At the end of July of '95, I boarded a plane that would take me from my home in Cincinnati, Ohio, to Nairobi, Kenya. My parents had always wanted to take our family abroad, but when my mother signed a contract to work for the U.S. Agency for International Development in Kenya, plans materialized, and we were soon on our way to an exotic year in Africa. 

Besides the farewells I had to make to my friends at home, I had few reservations about living abroad. What made it easy for me to come to Africa was my eagerness to immerse myself in a new culture. I knew that I might never get such an experience again, so I was determined to learn all I could about the language, the history, and the people, of that far-off place.

During the first few months of our stay, my family took various trips around the country. We watched zebra and wildebeest migrate across the Serengeti, saw hippos floating like rocks in Lake Victoria, marveled at flamingos balancing knee-deep in a salt-lake. We climbed an extinct volcano in the Rift Valley. We snorkeled in the Indian Ocean and fed fish from our fingers. We hiked 17,000 feet above sea level to the peak of Mt. Kenya. And we studied Swahili, the local language, every evening after dinner. But in late October my aunt came to visit for a month. She romanced us with stories of her experiences in rural Africa working in the Peace Corps. The sharp contrast between the simple lifestyle she described and the one I was leading shocked me as to how un-African my life was. I went to an American school every day with mostly Europeans and Asians, which, despite being a unique experience itself, isolated me from the larger Kenyan community. I was also living in a city, where shopping malls, Italian restaurants, late-night discos, and movie theaters were all available close at hand. Was this really what I had come to see? My daily activities were almost the same as the ones in the United States. I typed English essays late at night on a computer; I showered with hot water every day after soccer practice; I dined on fried chicken or fish fillets or hamburgers. I was in the midst of a swarm of expatriates who had formed a community so tight that I could live with all the luxuries of a technologically-modern lifestyle. I saw my problem: I had wound myself so tightly in the routine of my school life that I was no longer seeing Kenya or even Kenyans. I yearned to know some of the African culture, but I didn't know how that could be achieved without a drastic break in my academic progress, which I wasn't willing to sacrifice.

After talking over this issue with my parents, I stumbled upon the perfect solution. [name] is the son of [name] and [name], with whom my mother lived twenty years ago when she came to Kenya as a volunteer nurse. [name] was living with us while he attended [name] College, but he was going back to his home village to visit his family over the Christmas holidays. I could go with him and stay with his family there. 

This excursion proved to be the most rewarding ten days of my entire stay in Africa. In that short period, I learned more about Kenyan culture than I had in the five months prior to that time. First of all, I witnessed how different the female role is in Kenya than in America. The women-young and old-did about twice the work the men did. They had to cook the meals, get the milk, sweep the house, chop the firewood, take care of the children; the list goes on and on. The men did some work on the farm, but mostly they enjoyed a laid-back lifestyle. And it is not uncommon for a man to have more than one wife. [Name] has had a total of three women as wives. What seems unheard-of to a Westerner is commonplace to a Kenyan.

I also saw an intense restlessness for change. When the men sat around the dinner table (women weren't allowed to eat with them), they would not merely discuss the weather or the latest gossip of the village. No, they debated the problems and merits of Kenya and what could be done to improve their country. They voiced their apprehension of the government, their fear that if they openly opposed the estab-lished authority, their family could be persecuted by the president's special agents. They talked of the A.I.D.S. epidemic spreading through the working class like wildfire. They expressed their anger at the drug abuse of their nation's youth. But these men were unwilling to accept the obstacles they faced and instead looked toward solutions-education, fairer elections, less corruption, and others. I also saw that a primitive life is not necessarily a painful one. Theirs is a simple life-one without running water, or electricity, or telephones, or cars. But being simple did not mean it was a pleasureless life. It meant fetching water every day from a well. It meant cooking over a fire and reading by a lantern. It meant walking to school instead of driving. But it also meant no expensive phone bills, no wallet-straining car repairs, no broken washing machines. A simple life had its hardships, but it also avoided the hassles that Americans face in their complex modern lives. In the village, we ate good food, children screamed and shouted with joy, we laughed while playing card games, we flipped through old photo albums. Their lifestyle was vastly different from mine, but they still had the same goals that I did: to have fun, to get a good education, to be comfortable. After the New Year, when I returned to my home in Nairobi, I went back carrying in my mind a vivid picture of rural Kenya, but also satisfied that I had learned something that could not be found in Nairobi's American expatriate community.

Comments by Admissions Officers who Assisted in the Creation of this Course

This essayist benefited from having had an unusual travel experience and from knowing how to write about it using lots of colorful detail. Two officers mentioned that the writer could have improved the essay by making her conclusion more reflective. "What do these things mean?" asked one. "In the conclusion, the all-important self-reflection is absent. . . . Remember, if you want to write an essay about your immersion in a foreign culture, you must be able to articulate how you've grown from the experience; a mere recounting of events is not enough."

This is very well written. I especially like the vivid descriptions of the African scenes. It shows us a young woman who is extremely open to new experiences, who wants to immerse herself completely in whatever new situation comes her way. She would be a valuable addition to an entering class.

Solid all-around essay from beginning to end. This is one of those essays that you hope more students would write. This student knows what it takes to compose a quality essay. It is told in an expressive way that allows you to envision the experience yourself. Excellent form and writing. This student has a keen sense for details and how to tell a story.

