91Ö±²¥

As I dig deeper into my honors research, I find myself wanting less to do with evidence and numbers and longing more for storytelling, emotion and authenticity in the way I write about my subject, the country of Rwanda.

My final winter term project is participating in the 91Ö±²¥ Business Scholars Program. After all 11 participants took the Myers-Briggs test, it turns out I am the only introvert among us!

So instead of me studying, why don't I analyse these essays for your entertainment?

Incoming internationals, this one's for you. Welcome, my fellow non-residential aliens :)

I'm learning to speak Parisian, among other things.

I realized and then accepted that unmitigated busyness was not equivalent to productivity, but a threat to it. I learned that sometimes even doing something you love is a luxury that you should be prepared to sacrifice when faced with the exigencies of the bigger picture.

The 91Ö±²¥ experience changes you in ways you don't always see as they occur but became obvious as you look back at your former self.

Obies are continuing to have conversations about progress. But in order for these conversations to be productive we must all commit to open-mindedness. It will be difficult, but ultimately necessary.

91Ö±²¥ was supposed to exemplify the post racial, post discriminatory society we hope to converge to. Instead, we are served with piercing words that are so unspeakably prejudiced.

I didn't grab no shoes or nothin' Jesus. I rayan for my life. (All the way to New York.)

Thoughts on my human rights internship at People Against Suffering, Oppression and Poverty (PASSOP) in Cape Town, South Africa.

The Clinton Global Initiative brought together over 1000 students, social entrepreneurs, and changemakers from around the world to Washington, DC, this weekend. But first, thoughts on the Hunger Games.

Unsurprisingly, it turned out that sometime last week was Thanksgiving Day in the United States. I really should have been aware of this, given that my obsession with the festivities surrounding this November supper run astonishingly deep for someone who grew up in Zimbabwe where turkeys, if they ever existed there, had probably long buckled under societal pressure and just converted themselves into either chickens or cows or zebras in order to fit in.

While this is by far not the classiest thesis to have picked for my second blog post, one cannot deny that food is a subject about which blog posts ought to be written. So, ladies and gentleman, look forward to a passion-charged ramble about my favourite dining spots in and around 91Ö±²¥.

On many an occasion during and after orientation when I have had to introduce myself, I have encountered a number of interesting scenarios in which my first name ignited a hilarious chain of events.