T HE PRIDE

Meet the 22 amazing Oregon student journalists who created this newspaper, wrote blog posts and produced audio slide shows for the Web.

A start on artsTime to get creative

in the summer | Page 18PHOTO BY KIMBERLY MEJIA

All-Muslim cemeteryIt’s the only one of its kind

in Oregon | Page 24 PHOTO BY SHAMSO ALI

oregon state university and the oregonian

june 2010blog.oregonian.com/teen

Latina identitys They learn to balance life in two cultures | Page 26

PHOTO BY MARCO REYES

WORDS OF THE AMBASSADORS

s

From left, row by row:

• Aidan Orellana | Page 38Madison High School, age 16

• Altrenia Littleton | Page 34Parkrose High School, age 14

• Brittany Nguyen | Page 37Tigard High School, age 18

• Dahlia Bazzaz | Page 31St. Mary’s Academy, age 16

• Erikka Potts | Page 39Parkrose High School, age 15

• Francisco Lopez-Bautista Page 35Molalla High School, age 17

• Hilaria De Jesus Hernandez Page 36Liberty High School, age 14

• Hosana Medhanie | Page 33De La Salle North Catholic, age 15

• Jason Liao | Page 29Franklin High School, age 18

• Kimberly Mejia | Page 35Century High School, age 16

• Marco Reyes | Page 39Tualatin High School, age 17

• Mary Ruiz | Page 38Tualatin High School, age 15

• Monica Melchor | Page 37Woodburn High School, age 16

• Musba Abasham | Page 30Parkrose High School, age 16

• Osman A. Omar | Page 31Parkrose High School, age 16

• Paulina Liang | Page 32Parkrose High School, age 16

• Sabra Chandiwalla | Page 29Franklin High School, age 17

• Shamso Ali | Page 33Westview High School, age 16

• Stephany Chum | Page 36Glencoe High School, age 16

• Tameeka LeRay | Page 30Parkrose High School, age 17

• Taylor Grady | Page 34Parkrose High School, age 17

• Yuca Kosugi | Page 32Sam Barlow High School, age 18

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The Class of 2010: Meet this year’s workshop journalists…

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Diversity is a fact. We may as well acknowledge it, pay attention to it. | Marty Hughley

Portraits by Fred Joe | Pride staff

Oregon State University is proud to host the High School Journalism Institute for a third year. This year we expanded the scope of the program and recruited students whose families have not had the opportunity to at-tend college or have faced poverty.

The OSU Division of Student Affairs and Precollege Programs stepped in to fund the food and housing for the camp, as well as stipends for non-Oregonian professionals who served as editors at the camp, so that we could continue to partner with The Or-egonian in offering this amazing experience. We are seeking financial support from out-side sources for future camps in the form of grants, matching funds and donations.

We do this work at OSU because diversity, integrity, respect and social responsibility are tenets upon which our mission is founded. The Student Media staff has been blessed to be a part of the magic the institute produces. The energy, enthusiasm and commitment of the 22 students at this year’s camp to write and rewrite their profiles and news stories, discuss what diversity means to them and then play hard when the work is done has been inspiring. We feel privileged for the op-portunity to share this week with them.

­–­Kami­Hammerschmithassistant director of Student Media

for Advertising and Marketing,Oregon State University

­Ann­Robinsonassistant director of Student Media,

Oregon State University

A few new wrinkles add up to another inspiring week

The Oregonian and Oregon State University welcomed 22 talented high school journalists from around the state to this year’s institute.

Throughout the nine-day program, students worked with professionals from The Oregonian and other journalism ex-perts to get hands-on training in report-ing, writing, shooting photos, producing audio slide shows, blogging and other multimedia elements.

This impressive 40-page newspaper and supplemental multimedia pieces are the result of countless hours of some-times-intimidating interviews, seem-ingly never-ending cycles of drafts, eye-popping photos and detailed audio slide shows.

The students who produced this high-quality work are ones we want to wel-come as co-workers in newsrooms of the future. Not only do they bring unique

skills, but they also offer diverse voices that are too often missing in newsrooms today. All of the students at this year’s program come from an under-repre-sented cultural or linguistic background, are low-income, the first in their family on track to attend university, have a dis-ability or come from a high school with-out a journalism program or newspaper. Multiple factors apply to a number of the students at this year’s institute.

Plenty of journalism camps already exist for high school students, but few are tailored to specifically address the problematic lack of newsroom diversity. The core goal of this program is to try to change that by helping talented high school journalists from diverse back-grounds find a path to professional jour-nalism.

­–­­Yuxing­Zheng,­institute director

Welcome to the High School Journalism Institute

The High School Journalism Institute would not occur without the generous support of:

• Oregon State University Student Affairs• The Oregonian, Publisher N. Christian Anderson III and Editor Peter Bhatia• Oregon State University, President Ed Ray, Vice Provost for Student Affairs Larry Roper

We would also like to thank the following people who served as editors, designers, guides and speakers at the institute:Margaret Anderson, Wally Benson, Joany Carlin, Randy Cox, Nerissa Ediza, Bruce Ely, Harry Esteve, Laura Gunderson, Janie Har, Marty Hughley, Fred Joe, David Johnson, Jack Kemp, Boon Kruger, Kim Melton, Melissa Navas, Wade Nkrumah, Gordon Oliver, Randy L. Rasmussen, Brandon Southward, Kristi Stahl, Amy Martinez Starke, Inara Verzemnieks, Gosia Wozniacka and Stephanie Yao Long. Tyree Harris and Nora Sanchez served as resident assistants. And, finally, we would like to thank Pro Photo Supply in Portland for their generous loan of cameras for our institute participants to use.

ABOVE: Altrenia Littleton focuses on a shaggy alpaca as she works on a piece about rural communities trying to survive the economic recession.

Photo by Hosana Medhanie

BELOW: Occasional comedy breaks relieve deadline tensions, as Erikka Potts (left) and Aidan Orellana demonstrate with editor Melissa Navas.

Photo by Fred Joe

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In our opinion…

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In our opinion…

By­Aidan­Orellana

I sat on the edge of the cushioned chair in our dorm’s lounge on the Oregon State University campus intently watching the France versus South Africa match, a critical match in the scheme of the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

I was by myself.The absence of my journalism peers meant nothing to

me as a frantic South African soccer team tried to prevent itself from becoming one of the few host-country teams in the history of the World Cup to fail to advance to the second round.

During a fast break by South Africa, my phone started to vibrate. It was my editor calling to tell me I had to be at the newsroom to continue working on our story. I told him I was 30 seconds away even though I was on the other side of the campus, my eyes still glued to the enormous television.

I didn’t make it to the newsroom on time but I was able to see the ending of the game, and that’s the important thing. Prioritize, right?

Yelling at the TV and cheering by myself in that dark empty lounge is a microcosm of the United States’ role in the world of soccer over the last century. In the past, our country’s supporters have been overpowered by the mighty fan structures of global soccer powerhouses such as England, Argentina and Brazil.

