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It’s not freshman year. Not a study abroad program. It’s a year of experience in the real world in between high school and college.
To learn more, check out the Fellows’ blogs from the field or click any of the links above.
Our next application deadline is May 15th.
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It Takes a Bus | May 22, 2012
It Takes a Bus
I was listening to music on the way to Downtown Seattle when a few seats…
I was listening to music on the way to Downtown Seattle when a few seats away on the bus, I heard a rhythmic string of familiar words that someone once told me sounded like poured water over Spanish. In the usual way that I eavesdrop on the bus, I tilted my head to the four warmly-dressed people speaking Portuguese. I alerted myself to the fui’s, the lá’s, and the você’s that made up so much of my bridge year in Brazil. I turned off my musical distraction and hurriedly sat next to them. Then, with one fateful and probably butchered attempt, I asked them where they were from.
“Vocês são do Brasil?” I asked.
“Somos!” they said with a blend of surprise and amusement in their eyes.
In hasty Portuguese, we talked about Brazil (it’s marvelous!), why they were in Seattle (a chemistry conference!), and how I had come to…-
This time around though, I’ll be sprinting on soles hardened with grit. - Winson Law
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ALUMNI POST: Tears for Fears...and Joy | May 7, 2012
ALUMNI POST: Tears for Fears…and Joy
A roar of applause erupted. The lights flickered on. The projector was turned off. We…
A roar of applause erupted. The lights flickered on. The projector was turned off. We all stood up and as was expected many began to shed tears. Fellows embraced each other with forceful grasps. As if letting go would allow this experience to pass.
For fifty-four Fellows, eight months of curiosity, struggle, persistence, and triumph had been encapsulated in the few short hours allotted for Fellow presentations. The forms used to present these experiences: video, podcast, song, role-play, dance, and speech. The emotions they encompassed: fear, adoration, pride, resilience, and camaraderie. As a Fellow last year this environment was a familiar one. Yet it was no less poignant, no less emotional, no less…well, tear jerking.
The general impression one gets of Global Citizen Year, from the website and the staff, is of a program that provides young adults with a global perspective by facilitating immersive experiences in the developing world…-
To be fair, that is correct, but these goals fall under a larger umbrella - that of building relationships. That is the unmovable core that grounds the experiences Fellows undergo. - Michael Stivers
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Too early for nostalgia | May 2, 2012
Too early for nostalgia
Last night I sat on my roof watching the clouds pass in front of the…
Last night I sat on my roof watching the clouds pass in front of the full moon, listening to the melodic chants come from the school across the street, and thinking about the short two days I have left of this experience that has become my life. I remember what my Team Leader, Oumou, had told us all when we arrived in Senegal. ” This experience will be whatever you make it to be, It’s completely up to you.” Despite my efforts in stopping it, this week has been one full of nostalgia. Sitting on the roof, it was almost as if I was watching myself over the past 7 months. I remembered the first month in Dakar, filled with good food and city life. And then the next two months, where my first language was charades and my constant state of awe overpowered the isolation and confusion of trying…
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And here I am in April, having a hard time saying goodbye to something I have spent so long adapting to, feeling nostalgic for a place and people that still surround me. - Kaya Hartley
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Quinceañera | April 24, 2012
Quinceañera
“I know, I know she was gift.”
“Love, then why do you not dress her?…“I know, I know she was gift.”
“Love, then why do you not dress her? Why did you have trouble giving her your milk?”
“She was a gift, but I did not ask for this.”
Jeni sits across from me, eyes flicking from side to side, as though searching for an escape.
“This is the reason you’ve brought her in ill, though, my señorita – she must have a shirt, or jacket, of some sort.”
“It’s hard to take care of her. She is so little. I don’t know what she wants.”
I struggle for the right words, distracted by the already forming frown-lines on her small face. I feel like I could say the same thing about the too-young mother of the sick baby.
“How old are you?” I ask tentatively, my pen hovering above the chart.
“Sixteen,” she says, then her smile picks up and she adds coyly,…-
Jeni’s face is calm, the words sounding heavy in her mouth. My muscles freeze. Even my eyes refuse to blink. I know she can feel me staring, and I want to look away, desperately. - Kirin Gupta
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The Uniform is All | April 2, 2012
The Uniform is All
Senegal has taught me many things. The most important I would say is “just go…
Senegal has taught me many things. The most important I would say is “just go with it.” “It” may be reading children’s books in Wolof to a group of toddlers, putting on beautiful clothes and pounds of make up only to have to take it off minutes later, or spontaneously becoming a member of the security staff for a revered religious leader. Just going with it is a product of not being completely fluent in Wolof. When handed a heavy woolen skirt and blouse with the word “Securité” written on the back and told to put it on in haste, I did what I was told. I may be able to ask the questions, but may not always understand the answers.
Let me first give this story a little context. I had gone to a religious ceremony (perhaps religious city-wide party is more accurate) with my supervisor, Aminta. The ceremony…-
Senegal has taught me many things. The most important I would say is "just go with it." - Lucy Blumberg
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Corridors of Connectivity | March 28, 2012
Corridors of Connectivity
Scribbling away furiously, I was doing everything that I had learned not to do in…
Scribbling away furiously, I was doing everything that I had learned not to do in school. I was attempting to copy down every single word my boss said, trying to notate what he was saying without truly processing. However, the sudden silence made me pause.
“You know what an eco-corridor is, right?”
Sheepishly, I shook my head “no” in response to my boss’s question as he began to laugh. “You’ve been taking notes this entire time, but you don’t even know what you’re taking notes on!” In my first month at my apprenticeship with the German International Cooperation (GIZ) at the Ministry of the Environment, I had been tasked with creating various databases and organizing file archives. My boss had been in the middle of explaining the need for more research into the effectiveness and management of eco-corridors, as our office was searching for a way to create one to…-
I wasn’t expecting to have much authority in my position, which pushed me to put all of my efforts into whatever tasks I was given, even if that meant simply making databases. - Joan Hanawi
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Tur | April 2, 2012
Tur
I hear the sharp sound of the drum starting to lay down the beat of…
I hear the sharp sound of the drum starting to lay down the beat of the song at the weekly dance called a “tur” that is held in my town for girls my age. Ran-tan-tan, ran-tan, ran-tan. Soon more drums join in and the beat is almost lost to my untrained ear in the cacophony of the noise they make.
The women, seated in a circle around the edges of a pink mat laid on the ground, are dressed in their best outfits. Each one is carefully tailored, crazily patterned, and brightly colored.
Suddenly a woman hops up to the middle of the mat. She pauses for a second, then starts dancing. Her legs pound on the ground to the beat of the drums, which in this moment, her moment, seems to be beating only for her. With one hand she grabs onto the edge of her wrap skirt, waving…-
“You have to feel the music, not just listen to it.” It was something I never seemed to achieve at the ballet bar or on the wooden dance floor, but here, to the sharp beat of the drums, feet pounding on a pink mat, I danced with no inhibitions - not thinking, simply reacting to the beat. - Paulina Personius
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