It was not until I was fourteen that I was able to make fufu, which for a person who eats it so much is a little concerning. The popular dish ---made with just a stick, a pot, some water, and powdered yam--- required a surprising amount of fortitude to make. I remember putting my all into the stubborn meal and unwillingly calling my mother for her help. “This is what I ate almost everyday when I was your age,” my mother said as she nonchalantly tossed the fufu in the pot, “I was only ten when I started making it. Now you see how hard it has been to prepare for the family all these years.” I listened, still mesmerized by her sudden strength in preparing the meal. The interaction has become less trivial than a West-African meal, however. It was a testament to my parents' modest beginnings and the things that have become an integral part of my identity: persistence, resourcefulness, and humility. I realized that integrating myself into a community and my family’s heritage that I could always fall back on allowed me to grow as a listener, innovator, and leader. It was my parent’s humble beginnings in the small town of Minna, Nigeria that made their journey to America so inspiring for me. It has put me in a mindset to strive to be the best version of myself and embellish the opportunities I can take advantage of. With the help of this scholarship, I hope to continue to not only further myself but my community and strive for a better tomorrow.

With Young Black Entrepreneurs, a club to promote and educate African-American students about financial literacy and business, leading to our first black student organization, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself. One of the most memorable tasks was creating a personal statement, a mission to guide me through the program. In drafting this powerful message, I would have to continuously bring down the statement to fewer and fewer words. I had never attempted such a thing and felt uncomfortable thinking about the direction I was subconsciously putting my life in by completing this activity. At first, it was easy. My instructor gave us plenty of room, allotting us one hundred adjectives to describe the most important aspects of ourselves. I fell into the trap of using too many words, and when he told us to cut our writing to twenty-five and furthermore ten words, I felt constrained. I asked him, “How can we fit all that is important to us into three words?” To which he replied, “How can you not? It was difficult because I didn’t understand how I could be so I created my own personal statement, using two-hundred and fifty, then a hundred, and finally ten words. (Imperfect, ambitious, and imaginative) I learned about what makes something worth pursuing, and I learned what it means to embody my heritage with pride. Later that year, it was my turn to share my new discoveries beyond the current reach of the organization. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. In those moments, I found out that this discussion really means something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Since then, my perspective on race and identity has shifted. It has become a powerful tool that has shaped how I communicate with others and choose my ambitions. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I became confident with the individuals in the organization to share with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February and we all gathered to prepare for our presentation for the school. We only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization and Black History Month are all about, but when we got to speak, it was a refreshing way to convey the fantastic things we had uncovered. I was also able to understand how important humility was. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were embedded in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those who differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. Specifically, this lesson has helped me put into perspective the privileges I have to pursue my own passions. See, in our society, race has been inextricably tied to privilege, but what I have discovered is that it is all relative.

Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. Up until I was around six years old, every day around 6:00 p.m. when I would hear the ringing of keys and the lock begin to unlatch I was eager to run to the front door to see my father. Until suddenly, one night, January 3rd, 2013, a typical Thursday evening turned into a night that would shape me into the man I am today. For months, arguments between my mother and father had grown in intensity, and upon my father’s arrival from work that night, it seemed that they both had enough. The next morning, I woke up to four bags of luggage in the living room. “I’ll be back. I am just going to the store, ” my father comforted. Being so young, I believed him. I didn’t understand the implications of what I was going through. After saying his last goodbyes to me and my brother, he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. The door shut as quickly as it opened. From then on, it became difficult to reconnect with my father. I would call him to no avail, and it was only months after that I found out he had started a new life in Texas. As a consequence of this, I struggled with behavior issues in elementary school. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would get in trouble and come back to a disappointed mother. Having a “good day” for me meant that I wasn’t sent to the office that day. My reputation was built on two things: I was a constant troublemaker who lived in the office and I was in serious need of help. I would quickly be blamed for things and it became a reinforcing loop of problematic disaster. I began to fall behind academically, forcing me to enroll in a tutoring program which was paid for by the district. But I continued to find myself in trouble. In the office, I would overhear the administrators explain yet another incident to my mother as she sobbed over the phone. “Do I need to send you to Nigeria?” my mother questioned sternly. “What did I do to deserve this?” The administrators suggested that I get mental help and counseling. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. Music became my first opportunity to revive my broken reputation. Entering middle school, I took my first band class where I learned music with all the students in my grade. Being a low-income student, I was able to rent my first instrument, the tuba, from my school for free, and I took full advantage. Thrilled by the idea of playing new music, I spent hours in my free time mastering the basics. I quickly became invested in music. By the time I reached high school, I had self-taught myself the entire brass family. Not only was I flourishing in music, but I was also becoming more comfortable with myself as a leader. My passion for music carried me from reading music sheets to performing to teaching and eventually learning how to conduct. With the trust of my band teacher, I was given solos in an auditorium packed with fellow students, adults, and school faculty and even given the opportunity to lead the entire band and conduct a piece. At that time, my mind transformed from a rusty rowboat floundering around the sea to a capable ship with the wind in its sails. This helped me become more comfortable as a leader outside of music, and helped draw me to new activities. Before I knew it, I was becoming heavily involved in our student government. Not only did I find a sense of purpose, but started to find a sense of myself. Now as a senior in high school, I find myself in the office again, but now as a person who is shaping my community. I continue to strive and achieve my most important goal: to strive to impact the world for a better tommowow.

“Humility: the elusive answer critical to tackling some of the most difficult racial struggles. It's the miscommunication and misunderstanding of the experience of people outside of your background that hinders reconciliation.” "Isn't a club only for black people backward?" "I'm not invited to the BSU meeting, huh?" As the leader of my school's Black Student Union, these questions came up often. Growing up in Fife, Washington, I seldom saw other people like me. With only the rudimentary stories in textbooks, I could never explore the subtleties of black history regarding its rich diaspora. However, I found speaking about black history has helped fill this absence, especially when it comes to humility. My school eventually decided to set forth a Black Student Union, a group of young black men and women who embodied “humility” and I was immediately able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, earning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. I realized that integrating myself into a community that I could always fall back on allowed me to grow as a listener, innovator, and leader. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were embedded in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those who differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. Specifically, this lesson has helped me put into perspective the privileges I have to pursue my own passions. See, in our society, race has been inextricably tied to privilege, but what I have discovered is that it is all relative. With my knowledge in political science, I hope to instill these life lessons I gained from my school's Black Student Union into others around me, unifying different types of communities and environments. Together, this lesson has led me to commit to my most important goal: to strive to impact the world in the hope of a better tomorrow.

From a basketball coach, to a mentor, to a teacher. This past year, I was able to learn a lot about myself and that is all thanks to Mr. Muckie Foreman. Mr. Foreman: Black Student Union Advisor & Young Black Entrepreneurs With my fellow brothers and sisters from the newly established Young Black Entrepreneurs club and Black Student Union, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, learning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. One of the most memorable tasks was creating a personal statement, a mission to guide me through the program. In drafting this powerful message, I would have to continuously bring down the statement to fewer and fewer words. I had never attempted such a thing and felt uncomfortable thinking about the direction I was subconsciously putting my life in by completing this activity. At first, it was easy. My instructor gave us plenty of room, allotting us one hundred adjectives to describe the most important aspects of ourselves. I fell into the trap of using too many words, and when he told us to cut our writing to twenty-five and furthermore ten words, I felt constrained. I asked him, “How can we fit all that is important to us into three words?” To which he replied, “How can you not? It was difficult because I didn’t understand how I could be so I created my own personal statement, using two-hundred and fifty, then a hundred, and finally ten words. (Imperfect, ambitious, and imaginative) I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students showed me the importance of humility. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were embedded in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those who differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. Specifically, this lesson has helped me put into perspective the privileges I have to pursue my own passions. See, in our society, race has been inextricably tied to privilege, but what I have discovered is that it is all relative. In those moments, I found out that this discussion and my findings really meant something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. And I thank Mr. Foreman for instilling this experience in me.