Imagine filling the dorm’s lounge with 10 rabid soccer fanatics from other countries that take part in the World Cup, and then push me into the farthest corner of the room and stick a little American flag in my hand. You now have perspective on how much this sport has meant to this nation compared to the rest of the world.

I know that soccer doesn’t mean as much to a large portion of the country as it does to me, being a soccer player my whole life. But the United States’ support for the sport is starting to rapidly rise. We are starting to climb the same mountain that all the biggest soccer nations in the world are sitting upon. This year’s World Cup has everything to do with that.

The United States-England match early in the World Cup tournament drew 13 million viewers on ABC, making it the

most-watched first-round World Cup game in U.S. broadcast history. Four years ago, we ranked 23rd in the world as far as World Cup watchers go. This year we are anchored at No. 8, according to Mediaweek.

On June 23, the United States national team took on Algeria in a match that decided if we took the next flight home. We needed England to win or to tie with Slovenia or win for us to move to the knockout round. Luck was not on our side as we couldn’t execute on every chance we got to score. Things looked hopeless, but in the

91st minute Landon Donovan followed up on a rebounded shot from a teammate to put a “happily ever after” on a near-disaster turned fairy-tale ending to the first round.

That goal was not the only reason this nation is advancing at the top of our group of four teams for the first time in 80 years. It also signaled a major shift throughout the American public. Soccer fans from coast to coast are uniting just like all the other global soccer powers have for generations.

Ever since the establishment of sports in this country, Major League Baseball, the National Basketball Association and the National Football League have left little room for the game that has brought unification to the broken and peace to the war-torn. For too long the game that is considered the universal language has been one that this country hasn’t spoken. I had always hoped that there would be a time when more Americans would realize that soccer is the common blood type of the world.

Well, that time is now.There will always be people who think soccer is a

senseless game and that it should stay in foreign countries. I can’t change that. But maybe, just maybe, by the 2014 World Cup, there will be a few more fans joining me in that dark, empty lounge.

Make room on the couch, soccer fans

By­Dahlia­Bazzaz

Stepping off the plane at the Imam Khomeini airport, a merciless wave of heat whips my face. I am in the Middle East, the land of sand, camels and a way of life most Americans do not understand. I walk through the dusty terminals, gasping for my pure, Oregon air in the musky land of Tehran, Iran. After about 15 minutes, I see a row of colored scarves and hefty men waiting at the arrivals section.

“That’s them, Dahlia,” my mother says. “See that short one on the right? That’s Yasemine. She’s your age, you guys will be best friends. The one in the middle is Khala Mariam, my sister. Remember to speak Arabic, be polite and greet everyone.”

I’m kissed on the cheek no less than 55 times. Our belongings are shoved into the trunk of a dinky car. The drive to Dolat Abad, the predominantly Iraqi suburb of Tehran, takes ages. With the temperature hovering around 98 degrees, the air conditioner broken and Uncle droning on about President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the crazy fool, I contemplate notifying the U.S. Embassy for a rescue attempt.

The truth is, along with severe boredom and irritating cousins, the long, hot drive was the worst thing I encountered in Iran. What I had not realized until recently is that I have a different perspective than most who read the news or watch CNN. Along with riots, corrupt government and suppression of free speech, Iran also has beautiful mountains, delicious pistachio ice cream and women who make up 60 percent of the college population.

While I realize that news is supposed to be composed of material that is shocking and newsworthy, it is frustrating when I come across people who form their opinions based on what they see on TV. There are two sides to every story. The slipshod supposition that Iran is a terrible and corrupt country could not be more false. One cannot judge a country and its people solely on its government. Just as I defend the image of Iran’s rich culture and people, I also defend the population of the United States when Middle Easterners make the same generalizations.

As I walk through the streets of Tehran, observing the hustle and bustle of the city, the culture shock hits me.

“Mama, why is everyone wearing a head scarf like me?” I say.

“It’s required here. All women must wear them by law,” she explains.

Being a member of Western society, I find it shocking to see every woman covering her hair. I was raised with the value that hijab was something to wear with pride, and to wear it forcibly defeats the

purpose. Riding the plane back home, the non-hijabi women rush into the cramped bathrooms to rip off their headscarves and fluff their hair.

Probably the most interesting discovery I made in Iran has to do with fashion. Though some people may think the Iranian people are dedicated to rejecting the Western way of life and thinking, a clear rebellion against the government shows in their clothing. Men walk through the streets in muscle T-shirts, jeans and Nike products (mostly fake — the United States cut off imports to Iran long ago.) Women sport skinny jeans, vibrant scarves and layers of cosmetics.

Though I am Iraqi, many aspects of my life include characteristics of Iranian culture. The Arabic dialect spoken in Iraq has heavy Iranian influences. The violence in Iraq forced my grandparents into Iran. My parents strategically use a language that was not taught to us, Farsi, to talk without being understood.

As I study journalism, I hope to correct mistakes the media has made with their tendency to neglect positive news from not only Iran, but the entire Middle East.

An eye-opening trip to Iran

By­Taylor­Grady

Every generation has had one thing that ties it together, be it a band, a TV show, a movie or anything under the sun. It can change who someone is or just be a fond memory of their childhood.

Well, ADD generation: We’ve found ours. Our Led Zeppelin, our “Happy Days,” our “Breakfast Club”: “Toy Story.”

At the age of 3, I witnessed the beginning of the “Toy Story” legend for the first time. As were many kids my age, I was so taken with it that I memorized Woody’s entire speech — the one when he takes the plastic microphone and speaks to the whole group of toys. Did I have any clue what he was saying? Probably not. But when I think back to the first movie, a wave of nostalgia crashes over me.

The attachment lasted into my teen years, even if I wasn’t always aware of it. I hadn’t thought about the movies in ages, but when my German teacher, Herr Schu, laid out a pile of McDonald’s toys and told us to pick one, I nearly fell and split my head open trying to retrieve Buzz Lightyear. Sitting on my table at home is my Woody doll, with that goofy Tom Hanks smile, I got from McDonald’s when I was young. (Compare my Buzz and Woody and you’ll find the older of the two is of EXCEPTIONALLY better quality, though they turned out to be of nearly proportionate size to each other as in the movie.) To this day, I curse the toy’s manufacturers for not putting bottoms on the Woody doll’s boots. I assume it was to solve Woody’s snake problem (“There’s a snake in mah boot!,” he cries when his string is pulled). But I so wanted to scratch my name onto one.

Clearly, the “Toy Story” series was extremely important to me as a child and has remained so 13 years later. When I entered the theater the other night, there were very few small children, if any. The only ones I saw were there to see the fourth “Shrek” movie. The thing about it was, I wasn’t even EXPECTING to see small children at “Toy Story 3.” (And it was a good thing there weren’t any when it came to an extremely intense, overwhelming, acceptance-of-imminent-death moment near the end of the movie.)

When I learned, after around 12 years of waiting, that the third movie was finally going to be released, I reverted back to toddler mode. That was MY movie — not just any “kid’s” movie. The “Toy Story” trilogy belongs to my generation. The movie grew with us (as did Andy). It became a little world of our own that, even though we were toddlers when it was created, we could always return to. I think what a child would see in the third movie is, “Ooh, talking toys.”

