1. What if I told you that nine-year-old Titi left everything she knew in Nigeria, including her parents, to live in the United States under a work exchange? What if I told you that when her mother finally arrived in 2020, that eldest daughter was already working over 40 hours a week while keeping up with a demanding IB curriculum to keep a roof over her head? That was me. I was abused by family members who were meant to protect me, and I carried survivor’s guilt. But I remembered where I came from and how I survived when others did not. That is when I stopped seeing myself as a victim and started seeing myself as a survivor. I also saw how the world treats women and girls. In Nigeria, a girl who starts her period is told to avoid men. In the United States, women’s health is still underdiagnosed. At 19, I founded PADÍ, a patent-pending biosensing menstrual pad, and my nonprofit, Period Padi, has reached over 26,000 youth. That work earned me the Diana Award and a place as a Chegg Global Scholar. At UCLA, I double major in Biology + Women’s and Reproductive Health, a major I created myself. Last August I spent three weeks alone in Kenya, doing women’s health work in Kibera, Narok, and Kisii. Becoming an OB/GYN who builds the tools her patients need is the life I imagine, so that no woman waits in silence for an answer. 2. “She has blood in her urine, she is deeply anemic, she is malnourished, but worst of all, she is eight months pregnant.” That was one woman at our health event in Narok County, Kenya, in August 2026. She weighed less than 48 kg. She had not been checked during her pregnancy because she could not afford it, and she had walked over 26 miles to reach us. I paid for her care, but I think of how many never make that walk. In Narok, a community far from hospitals, we tested over 500 women and girls. Of 100 girls aged 12 to 15, 38 tested positive for a urinary tract infection. Of 300 women, 168 did. Most had no symptoms, and a positive strip meant antibiotics costing roughly 700 to 1,000 shillings, even though dehydration or contamination can cause a false positive. That gap is what excites me about STEM: building the answer where the system has none. My patent-pending paper-based microfluidic device lets a woman use her own menstrual blood and built-in reagents to get early, non-invasive, low-cost results. She can menstruate, flip, and learn from the comfort of her own home. Information technology makes those results usable. I am building a smartphone layer that reads the device’s color changes, links each result to a confidential number, and helps health workers decide who truly needs treatment. At scale, that data could show whether women in communities like Narok are undercounted in national health records and give them autonomy. 3. I woke up at 4 a.m. every morning for a school my aunt said I would never be good enough for. As an immigrant who knew I had to work harder to earn scholarships, I chose Mira Loma High School, an IB school a 30-minute drive from home and a three-hour bus ride for me. The school assigned to my address was underwhelming and did not prioritize education. My aunt yelled at me and said I would never amount to anything. I went anyway. I was sick and missed first period. My math teacher saw potential and proposed a scholarship to take four years of math and close the gap my old school left. I got home at 6 or 7 pm, worked until 10 or 11 pm, and barely slept. I lost 50 pounds in two months during a religious fast and stress. By November I was falling asleep on my routes, and police officers drove me home. By December, wildfire smoke filled the air. Some nights I sat in the cold until 9 p.m., ready to give up. As a Nigerian daughter, I was raised to treat education and perseverance as non-negotiable. COVID hit, we moved out of my aunt’s house, and I took a job working 43 hours a week while watching my siblings. Those years taught me what an education costs and what it is worth. Now I am in my fourth year at UCLA, and I apply to opportunities like this to keep earning it. I took the pain and channeled it into impact, providing initiatives for opportunities to be provided to me. I support students with applications ranging from FAFSA, college applications, and grants. Now I attend a school like UCLA, where I can build my own major dedicated to women's health. I believed and invested in myself when no one else wanted to, and the hard work finally paid off—that the people that once doubted me now congratulate me. I am forever grateful for the gift of perseverance.