Engaging me deeply was my naive eagerness to traverse the chasm dividing boy from man. In fact, so completely absorbed was I in my thoughts that the lengthy journey to our favorite fishing spot seemed fleeting. The sudden break in the droning of the engine snapped me to reality. Abruptly jarred back into the world, I fumbled for my fishing pole. Dangling the humble rods end over the edge of the boat, I released the bail on the reel and plunked the cheap plastic lure into the water. Once I had let out enough line and set the rod in a holder, I sat back to wait for an attack on the lure. The low hum of the motor at trolling speed only added to my anxiety, like the instrumental accompaniment to a horror film. And then it hit. A sharp tug on the line pulled me to my feet faster than an electric shock. I bounded to the pole, and when I reached it, I yanked it out of the holder with all of my might. My nervous energy was so potent that when I tugged on the rod, I nearly plunged headlong over the side of the boat and into the fishs domain. Although adrenaline streamed through my veins, after five minutes both my unvanquishable strength and my superhuman will were waning steadily. Just when I was fully prepared to surrender to the fish and, with that gesture, succumb to a life of discontentment, pain, and sorrow, the fish performed a miraculous feat. Shocked and instantly revived, I watched as the mahi-mahi leapt from the oceans surface. The mahi-mahis skin gleamed with radiant hues of blue, green, and yellow in a breathtaking spray of surf. Brilliant sunlight beamed upon the spectacle, giving life to a scene which exploded into a furious spectrum of color. The exotic fish tumbled majestically back to the sea amidst a blast of foam. With this incredible display, the fish was transformed from a pitiful victim to a brilliant specimen of life. I cared no longer for any transcendent ritual I must perform, but rather, I longed only for the possession of such a proud creature. I hungered to touch such a wonder and share the fantastic bond that a hunter must feel for his kill. I needed to have that fish at any cost.

The fight lasted for only ten minutes; nevertheless, it was a ten minutes which I will never forget. When my fish neared the boat, I felt more energized than I had when the fish first struck. At my fathers command, I netted the fish and hauled it into the bottom of the boat. I was nearly bursting with exhilaration.

Released from the net, the fish dropped to the bottom of the boat with a hollow thud, and my jaw dropped with it. I stared in complete horror at the violently thrashing fish which was now at my feet. Within minutes, all of the fishs vibrance, color and life had vanished. Instead, came blood. Lots of blood. It sprayed from its mouth. It sprayed from its gills. Shortly, the boat was coated with the red life blood of the mahi-mahi. It now lay twitching helplessly while it gasped and choked for oxygen in the dry air. I felt sickened, disgusted, and utterly lost in heart-wrenching pity. As I watched the color drain from the fish, leaving it a morbid pale-yellow, I realized that I was responsible for the transformation of a creature of brilliance and life into a pitiful, dying beast.

Despite my brothers cheers and praises, I rode back to shore in bitter silence. I could not help thinking about the vast difference between the magnificent creature which I saw jump in the sea and the pathetic beast which I saw gasping for life in the bloody pit of the boat. What struck me most forcefully on that day, though, was the realization that I was no mere bystander to this desecration. I was the sole cause. Had I not dropped the hook into the water, the fish undoubtedly would still be alive. I, alone, had killed this fish.

In retrospect, I am relieved that I reacted in such a way to my passage from boyhood to manhood. Although my views about many things, hunting and fishing included, have changed considerably since that day, I still retain a powerful conscience which actively molds my personality. One cannot dispute the frightening potential of the human race to induce the permanent extinction of every life form on the planet. As the ability to change the world on a global scale is arguably limited to one breed of life, so, too, is the force which impedes instinctual and conscious action, the human conscience. My own _sense of strong moral principle reaches far beyond simply averting Armageddon, however. I often find myself unable to disregard this force of moral and social responsibility in whatever I do. Part of my keen social conscience is demonstrated in the effort I have made _to be a positive intellectual leader among my classmates and in the community. Realizing how lucky I am to have been born with a high aptitude for learning, I feel sorry that others who also work very hard cannot achieve like I have nor be rewarded with success as I have been. In a leadership role, I hope to constructively guide my peers to find their own success and see the fruition of their own goals. By serving as class president for three consecutive years, as founder, member, and chairman of the peer counseling society, and as a peer tutor, I have enabled others to reach their goals, while finding personal gratification at the same time. I am fortunate in that I have been given the opportunity to optimize the usefulness of my personal virtues in helping others; I can only hope to continue heeding my conscience in work as a research chemist, or whatever I may do in the future. It is my right and my obligation, for I firmly maintain that the charge of a humanitarian conscience is one which each person must eternally bear for the good of humankind and all the world. 

Comments by Admissions Officers who Assisted in the Creation of this Course

Our panel loved the personal touch of this essay. "A good example of how a talented writer can make a standard topic appealing" was the general consensus. One officer did think, though, that the writer got "overzealous" with his language and could have avoided some of the more corpulent sentences like, "Engaging me deeply was my naive eagerness to traverse the chasm dividing boy from man," by writing with a simpler, more natural voice.

3) SIKCA GORULEN HATALAR >>> TIKLA