What we see is drama, suspense. The toys are in a desperate struggle for a loving owner. There’s a battle inside them between returning to their now-17-year-old owner who they love but who has outgrown them, or being played with by an unfamiliar child. (I won’t spoil it by revealing which they choose.) Their sense of abandonment and loss of a home to return to echoes in us teens who entered this world in the midst of prosperity and fell victim to the dwindling economy, many of us losing homes ourselves. We care. We care immensely.

Needless to say, my reaction toward the movie’s release was not the only time I reverted back to childhood. I cried like a newborn at least three times during the movie, suppressing powerful sobs at the very end. I prayed I wasn’t the only one. But it turns out another camp member, our very own Osman Omar, shed a few tears. (It was rumored that Tyree Harris, our outwardly masculine resident adviser, did as well, but he denies it.)

To my generation: This is our story. Own it. Cherish it.Oh, and see it in 3-D. It rules.

The ‘Story’ of our lives, in 3-D

By­Osman­A.­Omar

Women have fought for the right to vote and the right to equality.

Now I, Osman Ali Omar, am here to fight, demand and yell for the right to feel and smell good. You all know what I mean by this: I am talking about Victoria’s Secret Berry Kiss lotion. The debate among Francisco, Tyree, Musba and me has gone too far. It has reached the point where the other guys at journalism camp call Musba and me Berry Kiss and Lots-O’-Huggin’ Bear. These berry haters have reverted to saying that it is a sin against everything sacred to humanity to wear this beyond-sweet-and-fruity lotion.

But I ask: How can sinning feel so good?Not every man can feel soft and still be manly (you

know who you are!). It takes a true man to be proud of his Victoria’s Secret lotion. It takes a man who is secure and outrageously handsome to pull off something like this; a man who is willing to defy norms and shape our culture. This appealing young man is me.

And you know what? I’m proud of it.During my first couple of days at camp, my

female colleagues congratulated me on my fragrant lotion. Still, some of my closest friends, who don’t know the wonders of Berry Kiss lotion, wonder why I use it.

The only response that I will give to that is this: If I feel good, smell good and look good, then what’s good?

As long as I’m not ashy or stinky, I’m good.At the end of the day it comes down to insecurity. The

men who say they don’t want to smell like women are scared. The guys’ insecurity about their manhood is what’s making them miss out on one of the most awesome things I have encountered in my 16 years and 11 months on this Earth.

Why do men have to defend themselves when it comes to these types of topics?

What amazes me is when a person does something that doesn’t fit what society thinks is right, or what is considered the “norm,” then people want to knock that person down.

Society says a man should be tough and the opposite of anything feminine. Men are never supposed to reveal their feelings. And, at journalism camp, men are not supposed to wear women’s lotion.

So naturally, when a man shows any of these characteristics then he is not manly, even though he is male.

So men out there, the next time someone offers you Berry Kiss, don’t walk away. Stick out your ashy elbows, and don’t let haters put you in a box.

If only this were scratch ‘n’ sniff paper

By­Monica­Melchor

I was 3 when I heard the loudest door slam. And I saw the longest river of tears. Under my goose bumps I knew something had gone wrong. Some children cry, some children throw fits, but I stayed still. Frightened.

That was the day he left. Gone. Vanished.I would like to tell you that my father soon

returned. But the truth is, he didn’t. He was no longer in my life, yet memories of him were fresh in my head. I remember riding a tricycle while he walked by my side.

I asked my mother where he had gone. She stayed silent. I watched her wake up early, and go to bed exhausted. And every day of the week was the same. My grandma took care of my older sister and me while my mother was away. She told us stories, and taught us many things. In 2001, she passed away. I felt the same pain that I had felt when my father left. I didn’t know how people could walk in and out of your life in a flash.

Life was harder after that. Without our grandma, it was up to my sister, Ismari, to make sure I ate meals and did my homework. Once a week I talked to my father, who was in California. My conversations with him were always the same. “How are you?” “How’s school?” And he always ended with: “Don’t forget that I love you.” I cherished those words.

Birthdays passed, and I turned 8. That summer I flew down to California to see my father for the first time since I was 3. I was nervous, scared and happy.

That was when I saw him. I wished that the moment would last, always. My father, sister and I spent every day together. He showered us with gifts. It was cool for a while, until I noticed that I didn’t want his gifts; I just wanted him to come back.

One day, on my way to the kitchen, I wandered into his room. On his desk, next to his watches and cologne was a picture of a woman. I didn’t know who she was, but I knew what the picture meant. My heart fell.

I came back home to my mother in Woodburn. We would go visit my father again, but the last time I saw him was at my sister’s quinceñera. I was 13. After that, he stopped calling me on my birthday. I started to hate him. I wanted to go to California and yell at him and his new family. I wanted to yell at his new wife, and tell her how much she had ruined my life.

Through all of this, my mother was there for me. Araceli Alvarez told me not to hate him and she encouraged me never to give up. She worked two jobs and smiled, when there was nothing to smile about. She never showed her pain. I think it was because she didn’t want us to see her as a weak person. But I never saw her that way.

Sometimes I wonder what if he could have seen me graduate from middle school, and seen me cheer, and know that I had been accepted to a journalism camp. But then again, he would just know part of my life. One thing I am glad of is that my mother saw all of that. She saw me struggle and fall, and doubt and fail. She carried me and picked me up, and most of all she made me open my eyes and see the world. She was there.

Things happen for a reason. I’m nothing like my father. I’ve learned to accept the fact that he is gone. But my mother will forever stay in my heart.

Things happen for a reason; thanks, Mom

By­Yuca­Kosugi

I look around, making sure that I am alone in the room, then meekly look into the mirror on the wall, I see a girl, an Asian girl. Well that’s strange, I think.

In my early years of elementary school when I was only starting to recognize different races, a few kids made fun of me for having small eyes. It didn’t hurt because I had plenty of friends there. I was more shocked than anything. It didn’t occur to me that I was any different from every other kid around me until I looked into that mirror after that incident. It made me despise my yellow skin.

If there were one thing that my family taught me in my life, it would be to look at a challenge as an opportunity. It took me a while to realize that being Japanese is an opportunity.

There were never more than a handful of other Asians in my grade throughout my education. We lived in a white-dominated community where the only two black kids in school were star players in football, basketball and track.

After the initial stale feelings, I subconsciously decided that I would just ignore the fact that I was different. So I never made an attempt to better my understanding of the language or culture that my

parents lived.Sometime during

eighth grade, it all changed. My mom wanted me to watch a Japanese TV drama series that was based on a true story of a girl with a degenerative disease.

Something clicked. I started watching Japanese TV shows regularly. I also became hooked on the music. My broken Japanese became more fluid by the day, which delighted my parents.

My interest in Japan spiked. I had never wanted to travel there before, but I’ve gone three times in the last three years.

I see something different when I look into a mirror now. I am proud to be Japanese, have the black hair and almond eyes. I am now able to recognize that I’m lucky to be fluent in a different language and be a part of a different culture.