With Young Black Entrepreneurs, a club to promote educate African-American students about financial literacy and business, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself. I learned from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. Upon engaging with the rich diaspora of African-American students that seemed to elude me for the time I spent in school, I realized that integrating myself into a community that I could always fall back on allowed me to grow as a listener, innovator, and leader. One of the most memorable tasks was creating a personal statement, a mission to guide me through the program. At first, it was easy. My instructor gave us plenty of room, allotting us one-hundred adjectives to describe the most important aspects of ourselves. I fell into the trap of using too many words, when he told us to cut our writing to twenty-five and furthermore ten words, I felt constrained. I asked him, “how can we fit all that is important to us into three words?” To which he replied, “how can you not? In drafting this powerful message, I would have to continuously bring down the statement to fewer and fewer words. I started using two-hundred and fifty, then hundred, and finally ten words, and in doing so, I learned what really matters. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students; I learned about what makes something worth pursuing; and I learned what it means to embody my heritage with pride. Later that year, it was my turn to share my new discoveries beyond the current reach of the organization. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. In those moments, I found out that this discussion really means something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Since then, my perspective on race and identity has shifted. It has become a powerful tool that has shaped how to I communicate with others and choose my ambitions. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes are rooted in the absence of humility. When you arrogantly believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those that differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. I hope to share some of the lessons that I have learned as a member of the Young Black Entrepreneurs Organization in my school while also adding to the experiences that I have built by engaging with the many cultural communities and expanding on this life lesson I have learned. In addition, it showed me the ways of being successful as an African-American student and accumulating wealth by creating bonds with new people.

Up until I was around six years old, every day around 6:00 p.m. when I would hear the ringing of keys and the lock begin to unlatch I was eager to run to the front door to see my father. Until suddenly, one night, January 3rd, 2013, a typical Thursday evening turned into a night that would shape me into the man I am today. For months, arguments between my mother and father had grown in intensity, and upon my father’s arrival from work that night, it seemed that they both had enough. The next morning, I woke up to four bags of luggage in the living room. “I’ll be back. I am just going to the store, ” my father comforted. Being so young, I believed him. I didn’t understand the implications of what I was going through. After saying his last goodbyes to me and my brother, he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. The door shut as quickly as it opened. From then on, it became difficult to reconnect with my father. I would call him to no avail, and it was only months after that I found out he had started a new life in Texas. As a consequence of this, I struggled with behavior issues in elementary school. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would get in trouble and come back to a disappointed mother. Having a “good day” for me meant that I wasn’t sent to the office that day. My reputation was built on two things: I was a constant troublemaker who lived in the office and I was in serious need of help. I would quickly be blamed for things and it became a reinforcing loop of problematic disaster. In the office, I would overhear the administrators explain yet another incident to my mother as she sobbed over the phone. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. Music became my first opportunity to revive my broken reputation. Entering middle school, I took my first band class where I learned music with all the students in my grade. Being a low-income student, I was able to rent my first instrument, the tuba, from my school for free, and I took full advantage. Thrilled by the idea of playing new music, I spent hours in my free time mastering the basics. I quickly became invested in music. By the time I reached high school, I had self-taught myself the entire brass family. Not only was I flourishing in music, but I was also becoming more comfortable with myself as a leader. My passion for music carried me from reading music sheets to performing to teaching and eventually learning how to conduct. With the trust of my band teacher, I was given solos in an auditorium packed with fellow students, adults, and school faculty and even given the opportunity to lead the entire band and conduct a piece. At that time, my mind transformed from a rusty rowboat floundering around the sea to a capable ship with the wind in its sails. Before I knew it, I was becoming heavily involved in our student government. Not only did I find a sense of purpose, but started to find a sense of myself. Now as a senior in high school, I find myself in the office again, but now as a person who is shaping my community. From this experience, I hope to repay my community for believing in me by striving to impact the world for a better tomorrow.