As my fully bare mother stood over me, praying at midnight, the reality hit: “Titilope, you are going to America.” What was once a repetitive tale soon turned into an unexpected reality. At the age of nine, I was presented with the opportunity to attend the United States—but at the cost of going alone. My expectation after primary school was to visit with my family, but my mom’s sudden pregnancy and lack of funds stripped that possibility away. The choice became simple: I either stayed in Nigeria and finished secondary school, or I went to the United States and made the sacrifice. And that’s how my sacrifice began. Living with a family friend in America stripped me of all sense of belonging. The promise of two loving parents and a daughter who could be like a sister was instead met with expectations that I become the housemaid because it was considered “natural.” I saw my dad for one week, and before long, all connections were cut off. When I excelled in school, receiving awards and certifications, my host family either never attended or minimized my efforts, while celebrating their daughter. Slowly, they found every way to break my spirit. The extent of this hurt led me to stay with my dad’s sister in Sacramento, California, which was even worse. Two of her husband’s nephews slapped me across the face the day before a school trip, leading CPS to get involved. Instead of protecting me, my aunt made me kneel for hours and beg the men for forgiveness for hitting me. That was when anger grew inside me. Everyone found it easy to treat me in ways my mom would never have allowed. It made me realize the value of having parents in your life, but still, I had to endure. When my mom finally arrived two months before the COVID lockdown, it felt like a breath of fresh air. But after almost six years, our connection was strained. She could not help me navigate advanced classes, and our family of 6 crammed into a one-bedroom as we all became victims of my aunt's maltreatment. To pursue better opportunities, I chose an International Baccalaureate school that required a six-hour bus ride. Eventually, my mom moved closer, but by then, I had already taken my first job at Arby’s the week after I turned 14 to help pay rent. As the oldest daughter of a Nigerian home, sacrifice became second nature. God has a purpose for my challenges, and I believe with immense faith. I know what it feels like as an immigrant to feel unsupported—even with your parents around. That burden led me to create PADI For You (@padiforyou), a nonprofit bridging those disparities for immigrant and underserved children. Through wellness booths, we provide menstrual kits, mental health resources, and financial literacy support. To date, we have served over 18,788 youth across the United States, Nigeria, and India, distributing 2,570+ menstrual kits and launching school-based health initiatives in underserved districts. The same endurance my mother prayed for in Yoruba—“Olorun á kọ́ ẹ̀mí mọ́ ṣé..”—I transformed into a mission. The greatest challenge my family faced in coming to the U.S. was instability—financially, emotionally, and communally. But that instability became the foundation for my purpose. PADI For You is my way of turning sacrifice into service, of ensuring that even if others must endure the way I did, they will still feel supported academically and emotionally. My mother’s midnight prayer still echoes in my heart: America was never just about my opportunity—it was about becoming the opportunity for others.

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked down at the most innocent smile. The realization hit me—my 10-month-old brother was not responding. He didn’t answer to his name, his smile slowly faded with age, and his stimming and flapping became the way he showed excitement. My Tunmise has autism. Finding out my mom was pregnant in 2021 fueled an indescribable anger in me. As the eldest of four children, a first-gen and low-income student, I was already working 40 hours a week while balancing an IB Diploma in high school. The news shook me to the core. Denial eventually gave way to acceptance, and by the time he arrived, I was the one wheeling my mom into the delivery room, cutting my brother’s cord, and holding him skin-to-skin as my mom went into shock. In that moment, I knew I had no choice. I was the eldest daughter—the second mom if anything. It was inevitable. “You know, sissy… don’t you?” My suspicions were confirmed when the caretaker said the words out loud. When I told my Nigerian mother, her response was sharp: “I rebuke it. Don’t speak that on him.” Telling a traditionalist mom that her son’s autism wasn’t the “evil eye” but a medical condition felt impossible. So instead, I focused on supporting my brother in the ways I could, especially before I left for my first year of college. Guilt consumed me. I felt like I was abandoning him, but I channeled that guilt into teaching my siblings how to support him while helping my mom slowly come to terms with the truth. Autism was not temporary, but it is a lifestyle we all had to support and adapt to. Breaks from UCLA often felt like just another shift at home. Removing toothbrushes from the toilet. Making sure my brother wasn’t jumping too hard because of the neighbors below us. Cleaning six times a day. Getting bitten. Making bottles. And starting over again. Honestly, I was frustrated. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t understand—or maybe he didn’t want to. And in a home where “discipline” usually meant scolding, it often felt like a lost cause. But with my mom working full-time, I had no choice. Caring for Tunmise has reshaped everything I thought I knew about responsibility, patience, and empathy. I have learned to slow down, to celebrate small victories, and to recognize progress where others might see only setbacks. Simple tasks—like helping him dress himself, teaching him words, or navigating a meltdown—require both creativity and compassion. I’ve become adept at reading his cues, anticipating his needs, and adjusting my own expectations, all while balancing schoolwork, extracurriculars, and part-time jobs. Caregiving has not been a one-way street; it has taught me resilience, adaptability, and the power of unconditional love. This experience has also shaped my goals and aspirations. Watching my brother navigate a world that often misunderstands or overlooks him ignited a deep desire to advocate for individuals with disabilities and their families. It has influenced my passion for healthcare equity and social impact, reinforcing my commitment to pursue biology and public affairs. I am determined to combine science, advocacy, and policy to improve access to resources and support systems for underserved populations. Caregiving has shown me the importance of community—how even small interventions, like teaching my siblings how to interact with Tunmise or helping my mother access resources, can make a significant difference in someone’s life. Receiving this scholarship would be transformative. It would relieve some of the financial pressures of attending UCLA, allowing me to dedicate more time to both my studies and my caregiving responsibilities without sacrificing either. More importantly, it would empower me to continue pursuing my long-term goals of supporting vulnerable communities, particularly children with disabilities and families like mine who often navigate systemic barriers alone. By easing financial strain, this scholarship would enable me to invest in my education, participate in research and advocacy opportunities, and expand my impact in areas I am deeply passionate about. Ultimately, receiving this opportunity is not just about financial support—it is an acknowledgment of the work I have already done and the work I aspire to continue. It represents an investment in a student who has learned to balance immense responsibilities, overcome adversity, and channel care into action. It is an opportunity to further my education while continuing to care for my brother and others like him. This scholarship would allow me to continue transforming my caregiving experience into purpose-driven impact, ensuring that both my family and my community thrive.