Near the end of the school year, I was assigned a cartoon for the Bruin Banner, the school paper at Sam Barlow High, and I was completely dry of ideas. Way past deadline, I was stuck in the newsroom staring at a clean sheet of paper, cartoon undrawn.

As I glared down at the paper willing the cartoon to draw itself, one of my co-editors came up and asked me to copy-edit her column. I wasn’t being productive anyway so I agreed, only to find that it was the key to breaking my drawing block.

The editor, who is white, had written about reverse discrimination rooted in her frustration about not being able to apply to some sort of journalism camp. The piece started with “I’m tired of being white . . . ” and was well-written. Although I did not agree with her completely, it prompted me to draw a cartoon in response.

“I’m tired of being Asian . . . ” I wrote with my cartoon handwriting across the top of my paper. The cartoon depicts a short Asian girl surrounded by two people who ask the girl, “Can you do kung fu?,” “Can you speak Chinese?” and “Are your eyes open?”

The girl wears an annoyed expression, answering, “No.”

I was able to produce a piece like this only because of how comfortable I was with myself, and it triggered many positive responses. On top of that I found out about this camp.

So here I am now, at my current opportunity called journalism camp.

Reflections on a reflection in the mirror

n See more commentaries online at:oregonlive.com.camp

Also find commentaries from 2009.

Page � | June �010

Diversity is a big part of our everyday lives. Without it, society would be kind of mundane. | Aidan Orellana

By­Dahlia­Bazzaz­and­Yuca­Kosugi

Leaning forward on the sofa, Willen Sin furrows his eyebrows as he recalls the his-toric election in 2008. He had turned 18 just in time to register and vote, along with two out of every three young voters, for Barack Obama.

“A lot of people connected with him be-cause he was more familiar with basketball, sports and entertainment,” says Sin, a junior majoring in marketing at Oregon State Uni-versity in Corvallis.

But when it comes to the Oregon guber-natorial elections this November, that con-nection quickly fades. Since the ballots will be mailed to his parents’ home in Portland, Sin doesn’t plan to vote at all.

“I’m too lazy to reach out and get the ballot,” he admits.

This is the case for many young voters both in Oregon and across the country. In the 2008 presidential primary, 33 percent of Or-egon youth under 24 voted, making it one of their highest turnouts since the 1960s. Most of the increase can be attributed to Obama’s provocative and influential campaign.

According to the Pew Research Cen-ter, 66 percent of those under age 30 voted for Obama, making the disparity between young voters and other age groups larger than in any presidential election since exit polling began in 1972.

Jeremy Hansen, a 22-year-old senior majoring in psychology at OSU, explains why the Chicago Democrat and former U.S. senator appealed to younger voters.

“Obama is a pretty young guy compared to all the others,” Hansen says. “People can relate to him and he knows better how life is like for the average, poorer citizen.”

However, the enthusiasm for political activism and voting sparked by Obama’s campaign dwindles year by year. Only 14 percent of registered voters under 24 cast ballots in the 2010 gubernatorial primary election in Oregon.

Bill Lunch, professor of political science at OSU, says a surge and decline happens every two years and it’s nothing out of the

ordinary. But the influx of young voters triggered by the 2008 race was nonetheless a phenomenon.

The big question is whether turnout will remain high among younger voters.

“It doesn’t seem terribly likely to me, but it may happen,” says Lunch, express-ing doubt that the people who cast their first ballot in 2008 will stay active in the Novem-ber election. “It’s too early to tell.”

Generally speaking, people are averse when it comes to politics. For some people, the last time they were exposed to the sub-ject was in their high school civics class taught by a football coach, Lunch says, only half joking.

Politics is complicated and it takes time

to research each candidate.“To most people, they find that politics is

a distant and unwelcome visitor who comes to their doorstep every two or four years,” says Lunch. “They’d rather go dig a hole in their backyard than listen to politics.”

Just ask Becca Zanon, a 20-year-old ju-nior majoring in fitness and nutrition who works as a clerk at Urban Laundry, right off campus. She says she voted for Republican Sen. John McCain of Arizona in 2008, but has since tuned out news about candidates and voting.

“I’m annoyed with politics,” says Zanon as she folds a shirt and places it on a display table.

Along with the psychological reasons for

voting that differ with age and experience, some reasons for neglecting a vote are plain and simple. As Mark Kempton, a 23-year-old grad student puts it:

“Young people don’t vote simply be-cause they are too busy. It’s not like a job where you get home and you’re done for the day. Students have 24/7 jobs, which involve work at home and school.”

The concern for the voting rate among young people goes beyond mere statistics. Apathy has a price, says Oregon House Speaker Dave Hunt, D-Gladstone.

“If younger voters voted at the same rate as older ones, it would change the whole agenda,” he says. Issues such as afford-ability of college tuition, community col-lege funding and K-12 education would get more attention in the state Legislature and in Washington, D.C.

Kate Brown, Oregon’s secretary of state, worries about the lack of young voters and says she is working on the problem.

Brown, who oversees Oregon elections, plans to use federal dollars under the Help America Vote Act to provide better civics education in Oregon schools. Her goal for the November 2010 election is 40 to 45 per-cent young voter turnout. She echoes Hunt’s concerns about who has influence and who doesn’t.

“Senior citizens are driving political pol-icy in this nation,” she says.

Other projects launched to encourage voting include television commercials with diverse or “hip” people, allowing 17-year-olds to register in preparation, and creating a slimmed-down version of the Oregon Blue Book, a hefty resource for all things pertain-ing to Oregon government.

Nestled in her chair at a discreet OSU café, 27-year-old Kim Smith explains the vigor for voting in 2008. Her shrinking pos-ture straightens, and with a flick of her hair, she tells of Obama’s charisma.

When asked whether the voting spike will keep up in future elections, she strug-gles to answer.

“I hope so. I hope young people vote,” she says.

Voting fever among younger people may have cooled

Inspired by Obama in 2008, a surge by voters under 24 has started to wane

Kim Smith, 27, non-student: “I hope young people vote.”

Jeremy Hansen, 22,senior psychology

major:“When picking

a candidate I pick the lesser of two evils.”

Shannon Lundberg, 31, grad student:

“Being informed is a civic duty. Voting uninformed is

problematic.”

Mark Kempton, 23, grad student:

“Young people don’t vote simply because they are too busy.”

Willen Sin, 19, junior, marketing major:

“I’m too lazy to reach out and get

the ballot.”

Becca Zanon, 20, junior, fitness and nutrition major:

“People are realizing that they have a voice.”

Oregon Secretary of State Kate Brown, 50: “I’m a firm believer that every vote counts.”

Photos by Yuca Kosugi and Dahlia Bazzaz

Page � | June �010

We’re all human beings, so we should all just be one. | Kimberly Mejia

By­Monica­Melchor­­and­Osman­A.­Omar

Walking down the gravel road, you can almost taste the smell of spoiled food and gas. The reek penetrates the lungs, nose and soul.

Off to the left are 10 large mounds of cooking compost. Each mound is covered in plastic tarp and is 80 feet long. In a sepa-rate pile, scraps of rotten dried apples, small watermelons and vegetables lie squashed between waxy cardboard boxes.