January 3rd, 2013, a typical Thursday evening turned into a night that would shape me into the man I am today. For months, arguments between my mother and father had grown in intensity, and upon my father’s arrival from work that night, it seemed that they both had enough. The next morning, I woke up to four bags of luggage in the living room. “I’ll be back. I am just going to the store, ” my father comforted. Being so young, I believed him. I didn’t understand the implications of what I was going through. After saying his last goodbyes to me and my brother, he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. The door shut as quickly as it opened. From then on, it became difficult to reconnect with my father. I would call him to no avail, and it was only months after that I found out he had started a new life in Texas. As a consequence of this, I struggled with behavior issues in elementary school. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would get in trouble and come back to a disappointed mother. Having a “good day” for me meant that I wasn’t sent to the office that day. My reputation was built on two things: I was a constant troublemaker who lived in the office and I was in serious need of help. I would quickly be blamed for things and it became a reinforcing loop of problematic disaster. I began to fall behind academically, forcing me to enroll in a tutoring program which was paid for by the district. But I continued to find myself in trouble. In the office, I would overhear the administrators explain yet another incident to my mother as she sobbed over the phone. “Do I need to send you to Nigeria?” my mother questioned sternly. “What did I do to deserve this?” The administrators suggested that I get mental help and counseling. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. With the Black Student Union, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, learning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. In those moments, I found out that this discussion really means something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Before I knew it, I was becoming heavily involved in our student government. Not only did I find a sense of purpose, but started to find a sense of myself. Now as a senior in high school, I find myself in the office again, but now as a person who is shaping my community. This lesson has pursued me to achieve my goal: to strive for a better tommorow.

Being a first-generation African-American student from the small town of Fife, Washington has been challenging. I not only have to navigate the trials and tribulations of attending a small, rural school but also play a crucial role in my family. My mother and father grew up in the small town of Minna, Nigeria, and migrated over to the U.S. in their mid-20s. My father, who has been a commercial driver all his life, has faced challenges as a truck driver lately and has had to take on part-time jobs to compensate for the slowdown in his business. Moreover, I am with an older brother that has been busy with college, and a single mother who works long hours and sleep the rest, I have found myself with a lot more time to myself. It has been strange taking on this new leadership role in the family. And in the limited free time I have as a student, I strive to work towards bettering my education and paying homage to the obstacles that I encountered during the college application process. With that being said, with the Black Student Union, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, learning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were embedded in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those who differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. Specifically, this lesson has helped me put into perspective the privileges I have to pursue my own passions. See, in our society, race has been inextricably tied to privilege, but what I have discovered is that it is all relative. In those moments, I found out that this discussion and my findings really meant something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Since then, my perspective on race and identity has shifted. It has become a powerful tool that has shaped how I communicate with others and choose my ambitions.

Mr. Foreman: Black Student Union advisor. With the Black Student Union, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, learning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. I found speaking about black history has helped fill this absence, especially when it comes to humility. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were embedded in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those who differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility promotes meaningful transcension. Specifically, this lesson has helped me put into perspective the privileges I have to pursue my own passions. See, in our society, race has been inextricably tied to privilege, but what I have discovered is that it is all relative. In those moments, I found out that this discussion and my findings really meant something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Since then, my perspective on race and identity has shifted. It has become a powerful tool that has shaped how I communicate with others and choose my ambitions. He mentored me and pushed me to advocate for social justice and showed me how to be a better man from these lessons. I was introduced to a collective of young, inspiring African-American students that want to make a difference in this world and cherish their education. Together, these reasons have led to my most important goal: to make a difference in this world and strive for a better tomorrow.

