Last year, my close friend was driving my car, I was on the passenger side, and he was speeding. We hydroplaned into two poles on my side, and the door dented into me. The driver was left unconscious by the airbag, and by God’s grace, my friend in the back was able to get out of the car and call 911. I was left in the car, awake and bleeding. During that time, I accepted the idea of death. I began my prayer to the Lord and did nothing but thank him for my life. Then I heard a voice say, “Everything will be okay.” The ambulance arrived, and they used the jaws of life to remove me from the car. Once I arrived at the hospital, they said I had multiple fractures in my pelvic bone. I begged the nurse to call my mom and let her know that I will be okay. As my mother and brother rushed to the hospital, the doctors heavily medicated me to numb the pain. Through it all, I had a peace beyond understanding. The nurses would come to my room for energy because I was the happiest in ICU. The doctors came to me and explained that they had sent the best surgeon in the state to perform my surgery. They were putting screws into my hips at 19 years old. Before I went in, my family prayed for me. Once I got out, the doctors told me the great news that I would be able to walk again, but it would take an immense amount of work. With my firm belief in God, I knew this was all a part of a more excellent plan. The first two weeks of recovery were strict bed rest. I decided to give God my social media and Netflix during this time—two things I held dearly, but I needed to release to spend more time in prayer. Before I could move my legs, the doctors said that they had to discharge me. My mom was in tears because I still could not walk, and she could not afford to put a hospital bed in my second-floor condo home, but I knew God had a plan. A social worker came and informed me of a children’s rehabilitation center on the other side of the hospital. Throughout the week, we prayed for a bed to open so that someone could roll me to the other side of the hospital. This rehabilitation program pushed me to regain strength through my leg muscles and brought me from a hospital bed to a wheelchair to a walker within two weeks. During that time, God’s plan for all of this became evident: to isolate me from the pressures of life and allow me to further my relationship with him. God gave me the patience to regain the ability to walk, the joy necessary to influence the younger kids in rehab, and the strength to survive the painful days. With my daily sermons and quiet time, I truly began to know God further than just a character in the Bible but as a father and a savior. After this arduous journey in the hospital, I overcame my fears of being in the passenger seat and was driven home by my mom. The work wasn’t over yet. I still had to go to physical therapy so I could transition from a walker to a cane and from a cane to walking on my own, but God allowing me to be alive to tell this story is forever going to be my greatest accomplishment.

Born in Kenya to a Kenyan mother and a Ugandan father, my childhood was anything but ordinary. For five years, I traveled back and forth between my parents due to their complicated relationship. After their divorce, my mother moved to America alone with my brother and me at the age of 32. With no support system and knowing no one in this country, she worked tirelessly to ensure we had access to a top-tier education. Even now, she struggles to pay for my schooling, sacrificing her own needs and working long hours to provide for me. Watching her unwavering determination has instilled in me a deep appreciation for education and an unshakable work ethic. As I adapted to my new environment, I quickly learned the challenges of being an immigrant student. The cultural differences were very defined, and I often found myself caught between two worlds. At school, I struggled to fit in, facing questions and stereotypes about my background. Even among other Black students, my identity as an African taught me know I was different. Yet, despite these difficulties, I remained proud of my heritage. Brought my cultural food in for lunch and played my African music in my ears throughout the school day. My mother built a strong Kenyan community around us, filled with single mothers who supported one another. Their resilience and resourcefulness became my foundation, teaching me the value of community and perseverance. My mother always taught me that business is the driving force of today’s society, shaping industries and creating opportunities. As a young Black immigrant woman, I recognize that navigating the business world comes with challenges, but I also see it as a space where I can break barriers and create lasting change. My diverse identity is not a burden—it is my strength. By equipping myself with the knowledge and skills necessary to thrive in business, I aim to open doors for others who face similar struggles. Every day, I recognize the cost of sitting in my school chair—the sacrifices my mother makes, the opportunities my Kenyan relatives were never afforded, and the generational barriers I am working to overcome. This chair represents my mother’s sleepless nights, her resilience, and the future I am determined to build for both of us. It is not just my education; it is a symbol of her sacrifices and our collective journey. As I pursue a business degree at Rutgers Business School, I am committed to using my education to uplift marginalized communities. My goal is to create programs that provide financial literacy, career development, and entrepreneurial resources for immigrants, low-income, and first-generation students. I want to expand my impact beyond the U.S., ensuring that underrepresented individuals—especially in African countries—have access to the opportunities and resources they deserve. My mother’s journey has shaped my purpose, and I will dedicate my career to making sure others do not have to struggle as she did.