Growing up in Nigeria, I was never anything other than a woman—this was my marginalized identity. Female genital mutilation (FGM) became the boogeyman of my childhood. As I spent each day attempting to please Nigerian society, I—along with every other woman in my life—became responsible for the actions of my perpetrators based on what I wore or how I acted. FGM became a second-nature threat, as I was once forcefully seated on the dried blood of “shameful” girls, a constant reminder of my fate. I was discouraged from grieving for my cousin after her self-induced abortion with an iron rod. Unable to bear the shame of her actions, she ended her life and was posthumously deemed a disgrace to the family name. My battle with womanhood inspired my interest in medicine. For many African children, becoming a doctor was considered a make-believe ambition. However, the broken promises of a secure childhood pushed me toward investigating women's health. Nigeria is notorious for its insufficient healthcare resources. Doctor visits were rare and reserved for emergencies. Despite my determination to make a difference, I was often dismissed as unserious. My teachers tried to dissuade me, claiming I was too poor to study medicine. It wasn’t until my family relocated to America that I realized my dreams could become a reality, especially at UCLA and with the support of your scholarship. With financial support, I could dedicate myself to double majoring in biology and public affairs while helping my family. It would enable me to focus on initiatives like the BioREU program and the Summer Internship Program, which will prepare me to specialize in obstetrics. My coursework, including “Reintroduction to Writing: Black Birthing Women,” is deepening my understanding of healthcare disparities, empowering me to create solutions that make childbirth safer for marginalized women. The scholarship would also allow me to grow Period Padi, the nonprofit I founded to address menstrual health globally. To date, we have provided menstrual products to nearly 800 Nigerian girls. Inspired by my high school experiences in America, where many students lacked access to basic items like menstrual products, I launched PADÍ WELLNEST to create wellness spaces stocked with menstrual supplies, heating pads, and mental health resources like journals and stress balls. My work has expanded to impact over 2,350 students in under-resourced California schools, providing safe spaces for students to care for both their physical and emotional needs. Additionally, I have developed a virtual hub connecting students to real-time resources, scholarships, and guidance. This initiative ensures high school students receive the mentorship they need to transition successfully into adulthood. I am determined to ensure others do not face the obstacles I encountered, from navigating FAFSA to finding scholarship opportunities. My advocacy extends to addressing global women’s health challenges. My research focuses on traditional medicine and creating accessible solutions for FGM survivors, such as antibacterial creams. After graduation, I plan to expand Period Padi into a global initiative that provides sustainable menstrual and mental health resources for marginalized communities. In addition, I hope to attend medical school while being involved in the community as much as possible. Frequent flights, new collaborations, expansions, and potential fundraising to build schools and affordable care facilities in global communities, mobilizing my knowledge obtained at UCLA. This scholarship will help me break cycles of oppression and uplift women in marginalized communities. By pursuing my education at UCLA and advancing my advocacy work, I can fulfill my dream of making healthcare more accessible and equitable for all women. My commitment to creating impactful, sustainable change relies on your support to turn this vision into reality.

