39 years ago, in a small East African country, my dad decided to join his friends on the basketball team. This would lead to a spot on the Burundian National Basketball Team, a run-in and long friendship with Rick Boyages, a college basketball recruiter, and an opportunity to go to America for free. Within the first few months, my dad would meet my mom and her gang of older brothers, but they wouldn’t meet again until 3 years later. Sports, but basketball specifically has been a part of my life forever. It brought my dad to this country at 19 years old, where his favorite food became pizza, English became his 5th language, and his best friend became a short ginger from Pittsfield Ma, my uncle Jeff. I have been exposed to a wide range of sports and have spent much time watching how sports and the community built from them transformed my peers and myself for the better. Given this, finding a reason to pursue a career in an athletic-related field was easy. Just as the stereotype about older sisters goes, I am a natural giver and helper. When I started figuring out my major/ career interests, the common line was helping others, especially in communities of color like mine, and supporting the youth. Although I have fractured, sprained, and tweaked every part of my body playing volleyball and doing gymnastics, my love for the energy and passion of athletics has always brought me back for another season. I spent half of my high school career on the bench for one injury or another, and with that time I have learned to observe games and give critique to help change up our play. The first time I felt like I could make a career out of sports was when I was put in the position to coach varsity and junior varsity volleyball while our coach was sick. I felt a different kind of rush and fire that was more than competitive nature, it was also the pride for the team. I felt my heart swell when the freshman that struggled that year finally got a hit or the jv got their first win. I want to instill the level of responsibility, commitment and love that the coaches I admire have. I must admit, I have had an amazing teacher, my dad. We spent hours analyzing my brother’s games the morning after and watching sports documentaries about Laettner, Stockton, Sweetwater, and Jordan. I listened carefully to his sideline coaching even after he decided that he couldn't coach that year. I figure if there is any place that can confirm what I know about my love of sports and the community around them, it would be UConn. I am looking forward to this year as I plan to make the first steps by applying to be a manager for the women's basketball team.

My parents both came to America when they were teenagers, however they came from two different worlds. My mother’s family were part of the upper class in Liberia, a small west african country. My father was from an even smaller country in East Africa, his family were farmers, they raised cows, and grew tea. My mom followed her older brothers to Massachusetts following the civil war while my dad,though only learning basketball in 8th grade, was scouted by my Uncle Rick and brought to play in the states. I spent hours soaking in their love story, my uncle’s coach introducing my dad to my mom’s family because they were both African, my dad’s refusal to speak to my mom, even when she tried in French and English, and most of all their first date where they watched Amistad. Still much of my heritage is a mystery, everything I know about my dad and his family has been though my mom and articles about his basketball career. My dad lived a feel- good sports movie, so much so someone wrote a book about it. I have always carried this weight of high expectations for myself. Academics were the easiest choice. I spent years chasing these goals even when I was constantly drawn to sickness with anxiety. A’s came naturally and if they didn’t I cried and worked until they did.My academic journey on paper is a smooth road of high honors, and 4.0s but it is only because I have conditioned it to be second nature. It once angered me that I didn’t get my siblings’ parents, the ones who allowed the wild dreams of mansions and super extra vacations. But then, I remember everything my parents and I experienced helped us grow and keep growing.