Born in Kenya to a Kenyan mother and a Ugandan father, my childhood was anything but ordinary. For five years, I traveled back and forth between my parents due to their complicated relationship. After their divorce, my mother moved to America alone with my brother and me at the age of 32. With no support system and knowing no one in this country, she worked tirelessly to ensure we had access to a top-tier education. Even now, she struggles to pay for my schooling, sacrificing her own needs and working long hours to provide for me. Watching her unwavering determination has instilled in me a deep appreciation for education and an unshakable work ethic. As I adapted to my new environment, I quickly learned the challenges of being an immigrant student. The cultural differences were very defined, and I often found myself caught between two worlds. At school, I struggled to fit in, facing questions and stereotypes about my background. Even among other Black students, my identity as an African taught me know I was different. Yet, despite these difficulties, I remained proud of my heritage. Brought my cultural food in for lunch and played my African music in my ears throughout the school day. My mother built a strong Kenyan community around us, filled with single mothers who supported one another. Their resilience and resourcefulness became my foundation, teaching me the value of community and perseverance. My mother always taught me that business is the driving force of today’s society, shaping industries and creating opportunities. As a young Black immigrant woman, I recognize that navigating the business world comes with challenges, but I also see it as a space where I can break barriers and create lasting change. My diverse identity is not a burden—it is my strength. By equipping myself with the knowledge and skills necessary to thrive in business, I aim to open doors for others who face similar struggles. Every day, I recognize the cost of sitting in my school chair—the sacrifices my mother makes, the opportunities my Kenyan relatives were never afforded, and the generational barriers I am working to overcome. This chair represents my mother’s sleepless nights, her resilience, and the future I am determined to build for both of us. It is not just my education; it is a symbol of her sacrifices and our collective journey. As I pursue a business degree at Rutgers Business School, I am committed to using my education to uplift marginalized communities. My goal is to create programs that provide financial literacy, career development, and entrepreneurial resources for immigrants, low-income, and first-generation students. I want to expand my impact beyond the U.S., ensuring that underrepresented individuals—especially in African countries—have access to the opportunities and resources they deserve. My mother’s journey has shaped my purpose, and I will dedicate my career to making sure others do not have to struggle as she did.

Born in Kenya to a Kenyan mother and a Ugandan father, my childhood was anything but ordinary. For five years, I traveled back and forth between my parents due to their complicated relationship. After their divorce, my mother moved to America alone with my brother and me at the age of 32. With no support system and knowing no one in this country, she worked tirelessly to ensure we had access to a top-tier education. Even now, she struggles to pay for my schooling, sacrificing her own needs and working long hours to provide for me. Watching her unwavering determination has instilled in me a deep appreciation for education and an unshakable work ethic. Over time, she built a community of Kenyan friends who became like family. Most were single mothers, so I grew up with multiple “moms.” While my peers brought Lunchables to school, I had pilau or ugali. As I got older, I started buying lunch to ease my mother’s burden. The school system quickly made me aware that being African was different from being American—even among Black students. By middle school, with my brother in college, I worked hard to get into a boarding school so my mom wouldn’t have to worry about me. In high school, attending a PWI (Predominantly White Institution), I mastered the art of code-switching and assimilation, constantly balancing my cultural identity with American expectations. College became a safe haven when I joined an African club. For the first time, I was surrounded by peers who shared my cultural background, a feeling I had only experienced at family parties. As I got to know them, I realized I was paving my own path as a first-generation African student. Many had never been to their motherland or deeply connected with their culture, but I was blessed with my own mini Kenya through the community my mother built around me. I’ve learned that culture is something you carry with you, and community is what you make it. While being African in America comes with misunderstandings and stereotypes, I have come to embrace my heritage with pride, knowing my roots are a source of strength. Every day, I recognize the cost of sitting in my school chair—the sacrifices my mother makes, the opportunities my Kenyan relatives never had, and the generational barriers I am working to overcome. This chair represents my mother’s sleepless nights, her resilience, and the future I am determined to build for both of us. It is not just my education; it is a symbol of her sacrifices and our collective journey. When I envision my future career and crossing that graduation stage next year, I think of my mother. As a single parent, she has carried the weight of two roles while managing her own responsibilities. My ultimate goal is to ease her burdens and create opportunities for other single mothers and immigrant families so that they, too, do not have to struggle as she did to give their children a better future. Witnessing my mother’s struggles firsthand has inspired me to pursue a career that creates pathways for immigrants and first-generation students, ensuring they have access to the opportunities they deserve.

My mother moved to America from Kenya on her own with two young children at the age of 32. With no support system and knowing no one in this country, she worked tirelessly to ensure that my brother and I had access to a top-tier education. Even now, she continues to struggle to pay for my schooling, sacrificing her own needs and working long hours to provide for me. Watching her unwavering determination has instilled in me a deep appreciation for education and an unshakable work ethic. Every day, I recognize the cost of sitting in this seat—the sacrifices my mother makes, the opportunities my Kenyan relatives were never afforded, and the generational barriers I am working to overcome. This seat represents my mother’s sleepless nights, her resilience, and the future I am determined to build for both of us. It is not just my education; it is a symbol of her sacrifices and our collective journey. When I envision my future career and the moment I cross that graduation stage next year, I think of my mother. As a single parent, she has carried the weight of two roles while managing her own responsibilities. My ultimate goal is to ease her burdens and create opportunities for other single mothers and immigrant families so that they, too, do not have to struggle as she did to give their children a better future. In a land that was built off of the hard work of immigrants, I want to work to ensure that immigrants and their children receive the same rights and educational privileges that others in this country receive.