. Just the alphabet, simple words, to learn where Kwachi was coming from phonetically. With this new knowledge, I understood why Kwachi knew the vowels so well. Swahili uses the same vowel phonemes as English! Swahili also has no tones, which made pronunciation undoubtedly easier. Yay for me! Little by little, our conversation started to carry more depth. We went from just "hello", to talking about our favorite movies, career goals, boys, and other things. With my studying with her, I realized how difficult English is. There aren't steady rules on how to pronounce certain vowel words. It's all trial and error that one has to just memorize. While in Swahili, you need to just learn a few two-letter combinations. When I decided to take these things in my mind, I was able to help Kwachi and she was able to help me. Multiple times she would say, "This doesn't make sense, Chioma," and I couldn't say anything else but "Yeah, I know." We would laugh. We both got better at our language learning and also learning about each other's cultures. Nigeria and South Sudan's deep history, food, tribes, and so on. There was even one day when we brought each other our native food. Me, jollof rice, while her Kofta. Delicious! When it was time for Kwachi to take her literacy test, I took a Swahili test. It was only fair. We both have learned about each other's language for a few months. We both passed! (Kwachi with flying colors) This first seemingly extraordinary scary idea ended in the making of a dear friendship.

Historical knowledge is freedom. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic history of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya, (my niece)" is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, historically. Because of this truth, I desire to be a History major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international historian who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. A historian is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

Economic knowledge is freedom. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

My father was one of the 65,000 selected out of 10 million to receive the Diversity Visa lottery. He, just finishing his accounting associate's degree in Nigeria, decided to marry my mother and promptly move to the United States. This was more than 20 years ago. My parents adapted to the absolute culture shock. Specifically a new identity, "black." In Africa, there is no such thing as being black. You are categorized by your tribe. Having to be associated with a color was hard for my parents. Especially, when the color of one's skin is associated with total negativity. My parents first experienced racism at the age of 21, and 26. Before then, it was never part of their reality. Growing up, I said words "incorrectly." Nigeria's official language is English so it was my first language. But what made me stand out was the Naija accent my parents had. Water was wat-a Ask was axe Question was quest-yun Because of the constant teasing, I started to watch how my peers would pronounce certain words and copy them. It was also something that affected how I wrote in school. My parents grew up learning British handwriting. And because of that, "y" was written as "u" with a curvy tail. When I got to the first grade, I was used to writing that way, as my father taught me. My teacher, however, was not impressed. She would mark my papers wrong until I learned how to write them the "correct way," with a v and a slant line. I now purposely write my y's quote on quote incorrectly. I am a proud first-generation Nigerian American. Because of my different cultural identities, I am open to other people's identities as well. Identities are what make us individuals, not one monolithic human being.

Economic knowledge is freedom. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya, (my niece)" is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My aunt was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth teller for worldwide free expression.

Economic knowledge is freedom. All over the world, freedoms, especially freedom of speech and expression, are heavily restricted. My Nigerian immigrant parents instilled in me to never withhold my voice. Because of this, they enrolled me in performing arts programs at a very young age. Starting from playing Ms. Hannigan in my third-grade show choir, I developed not only a love for the arts but a love for expression. Without fully recognizing it, however, I was also developing a desire for others to be able to share their voices at all times. That desire became my drive. Every summer, I visited my business owner auntie in Nigeria. She was always keen on telling me that free expression often stems from the economic condition of a state. "It is not easy to imagine meaningful individual liberty if people are told what to buy, what to sell, and where to work, omo iya," (my niece) is something she often said. Never would I have thought that this past summer would be the last time I would hear those words. My auntie was not just a business owner. She was a huge advocate for human rights in Nigeria. From being heavily involved with the EndSars campaign to the recent Nigerian election struggles, my aunt showed absolute resilience in sharing her voice even when it could have resulted in dangerous outcomes. Her unapologetic voice led me to find the truth about how often free expression starts, economically. Because of this truth, I desire to be an Economics major. I want to eventually receive my Ph.D. and become an international economist who researches to find quantitative and qualitative solutions to global economic inequalities. Finding ways for how countries can build a free market allows nations to become more socially and politically liberated in the process. I am grateful to be born in a country that allows me to participate in various activities related to free expression. Since freshman year, I have been involved in my school's theatre department. I have won region and state for multiple theatrical events, namely pantomime and slam poetry. In Eleventh grade, out of dozens of entries from across the district, I was the only monologue to qualify for participation in the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival. As a junior, I decided to join my school’s speech and debate team. I have won numerous competitions, especially this year as oratory captain. In February, I qualified for the National Speech and Debate Association Tournament for both Program Oral Interpretation and Original Oratory. Last year, I had a full-year internship with Loud and Clear Youth Radio. My first project stemmed from the amplified political divide due to civil unrest and the pandemic. It was called, "Growing with Our Differences in 2022.” A teen panel discussed ways to bridge the divide among ourselves as the new generation. On air, there were about 4,000 listeners, and it has been streamed 100 times since then. In many other parts of the world, I would have been able to engage in just a handful of these activities. And even if I was able to participate, how I would have wanted to would have been extremely difficult to enable, if not impossible. An economist is simply a truth seeker, a truth-teller. Just like my auntie, I am determined to become a truth-teller for worldwide free expression.