January 3rd, 2013, a typical Thursday evening turned into a night that would shape me into the man I am today. For months, arguments between my mother and father had grown in intensity, and upon my father’s arrival from work that night, it seemed that they both had enough. The next morning, I woke up to four bags of luggage in the living room. “I’ll be back. I am just going to the store, ” my father comforted. Being so young, I believed him. I didn’t understand the implications of what I was going through. After saying his last goodbyes to me and my brother, he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. The door shut as quickly as it opened. From then on, it became difficult to reconnect with my father. I would call him to no avail, and it was only months after that I found out he had started a new life in Texas. As a consequence of this, I struggled with behavior issues in elementary school. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would get in trouble and come back to a disappointed mother. Having a “good day” for me meant that I wasn’t sent to the office that day. My reputation was built on two things: I was a constant troublemaker who lived in the office and I was in serious need of help. I would quickly be blamed for things and it became a reinforcing loop of problematic disaster. I began to fall behind academically, forcing me to enroll in a tutoring program which was paid for by the district. But I continued to find myself in trouble. In the office, I would overhear the administrators explain yet another incident to my mother as she sobbed over the phone. “Do I need to send you to Nigeria?” my mother questioned sternly. “What did I do to deserve this?” The administrators suggested that I get mental help and counseling. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. Music became my first opportunity to revive my broken reputation. Entering middle school, I took my first band class where I learned music with all the students in my grade. Being a low-income student, I was able to rent my first instrument, the tuba, from my school for free, and I took full advantage. Thrilled by the idea of playing new music, I spent hours in my free time mastering the basics. I quickly became invested in music. By the time I reached high school, I had self-taught myself the entire brass family. Not only was I flourishing in music, but I was also becoming more comfortable with myself as a leader. My passion for music carried me from reading music sheets to performing to teaching and eventually learning how to conduct. With the trust of my band teacher, I was given solos in an auditorium packed with fellow students, adults, and school faculty and even given the opportunity to lead the entire band and conduct a piece. At that time, my mind transformed from a rusty rowboat floundering around the sea to a capable ship with the wind in its sails. This helped me become more comfortable as a leader outside of music, and helped draw me to new activities. Before I knew it, I was becoming heavily involved in our student government. Not only did I find a sense of purpose, but started to find a sense of myself. Now as a senior in high school, I find myself in the office again, but now as a person who is shaping my community.

It was the first tryout coming back from Covid. I was dedicated to making the varsity basketball team as a freshman. But after one unfortunate basketball practice, that was taken from me. The bottom ends of my two front teeth had been chipped off ---for good. It happened so fast and the memories were so fleeting it felt like just a horrible dream. I remember my father coming to get me and the quick rush to the hospital in his car. I looked out the window into the stars in the coldness of the night, my face tickling a little. I should not have come today. The practice was optional. If it were not for COVID, it wouldn't have been outside. If it were not for COVID, there would not have been that pole. Throughout my years of playing basketball, my delicate but unorthodox two-handed jump shot always caught the attention of my coaches. They all told me I would have to change my jump shot to have any chance of playing basketball. But I didn't listen, until it became a reality in high school. Freshman year, everyone made the basketball team due to Covid, it was one big junior varsity and varsity team. I was on the JV team but never played, not even if we were winning or losing by a lot. My coach would look down the bench right past me to call on someone else to check into the game. I asked him, "What can I do to earn minutes?" He told me to just keep working hard and my opportunity would come. Being the first and last person out of the gym, I continued to train despite seeing any results. During the off-season, I asked the head coach what team he thought I would be on next season. He told me I needed to change my jump shot, that I was too skinny, and that I didn't have the IQ. He told me I would be on the C-Team. I remember telling my brother I was done and that there was no point in me playing basketball anymore. He told me not to give up on myself and guided me to work that off-season to be the best player I could be. I began to workout 6 days a week. I found myself walking to school at 5:15 am to get a workout in, in hope of making the jump. That off-season I moved up from C-Team to varsity. I went from not playing just the year prior, to playing some varsity as a sophomore. I am now the basketball team's captain, as I enter my senior year.