Pacific Region Compost Facility, eight miles north of Corvallis, is the only place in Oregon that takes dairy and meat left-overs — along with run-of-the-mill green waste — and breaks them down into rich compost. Supporters, including the mayor of Corvallis, say composting diverts trash from filling up valuable landfill space. Cali-fornia and Washington are leaders in food composting.

“This is very new to Oregon,” said Brian May, site manager for Allied Waste Services of Corvallis, the trash company that oper-ates the compost facility. It is a Republic Services company.

Interviews with some residents this month show that not all people are enthu-siastic about recycling food. It is easier to use the garbage disposal, they say. Spoiling food can smell bad, discouraging people from saving their scraps.

“It is sometimes helpful, but it is a pain in the butt,” said Monica Nieves,

one of the homeowners. People usually throw their leftovers into

a trash can or down a garbage disposal, which goes into the ground and generates methane. In late 2008, Allied Waste started picking up “pre-consumer waste,” which in-cludes potato peelings and other food that is not eaten, from businesses in Corvallis.

Last November, the company started col-lecting “post-consumer waste,” which con-sists of leftovers, including oil, dairy and meat. In June, Corvallis became the first city in Oregon to compost dairy and protein products from all households. That’s about 13,000 homes.

Here’s how food composting works on two acres at Pacific Region Compost Facil-ity: Workers pick through piles of rotting food and take out plastic and other non-or-ganic material. The matter is broken down, then mixed with regular yard debris and covered with a plastic tarp for 45 days. Then it spends another 45 days cooling. Finally, a machine checks for noncomposted chunks.

“It’s just a simple, natural process,” said Julie Jackson, recycling representative with Allied Waste.

Oregon State University was part of the pilot project that started in 2008. In a typical academic week, the university’s three dining halls generate 3,000 pounds of food scraps. That is equivalent to 360 gallons of water or one half of one Asian female elephant.

At Marketplace West Dining Center, leftover food is composted. The process is simple. A person takes leftover food on their

tray to a stack of metal racks that are taken to the back. There, workers sort the food from items that can’t be composted, such as plastic.

“I’m hoping that in time, I see all din-ing facilities going in that direction,” said Andrea Norris, who is a recycling outreach coordinator at OSU.

“The plan is to expand; the only problem now is to find out how we can do that.”

Norris says some people do not know what composting is, so they do not partici-pate.

She gave an example: When she lived in an apartment she had to persuade her man-ager to order a compost bin. The manager was not familiar with composting. Unlike her manager, Norris grew up in a family where recycling was a habit, and she carried this habit with her throughout life.

It’s trash pickup day at RiverGreen Es-tates, a subdivision neighborhood in south Corvallis filled with newer homes and nice

gardens. Trash and compost bins wait like guards at Buckingham Palace, in a single file line down the street and on the curb.

A snake slithers out of a hole in the side-walk. Bees buzz in the sun, and spiders dan-gle from a flowerpot. The peaceful day is interrupted only by the whoosh of garbage trucks on their stops along their routes.

A woman walking two dogs said she pre-fers to use her garbage disposal.

“Too many of us have too long been do-ing it the other way,” said the woman, who declined to give her name.

Bonnie Philipson, who was moving into the neighborhood, stopped her unpacking to talk. She has composted in the past, she said, and she might again. “It’s a great idea.”

John Charles, CEO and President of the Cascade Policy Institute, a free-market think tank in Portland that promotes limited government, said food composting is a great idea, but government should not mandate it.

It takes a “little bit of time and almost no effort,” said Charles, who composts at home.

Corvallis Mayor Charles C. Tomlinson said the city does not require residents to recycle their food. Still, he wants people to recycle 100 percent of what they use. Right now, the city is recycling a little less than 50 percent of its waste.

“One day, in your life, I predict people will go and mine the trash dumps for alumi-num and metal so as to get what we could not get,” he said.

When food scraps become a recyclable resourceA Corvallis company combines with the city

to turn food waste into useful compost

ABOVE: Brian May, site manager for Allied Waste, says food scraps are cooked under black plastic tarps for 45 days, then cooled for 45 days before being put on a screening machine and sold to consumers as compost that’s good for the soil.

Photo by Osman A. Omar

­Story­and­photo­by­Jason­Liao

The cries echo throughout the room. They come from a newborn girl who awaits her father to fill in her blank birth certificate. That father didn’t appear. The mother frantically searches a book of names and finds one she likes. On Oct. 2, 1992, Tameeka LeRay was born.

Tameeka’s father Albert LeRay had planned for his first child to be named Leah Lynn but he was too drunk to show up at the hospital. His absence that day was a sign of things to come, because Albert LeRay has never accepted the responsibilities of fatherhood.

Despite the fact that the name Leah Lynn relates to her father’s unavailability, the now 17-year-old Tameeka favors her father’s choice in names.

“I would’ve preferred being named Leah because people always spell ‘Tameeka’ weird. There have been people who spell it with Q’s and N’s and even my grandparents can’t spell it right. I think all my presents from them are labeled ‘to Aneeka.’ ”

The cries echo again throughout a room. Tameeka’s mom, Shari, is in a hospital for a possible miscarriage, a result of Albert LeRay’s abuse. Luckily no such miscarriage occurred and Tameeka’s youngest sister, Brianna LeRay, was born without complications.

At the age of 6, Tameeka had to testify as a witness of her father’s abuse. When she was 13, she had to testify once again against her father, this time for attempting to stab her mother.

Tameeka moves around in her chair and fidgets uncomfortably as she recollects those days in court. She says she is not afraid of her father and was not afraid the last time she talked to him. When he began pursuing partial custody of her two years ago, she knew his intentions were not righteous.

Tameeka knows in her heart that her father is a “girlfriend-hopping” felon who probably wanted child support from her mom, rather than to be the father she deserved.

When asked what her life would have been like with a different father, there is no hesitation in her response.

“If I had a different dad, I wouldn’t work as hard as I do now. Having him as a dad makes me want to be unlike the person he is. Getting my mom pregnant doesn’t really make him my dad.”

Besides dealing with the troubled relation-ship with her father, Tameeka also copes with the endless medical problems of her younger sister. Although she is the eldest of three girls, Tameeka looks up to her 13-year-old sister be-cause Lakeesha lives on despite having hydro-cephalus, a serious brain condition. Lakeesha

has had eight surgeries to clear liquid from her brain. Most of the money needed was donated, something Tameeka and her single mother are grateful for. Lakeesha probably will face more procedures to remove fluid in the future, and Ta-meeka is happy she can spend time with her and help her out.

“Tameeka helps me with my homework af-ter school. She was there for me when I had to get the doctor to check my brain a few months ago,” Lakeesha playfully said.

Despite those challenges within her fam-

ily, Tameeka stays upbeat. On any given day, she can be seen enjoying life, whether that is through playing World of Warcraft, planning for her senior year at Parkrose High School or act-ing through improv meetings at Lloyd Center.

Tameeka says that she is shy until she is spoken to, and the improv meetings help her communicate better with people outside of her family.

At her improv meeting, Tameeka’s voice echoes throughout the room, but this time, there are no cries, just smiles.