Growing up in Nigeria, I was never anything other than a woman—this was my marginalized identity. Female genital mutilation (FGM) became the boogeyman of my childhood. As I spent each day attempting to please Nigerian society, I—along with every other woman in my life—became responsible for the actions of my perpetrators based on what I wore or how I acted. FGM became a second-nature threat, as I was once forcefully seated on the dried blood of “shameful” girls, a constant reminder of my fate. I was discouraged from grieving for my cousin after her self-induced abortion with an iron rod. Unable to bear the shame of her actions, she ended her life and was posthumously deemed a disgrace to the family name. My battle with womanhood inspired my interest in medicine. For many African children, becoming a doctor was considered a make-believe ambition. However, the broken promises of a secure childhood pushed me toward investigating women's health. Nigeria is notorious for its insufficient healthcare resources. Doctor visits were rare and reserved for emergencies. Despite my determination to make a difference, I was often dismissed as unserious. My teachers tried to dissuade me, claiming I was too poor to study medicine. It wasn’t until my family relocated to America that I realized my dreams could become a reality, especially at UCLA and with the support of your scholarship. With financial support, I could dedicate myself to double majoring in biology and public affairs while helping my family. It would enable me to focus on initiatives like the BioREU program and the Summer Internship Program, which will prepare me to specialize in obstetrics. My coursework, including “Reintroduction to Writing: Black Birthing Women,” is deepening my understanding of healthcare disparities, empowering me to create solutions that make childbirth safer for marginalized women. The scholarship would also allow me to grow Period Padi, the nonprofit I founded to address menstrual health globally. To date, we have provided menstrual products to nearly 800 Nigerian girls. Inspired by my high school experiences in America, where many students lacked access to basic items like menstrual products, I launched PADÍ WELLNEST to create wellness spaces stocked with menstrual supplies, heating pads, and mental health resources like journals and stress balls. My work has expanded to impact over 2,350 students in under-resourced California schools, providing safe spaces for students to care for both their physical and emotional needs. Additionally, I have developed a virtual hub connecting students to real-time resources, scholarships, and guidance. This initiative ensures high school students receive the mentorship they need to transition successfully into adulthood. I am determined to ensure others do not face the obstacles I encountered, from navigating FAFSA to finding scholarship opportunities. My advocacy extends to addressing global women’s health challenges. My research focuses on traditional medicine and creating accessible solutions for FGM survivors, such as antibacterial creams. After graduation, I plan to expand Period Padi into a global initiative that provides sustainable menstrual and mental health resources for marginalized communities. In addition, I hope to attend medical school while being involved in the community as much as possible. Frequent flights, new collaborations, expansions, and potential fundraising to build schools and affordable care facilities in global communities, mobilizing my knowledge obtained at UCLA. This scholarship will help me break cycles of oppression and uplift women in marginalized communities. By pursuing my education at UCLA and advancing my advocacy work, I can fulfill my dream of making healthcare more accessible and equitable for all women. My commitment to creating impactful, sustainable change relies on your support to turn this vision into reality.

August 2, 2015. The day a young girl from an impoverished town would leave the Muhammad Murtala airport to aim for a better life after arriving at the Houston airport. Being drugged by my male family member was no news, intense sickness due to poor living conditions, and Boko Haram which was media to some reality for me. For I reminded myself of my purpose, for I wanted to be successful and make it to America where opportunities were endless. This required my painful silence, and mouth shut. As the plane took flight, the sadness and guilt overtook my mind, as I was leaving my mother and siblings in poverty, making me selfish. Although, who knew my Cinderella story would continue even in the land of hopes and dreams? After harsh experiences, the fear of academic failure had caused me to be outstanding in America, as I was said to know a lot. Recess, Free Food, Labs, Playgrounds, and Acceptance of failing the first time were all things I never experienced, making me feel robbed of a childhood. My host family neglected me, and my internal discomfort got worse that I would wet the bed, cry for my mother, and wish I had been content with life before Texas. Experiencing racism was eye-opening, but different from Nigeria. With my mom's faith in me, she got rid of the idea of going to Texas with the other host family to see if it was worth a shot, and instead got a difficult CNA job to make money for me to move closer to my school with a low-income program. As the eldest of 4 at the time, I had to mature quickly and I began working at 14 at Arbys. Quarantine had taken place, and my pregnant mom worked while seeking EBT. Worked more than 80 hours at times in two weeks, and had to manage to keep up with classes. Sleep deprivation had me breaking down at 3 am at times, but I couldn't stop. With four students in one house, the Internet Essentials plan was affordable but difficult to get work done. All those difficulties also provided me with a preview of the life of opportunity I desired. I persist because I know that in the future I would be able to take care of my mom and get the opportunity to move past my trauma and become a part of medicine major. I knew that since I lived in Nigeria, I had loved studying women's bodies, and this was even confirmed when I watched the delivery of my baby brother. This has been a passion since Nigeria. This scholarship would give me up that someone from my background, can still achieve something great like winning a scholarship.