Finding a home for my identity has always been difficult for me. The aspects of who I am, a Nigerian-American male interested in music and entrepreneurship, in the small Fife community I call home is very uncommon. For most of my life, it has been a struggle to find a group of people who share aspirations similar to mine. It wasn’t until this past year that I found some answer to the questions I had. With the Black Student Union, I was able to find a sense of identity I didn’t know I had in myself, learning from some of the best African-American leaders in my immediate community. I learned about the rich diaspora of African-American students —from the small islands in the Caribbean country of Trinidad and Tobago to the lush forestry that litters New Guinea —- that had seemed to elude me throughout high school. But most importantly, I shared with the people of my school, my community, some of the fantastic things I learned about myself and my ties to my heritage. It was February, we only had thirty minutes to cover what our small organization was all about and the important ideas in which Black History Month was all about. At first, I felt strange speaking to my colleagues. What did I know? What gave me the right to speak about such a sensitive topic? But seeing my words touch other students brought out a sense of humility in me. In those moments, I found out that this discussion really means something to other people as well, touching them just as much as it touched me. Since then, my perspective on race and identity has shifted. It has become a powerful tool that has shaped how to I communicate with others and choose my ambitions. I found speaking about black history at my school has allowed me to learn about myself and most importantly understand humility. I realized that in everything that I have done, humility has played a part. In exploring the controversial topic of race, I have found that the most racist attitudes were rooted in the absence of humility. When you believe that your life is more valuable than another, you become apathetic to those that differ from you. You become limited by your selfish attitudes. To these ends, humility prevents meaningful transcension. This lesson about racist implications has carried in many facets of my life. It was my parent’s humble beginnings in the small town of Minna, Nigeria that made their journey to America so inspiring for me. Similarly, it is the feeling of rush I get from learning new topics, which helps me realize how humble my grasp of our complex world is, that I continue to want to progress. It is why I recently found joy in being a part of the Black Student Union, an initiative at my school. I can be a part of a collective of young, inspiring African-American students that want to make a difference in this world and cherish their education. Together, these reasons have led to my most important goal: to make a difference in this world and strive for a better tomorrow.

Up until I was around six years old, every day around 6:00 p.m. when I would hear the ringing of keys and the lock begin to unlatch I was eager to run to the door to see my father. Until suddenly, one night, January 3rd, 2013, a typical Thursday evening turned into a night that would shape me into the man I am today. For months, arguments between my mother and father had grown in intensity, and upon my father’s arrival from work that night, it seemed that they both had enough. The next morning, I woke up to four bags of luggage in the living room. “I’ll be back. I am just going to the store, ” my father comforted. Being so young, I believed him. I didn’t understand the implications of what I was going through. After saying his last goodbyes to me and my brother, he picked up his stuff and headed for the door. The door shut as quickly as it opened. From then on, it became difficult to reconnect with my father. I would call him to no avail, and it was only months after that I found out he had started a new life in Texas. As a consequence of this, I struggled with behavior issues in elementary school. It seemed that no matter what I did, I would get in trouble and come back to a disappointed mother. Having a “good day” for me meant that I wasn’t sent to the office that day. My reputation was built on two things: I was a constant troublemaker who lived in the office and I was in serious need of help. I would quickly be blamed for things and it became a reinforcing loop of problematic disaster. I began to fall behind academically, forcing me to enroll in a tutoring program which was paid for by the district. But I continued to find myself in trouble. In the office, I would overhear the administrators explain yet another incident to my mother as she sobbed over the phone. “Do I need to send you to Nigeria?” my mother questioned sternly. “What did I do to deserve this?” The administrators suggested that I get mental help and counseling. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. Music became my first opportunity to revive my broken reputation. Entering middle school, I took my first band class where I learned music with all the students in my grade. Being a low-income student, I was able to rent my first instrument, the tuba, from my school for free, and I took full advantage. Thrilled by the idea of playing new music, I spent hours in my free time mastering the basics. I quickly became invested in music. By the time I reached high school, I had self-taught myself the entire brass family. Not only was I flourishing in music, but I was also becoming more comfortable with myself as a leader. My passion for music carried me from reading music sheets to performing to teaching and eventually learning how to conduct. With the trust of my band teacher, I was given solos in an auditorium packed with fellow students, adults, and school faculty and even given the opportunity to lead the entire band and conduct a piece. Before I knew it, I was becoming heavily involved in our student government. Not only did I find a sense of purpose, but started to find a sense of myself. Now as a senior in high school, I find myself in the office again, but now as a person who is shaping my community.