Tameeka LeRay: Resilient and ready to move onn Unfazed by father’s misdeeds and unafraid

Page �0 | June �010

Diversity is the sum of what keeps all of us together. Everyone’s diverse. | Shamso Ali

Story­and­photo­by­Brittany­Nguyen One day last summer when Musba Abasham

was visiting his cousin in Portland, a simple suggestion changed his life. Two weeks into the visit, his cousin invited Musba into his room and said, “I want you to stay with me for a year so I can help you focus on school.”

Musba readily agreed.“I just go with the flow,” he said. “Why wor-

ry? It’s better to look on the bright side.” His optimism made the move easier as he re-

alized that to push himself in school, he needed to break out of his comfort zone. The move from his school in St. Paul, Minn., to Parkrose High School gave him the rigorous course work he needed with smaller class sizes. It also gave Musba a chance to prioritize, going from exercising his body to exercising his brain.

In St. Paul, he and his friends preferred to make slam dunks to “embarrass each other” on the basketball court rather than focusing on achieving good grades.

This year, Musba joined the JV team at Park-rose. With daily practices lasting two hours and one or two games a week, Musba was given a structured schedule to play a sport that he

loves. As the tallest person on the team, Musba proudly plays the center position.

His new friends here in Oregon have been positive influences, showing him that he can both play basketball for the team and still not forget that school comes first.

“Our lives revolve around school,” he said.That change started the summer after his

freshman year, when Musba decided to make education a bigger priority. He took a six-week program at St. Olaf College knowing that he would be surrounded by strong role models. For four hours a day, five days a week, Musba performed experiments in science class and learned to speed-read in literature class. He saw these as “fun, do-able classes with no homework.” Musba didn’t consider this sum-mer school by any means.

“Camp helps me to know that I don’t have to sit around the house all summer,” he said. “It keeps me thinking, and I love school. It’s the foundation of life.”

Musba has also matured throughout the years. He no longer shouts out jokes in class, which had always landed him in the detention room. He finds that keeping his mouth shut also keeps him out of trouble.

“I have common sense now,” Musba said. “I know when something is wrong and when something is right. Before, I knew I didn’t care, even though I didn’t know the difference.”

Musba still uses the phrase “I don’t care” when he describes his feelings. But he doesn’t want people to mistake his I-don’t-care atti-tude as something negative. Instead, he wants people to realize that it’s a way for him to con-stantly stay optimistic about everything with-out overthinking and stressing about things he cannot change.

This helps him easily adapt to all the chang-es in his life. Though he loves Portland, espe-cially the soothing sounds of the constant rain, he says that if he had to move again he would do so with a good attitude.

For now, Musba concentrates on adapting to his new city by walking around and explor-ing downtown Portland. Though at times he wishes his old friends were around, he knows that Oregon is a place where he will mature the most. With a stronger focus on his classes, he knows that his knowledge will extend beyond the classroom.

“Education is not what you learn in school,” he said, “but what you still know after.”

Musba Abasham: His motivation is a good educationn Sports and fun are high on his list, but school is his focus

Story­and­photo­by­Monica­Melchor

Not knowing what became of, but knowing only that it has.

Inside Osman A. Omar, the world has its own way of working; everything has color and motion. Yet some of it remains colorless and peculiar. His path to come has no format. No outline. No sketch.

“Life is hard, and nobody helps you,” he says with conviction, in a soft voice.

Osman, 16, was born in Kenya. When he was 3 months old he moved to Oregon. Shortly before he turned 15, he and his family moved again, this time to Egypt to meet family who had fled the war in Somalia. He arrived in Cairo with his mother, two brothers and two sisters. His father stayed behind in Portland to make money for the family.

His journey to Egypt forced him to learn on his own when teachers did not help. His determina-tion to push himself resulted in awesome experi-ences. Through his walks around the rough streets of Egypt he learned Arabic and Somali. He made friends playing soccer.

In 2009, Osman returned to the United States with his passport about to expire. He faced tremen-dous pressure at his new school, Parkrose High, having to take four years of high school in three years. He was unprepared to take advanced classes, and felt like he must not fail.

He had to adapt to speaking English and faced

new restrictions, like a curfew, something he had never had as a child. Although he sounds uncertain, he seems ready to take the bullets of change that have hit him.

“I’m always ready for whatever happens,” he says.

Osman wears an orange hoodie and blue jeans. He walks with Vans that are midnight black. He is tall and thin. He runs track and plays basketball.

His faith, Islam, has kept him grounded. It has traveled with him to Egypt and back. Osman finds silence and peace in his prayers, which he tries to do five times a day.

Osman is concerned that college will be a major change because he will be by himself and have to figure things on his own. He will be the first person in his family to go to college in this country.

He is motivated by his parents’ life stories, and through those hard memories he is able to under-stand what he wants. His father lost his father at an early age; he worked while going to school to support his family. His mother raised her siblings after her mother died. “If they can do that with no help, why can’t I do something like that with re-sources?”

He wants to be a scientist. It is something he has always been curious about.

Forgetting those who doubt him still, his path to come has no format, no outline, and no sketch. Just hope.

Story­and­photo­by­Yuca­Kosugi

Dahlia Bazzaz doesn’t mind when people get curious about her head scarf, or hijab. The 16-year-old St. Mary’s Academy junior actu-ally prefers that people ask her about it instead of making assumptions or feeling uneasy.

“I’ve definitely gotten stares,” Dahlia says with a light laugh. “People are more hesitant. They feel like I’m not approachable.”

She wears what any other high school student would wear, jeans and a hoodie. But her expressions peer out from beneath multi-colored cloth, which wraps around her head, covering her hair and resting on her shoulders. Every once in a while her fingers travel up and fiddle with the stray ends of the hijab. She started wearing it when she was 9 years old.

“I just did it because I thought I had to,” she recalls, “but now I wear it for a reason.”

To Dahlia, a hijab prevents people from judging by appearance.

She identifies herself as Iraqi. Her parents lived in Baghdad for two years before mov-ing to Eugene in 1978 when her father, Alan Bazzaz, enrolled in the University of Oregon’s computer science program; it is the root of her love for the Ducks and college football.

Initially they lived in Eugene, where she was born, because Alan Bazzaz’s uncle also lived there and helped them get on their feet. Alan Bazzaz and his wife, Fatma, considered moving back to Iraq, but gave up that idea after the Middle East political situation deteriorated, and he found a job in computer software.

Many of her relatives lived in Iraq until Saddam Hussein kicked them out to Iran. In summer 2008, Dahlia and her family visited them. She became homesick and didn’t enjoy the experience at the time, but it made her real-ize that she had a different perspective of Iran’s culture than most people.

“People struggle to see normal people (in the Middle East),” Dahlia says. “I have a dif-ferent perspective. Things aren’t so extreme all the time.”

A constant stream of news buzzes through the Bazzaz household. One lazy late afternoon in August 2007 Dahlia found her parents sit-

ting on the couch watching a CNN special called “God’s Warriors.”

The three-part special by Christiane Aman-pour was about the three Abrahamic religions in the Middle East: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. In the show, Amanpour went into the countries where religion was most intensely practiced and reported on extremist groups.

What intrigued Dahlia about the show was that the reporter was on location, everything was on camera and she asked questions that were important to ask.

“It was just unbiased and honest,” Dahlia says.

This show not only triggered Dahlia’s cu-riosity about how politics and religion inter-twine, but also gave her a glimpse of the power of bona fide journalism.

At St. Mary’s Academy, students have to wait for their junior year to join the staff of the

school newspaper. Next fall, Dahlia hopes to be writing opinion pieces for “The Miss Print.” The Iraq war is one of many issues she would like to cover.

“People sometimes don’t know what to think about things,” Dahlia says. A well-writ-ten editorial, she says, makes it “a lot faster to find your stance on something, whether you agree or not.”

Dahlia enrolled in St. Mary’s for its diver-sity. Throughout her elementary and middle school years she found herself the only Arab among her classmates. It was “disorienting” to say the least, she says.

Even Eugene was more diverse before her family moved to Lake Oswego nine years ago. The family made another small yet drastic move in January 2009 when a mudslide took out the midsection of their house while Dahlia and her parents were away for a New Year’s

vacation.The Bazzazses were forced to move into

one of the houses Alan rented out, which was just over the city line in West Linn. Their new home is much smaller. The old one, demol-ished, took with it their personal belongings and tangible memories.

Silence filled the air in their home during the months after the incident. Her parents still had to pay the mortgage on their destroyed dream home. But as time passed and the memories ebbed, they were able to take away a lesson — what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

“I now understand how it feels to be de-tached,” says Dahlia. Detached not only from a home, but from a lifestyle, a culture, a base foundation of one’s life.

“It just took time,” she recalls. “Over time you forget about it. Life throws new things at you.”

Dahlia Bazzaz: Inspired to tell the whole storyn Her culture drives her passion to reveal the truth with journalism

Osman A. Omar: At home in the worldn Staying grounded despite frequent moves

Page �1 | June �010

Diversity of opinion, not just race, makes you more of an open-minded person. | Dahlia Bazzaz

Story­and­photo­by­Dahlia­Bazzaz

Yuca Kosugi may live in Boring, but her life story is anything but. The newly graduated senior from Sam Barlow High School flicks a lanyard around her neck as she talks about life as a first-generation Japanese American, a possible future in international relations, but mostly about her passion for swimming.

She took her first swimming lessons at age 3. Fifteen years later, she now spends as much time in the water as she does in a classroom. The demanding routine proves well worth it to Yuca, because the reward of doing well is an incomparable high.

“Swimming is really the closest thing you can get to flying,” she says.

Both activities take a lot of one thing --practice. While she juggles school and all its demands, she endures a rigorous schedule of swimming and meets. As a member of the se-nior swim team at Mount Hood Aquatic Cen-ter, Yuca rarely misses a chance to train. Her family supports her early mornings and sum-mer meets.

On a typical summer day, instead of sleep-ing until noon or laying out in the backyard, Yuca rises at 7 a.m., swallows down a granola bar and heads off to the center. There, she lifts weights or swims laps before returning home and taking a nap. Four hours later, she is back at the pool.

“It’s really helped me manage my time,” she says.

Her parents moved to Oregon from Tokyo, and she speaks a mix of Japanese and English with her family. She lives on rural land sur-rounded by horses and blueberry farms.

Unlike in modern American culture, her family seldom eats out. The house her family

lives in was built by her father and includes a portion of raised floorboard to replicate tradi-tional Japanese architecture.

Putting her pen to her forehead and swiping her shoulder length ebony hair out of the way, Yuca enthusiastically sketches her name in Jap-anese as she talks about life in her household. The family practices the “shoes off” rule and almost always eats Japanese food. She lists her favorite dish as “okonomiyaki,” a non-sweet pancake with a cabbage base.

Her father, unhappy with his job as a sales-man in Tokyo, quit and decided to move to the United States. His love for nature and moun-tain climbing brought him to his current job as a tour guide for various parts of the Northwest and Canada. The seasonal job, however, does not bring in a stable income.

“I was never aware of my family’s financial situation,” she says as her eyes wander the room. “We had simple, cheap meals at home and we had just enough to keep living nor-mally.”

Yuca’s pride in her Japanese heritage did not come early. She remembers one comment a boy made in fourth grade that she still thinks about. It emphasized her status as the only Jap-anese American among her peers at school and on the swim team.

“When I was in elementary school, people would ask me why my eyes were so small,” she says.

Despite those early taunts, Yuca now em-braces her culture. In fact, she aspires to learn fluent Japanese and pursue a career in interna-tional affairs. She takes pride in being a minor-ity and bilingual, saying both make her more open to different people.

As for her favorite part of being Japanese?“I love the food,” she says.

Story­and­photo­by­Aidan­Orellana

One of Paulina Liang’s earliest memories of animals was when her mother, Nicole, helped out at a business next to a pet store in Taiwan. When Paulina and her older sister, Cynthia, were with their mother, they often went to in-teract with the animals there, especially the fer-rets. At that time, Paulina was only 7, but her

affection for animals stuck with her. Paulina is now a 16-year-old at Parkrose

High School in Portland. When she visits Tai-wan, she loves the undomesticated and exotic animals, including huge pythons just lying in the streets. At her home in America, she only has a dog, a Jack Russell named Choppa. He has aggressive streaks, and has bitten at Pau-lina many times.

Other than defending herself from her dog, Paulina has had time to discover and grow to like farm animals in the United States. ”I love farm animals and, actually, all animals, because they’re so different from us,” she says.

Animals are not the only way that Paulina’s life straddles two cultures. Her ties run deep to both the United States and Taiwan.

Many decades ago, her grandpa, a sailor in

Taiwan, looked to find better job opportuni-ties and a better life in the United States. Since then, much of his family has followed.

Paulina arrived in the United States as an infant, first living in Pittsburgh before moving to the Portland area with her sister and mother when she was 4. She currently lives with her mother and grandparents, Kai Fu and Shia Shen Liang. Her sister, who attended the Uni-versity of Oregon, plans to study in Japan.

Now, every three years, Paulina is able to visit her aunts, uncles and a nephew in Taiwan. Going to Taiwan is considered a vacation for her and her sister, and entering the country brings back many memories. “I love going back; there’s just so much to do and it’s a lot warmer,” Paulina says.

Family is the main aspect of her life and is the main source of her support. Both her mother and her sister continue to help Paulina develop and succeed. “My mom is the person I look up to,” she says. “My sister is the person I look to for guidance.”

Paulina also continues to look to the future and do what she can to prepare for it.

Cynthia says her sister asks her for help on everything from how to fill out a college ap-plication to how to complete a level in a video game.

“In one word, I would describe Paulina as sincere because she really puts herself out for other people,” Cynthia says.

Paulina does not take herself too seriously, however. She doesn’t worry about too much, including the fact that she can’t ride a bike or swim. “I don’t mind my uncoordination,” she says with a shrug and a smile.

She knows that there’s much more to life than that.

Page �� | June �010

If we only get one view on a subject, it’s really easy to leave out important information. | Sabra Chandiwalla

Yuca Kosugi: Swimming toward her futuren Early-morning workouts push her limits

Paulina Liang: Formed by two worldsn From Taiwan, she brings her love of animals to America

Story­and­photo­by­Altrenia­Littleton

It was the week before Christmas and the tree in the Medhanie home was decorated with tinsel, ornaments, candy canes, a star and bells.

There were no presents under the tree; the family likes to hide their presents so they can enjoy being tempted imagining what’s coming.

Hosana Medhanie, who is 15, took the bus home right after school one afternoon. Her older and younger sister stayed late at school,

and her parents were still at work as usual.When Hosana was entering her house, she

felt something wasn’t quite right. Usually ev-erything was dark when she came home, but she saw light coming from the bottom of the staircase. After waiting a while she went out-side and saw that a screen was torn and the window was open.

Their home had been burglarized.Hosana’s iPod and her computer were gone

with all of her favorite music: Lil Wayne and Drake. Her computer held memories of

her friends and family. It also held all of her schoolwork.

The Christmas presents, well-hidden, were not taken.

But unfortunately, her mother’s valuables were stolen — priceless jewelry. Hosana’s mother, Saba Bahta, had worked for one of the queens in Eritrea, and that queen had given Saba Bahta gold and silver jewelry that was worth thousands of dollars in appreciation of her service.

Hosana’s parents are from Eritrea; her mom

was the nanny for a prince.The burglary was hard on the Medhanie

family. But they comforted one another. She and her sisters began to hang out with each other more than before.

The burglary made them look on the bright side — no one was hurt. They still had each other and a shared culture. Their Catholic faith and prayer help them believe that everything would be OK.

Through the years, her mother has taught Hosana discipline and forgiveness. Her dad, Medhanie Embaye, has taught her giving back and remembering.

Hosana was born in Portland, and she attended Holy Redeemer Catholic School. She now goes to De La Salle North Catholic High School.

Even though she was born in America, Ho-sana is aware of her roots and that Eritrea is her second home.

She took a trip to Eritrea when she was 7. She felt kind of out of place. But she also said she felt like she belonged. She felt like every-one looked like her. But at the same time she felt she was different from Eritreans.

She also couldn’t speak their language, Ti-grinya, fluently.

“The trip to Eritrea was beautiful,” she says. “But at the same time there were sights that were not so pleasant.”

There was a lot of poverty, houses that didn’t have indoor plumbing and children who didn’t have shoes.

Hosana and her family gave them candy, clothing, shoes and toys they had brought with them.

They returned with their bags much lighter but she brought back a greater good — knowl-edge of her culture.

It was very different from Portland. But her father was there to remind her that

this was where she came from. And to remem-ber that this country is her second home.

Story­and­photo­by­Sabra­Chandiwalla

Terror. Families torn apart by anguish and the need for survival. The stench of death fresh in the air.

The war in Somalia was fierce and constant, filling its people with despair and quashing the hopes of many at ever seeing it end. In one final act of survival, Shamso Ali and her family man-aged to secure safe passage to America with the help of the U.S. government.

Upon arriving in Houston on Sept. 11, 2001, then 7-year-old Shamso and her family unknow-ingly entered America mere minutes before ter-rorists crashed planes into the side of the Twin Towers in New York. Dazed and confused by the multitude of people crying around her, and filled with relief over leaving war in Somalia, all Shamso wanted was to go home and sleep.

Shamso’s family received green cards, So-cial Security cards and food stamps. On top of that, the small Somali community in Houston helped the Ali family buy groceries, take their kids to school and get all their proper shots. Al-though Shamso’s family received ample support from the surrounding community, Texas wasn’t home.

“We had family in Oregon,” Shamso said, “so we asked the government if we could move there instead.” Three months later, Shamso, her mom, Rahma, her dad, Mohamed, and her eight siblings moved to Beaverton.

Shamso has always been surrounded by fam-ily and relatives. It’s what she is used to; she considers them a comfort. In Somalia, Shamso’s family lived with her grandparents and helped

out around the house. Now that she’s in the United States, it isn’t much different.

Shamso, now 16, does a lot of baby-sitting and a lot of cleaning but she doesn’t seem to mind taking on this heavy responsibility.

“My mom had to watch her siblings when she was young and I was brought up to do the same,” Shamso said, ex-plaining that she and her mom take turns watching the kids. “When she goes out with friends, I watch them for her, and when I’m out with friends, she watches them for me. I feel like they’re my kids, too.”

Although Shamso has lived in Bea-verton for nearly nine years, she never forgets where she came from.

“My dad and sister are working on this project to create a school in Somalia for orphaned chil-dren,” she said. “I really like what they’re do-ing and I want to help them with it ... and when

I’m older I would love to go back and visit Somalia.”

Shamso’s mother is also very active in giv-ing back to the com-munity in the same way the Somali com-munity in Texas helped her. She buys grocer-ies, takes kids to school or to the hospital and babysits.

With a learned and observed passion for equality and creating an environment where everyone can succeed, Shamso has already be-gun to make a change in her school by joining student government as the Representative of Assemblies, with the hopes of unifying the whole school. An in-coming junior at West-view High School, Shamso said her school is very big and diverse,

but not many people get to see its diversity. Starting next year, Shamso and her student

government peers plan to start a drawing con-test to get artists in her school more involved. The winner will have the opportunity to put their design on T-shirts to be sold at the school. This

is one of the ways Shamso hopes to unify stu-dents.

Shamso hopes to one day become a nonfic-tion writer. She once read a biography of an Af-rican man and his journey to America and saw the resemblance to her life through his eyes.

“His experiences in Africa, then his experi-ence moving to and living in America,” Shamso said. “(His story) relates to my life and how I grew up.”

She wants to educate the world using the ex-periences of her subjects as she paints their story across each page and splashes each moment with the rich texture of their life. Shamso also wants to write an autobiography and has already filled two spiral notebooks about her personal experiences.

“I write whenever I can,” she said. Along with writing nonfiction, Shamso would

like to try her hand at other types of writing that incorporate her love and admiration for fashion. Eventually she wants to travel around the world and settle in New York where she plans on writ-ing for a fashion magazine, preferably Vogue, and continuing her dream of writing nonfiction.

“New York is where the fashion is,” she said. “I love everything about fashion; the creativity, how someone can take something so simple and transform it into something so beautiful.”

While Shamso lives far from her war-torn homeland, her life experiences have become part of her identity.

She may not know what the future holds for her, but she knows that it will make for a won-derful tale full of exciting adventures, character-building challenges and an honest, deliberate truth behind every word she writes.

Shamso Ali: Out of Somali devastation n Teen finds power in writing after arriving in America on Sept. 11, 2001

Page �� | June �010

I like learning about other people. I usually talk to everyone. It makes me more aware of who I am. | Stephany Chum

Hosana Medhanie: Journey to togethernessn Family draws closer after tragedy at home, visit to Eritrea

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Parkrose High School

3. Altren

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Parkrose High School

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11. Hilaria D

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12. Sabra C

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13. Tameeka LeR

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