Help Kenya Get to Howard U!
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Dear readers: I have had the privilege of teaching and knowing Kenya Hall for two years as English faculty at Houston Community College. I have watched her find her voice as a writer, become an inspiration and a joy to all who know her, overcome impossible odds to achieve, and, from her generous heart, help her fellow students at every turn.
She has applied to and been accepted at Howard University, and she is inches from achieving her dream of moving to Washington, DC, where she can finish her undergraduate education and apply to graduate school in creative writing.
But with no family support or resources, she needs your help bridging the crucial gap between what the school will provide in funding this fall and what she needs to move across the country and survive until she finds a job to support herself as she studies.
She has stolen our hearts at HCC, and I hope you will help her in her journey and be part of the village of supporters we all need to reach our dream. Even a small donation helps.
Below is an open letter she has written to you, her potential supporters, telling her story and her goals:
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To anyone who would help me, I first want to thank you all for even viewing this open letter.
My name is Kenya Hall. I have been a student at Houston Community College for two years. I started going to HCC when I was sixteen years old. It was an adventure for me, but also an escape. What most of the people do not know is that I am an abuse survivor. To this day, it difficult to piece those words together to describe me, but those words are true. My mother tried to stop me from going to college and discourage me with verbal abuse. I was never smart enough or good enough in her eyes. Nonetheless I found a way. When she stopped taking me to school, I found a friend who would. When she blackened my eye, bruised my sides, pulled patches of hair out of my scalp, I still went to school. When she threw me out of the house, and then called the police to bring me back to her in handcuffs, I still went to school the next day. When she refused to feed me or allow me to sleep, I went to school early and slept on the couches upstairs by the library, and got a work-study job so I could eat and buy clothes. I was determined to be successful, and no one could stop me. These obstacles just drove me to be dedicated to my education. It was my only escape out of my broken home. HCC became the refuge from which I gained friends who helped me through my toughest years of my life.
I was seventeen when my father passed away. He had been sick for a long time, but he had still tried to shelter me from my mother as best he could, and he supported my dreams. When I lost him, the man of my life, my guidance, my best friend and teacher, a part of me died inside, but another part continued to thrive. My father instilled the love of education in me, and he never wavered in his messages. He loved me for who I was. Immediately after I got the news, I had class, an exam. My psychology professor advised me not to take the exam, but I did, and I made the highest grade. Nothing could stop me. That semester, I made all A’s. I just wished my father could have seen it. I was hurt and triumphed. Despite the war I fought at home, I was victorious. At seventeen, I moved out of my parents’ home forever.
In college at HCC, I was inspired by my English professors, my literature and creative writing classes. Writing and reading have always been my escape. They were a world where I was safe. When my parents were fighting, I’d go to my room and read. In my college creative writing classes, I wrote stories and poems for assignments. Before I knew it, I was no longer escaping. I was creating an escape for someone else. Which words worked here, and which word could I use to evoke this response or convey that message? I could reach all kinds of people by just a change in dialect or vernacular. It was a whole new world to me.
I knew by then that I wouldn’t stop at a Bachelor’s degree in English. I wanted to be like my professors and get my Master’s degree and eventually a Ph.D. I want to teach English for students like me, and write stories for the girl I was. I will make a difference by creating worlds that allow my readers to love reading like I do. I will invent worlds that someone can immerse in and escape, if only just for a moment.
I thought there would be no more obstacles. I survived my abusive home. I survived the death of my father, I survived being homeless, sleeping on friends’ floors and couches. I’d learned what I wanted to do with my life. I had even applied as a transfer student to Howard University, my dream school, and was accepted for Fall 2016. What could stop me now?
The simple answer is this: money. I have received grants and loans to attend Howard, but I still have to pay part of the cost myself—and I have to find a way to get there. I am willing to work while I go to school to pay for my fees and books, live off campus in the cheapest possible housing, take the bus, and live on the bare essentials. But I still need help putting together enough funding to move from Houston, TX to Washington DC, to put down first month’s rent on a room, and to live until I can find a job and get my first paycheck.
At this point, you may be asking how I am different from any other student. And I will tell you that I am not. I am in the situation that many other students are in: ambition to go without the finances. I am not taking no for an answer. I will find a way to achieve my goals. I will find a way to get my education. I just ask you to help me help myself. Even if you have never met me, I can assure you that I will not let you down. I have come this far on my own. Please help me make it this last mile.
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She has applied to and been accepted at Howard University, and she is inches from achieving her dream of moving to Washington, DC, where she can finish her undergraduate education and apply to graduate school in creative writing.
But with no family support or resources, she needs your help bridging the crucial gap between what the school will provide in funding this fall and what she needs to move across the country and survive until she finds a job to support herself as she studies.
She has stolen our hearts at HCC, and I hope you will help her in her journey and be part of the village of supporters we all need to reach our dream. Even a small donation helps.
Below is an open letter she has written to you, her potential supporters, telling her story and her goals:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
To anyone who would help me, I first want to thank you all for even viewing this open letter.
My name is Kenya Hall. I have been a student at Houston Community College for two years. I started going to HCC when I was sixteen years old. It was an adventure for me, but also an escape. What most of the people do not know is that I am an abuse survivor. To this day, it difficult to piece those words together to describe me, but those words are true. My mother tried to stop me from going to college and discourage me with verbal abuse. I was never smart enough or good enough in her eyes. Nonetheless I found a way. When she stopped taking me to school, I found a friend who would. When she blackened my eye, bruised my sides, pulled patches of hair out of my scalp, I still went to school. When she threw me out of the house, and then called the police to bring me back to her in handcuffs, I still went to school the next day. When she refused to feed me or allow me to sleep, I went to school early and slept on the couches upstairs by the library, and got a work-study job so I could eat and buy clothes. I was determined to be successful, and no one could stop me. These obstacles just drove me to be dedicated to my education. It was my only escape out of my broken home. HCC became the refuge from which I gained friends who helped me through my toughest years of my life.
I was seventeen when my father passed away. He had been sick for a long time, but he had still tried to shelter me from my mother as best he could, and he supported my dreams. When I lost him, the man of my life, my guidance, my best friend and teacher, a part of me died inside, but another part continued to thrive. My father instilled the love of education in me, and he never wavered in his messages. He loved me for who I was. Immediately after I got the news, I had class, an exam. My psychology professor advised me not to take the exam, but I did, and I made the highest grade. Nothing could stop me. That semester, I made all A’s. I just wished my father could have seen it. I was hurt and triumphed. Despite the war I fought at home, I was victorious. At seventeen, I moved out of my parents’ home forever.
In college at HCC, I was inspired by my English professors, my literature and creative writing classes. Writing and reading have always been my escape. They were a world where I was safe. When my parents were fighting, I’d go to my room and read. In my college creative writing classes, I wrote stories and poems for assignments. Before I knew it, I was no longer escaping. I was creating an escape for someone else. Which words worked here, and which word could I use to evoke this response or convey that message? I could reach all kinds of people by just a change in dialect or vernacular. It was a whole new world to me.
I knew by then that I wouldn’t stop at a Bachelor’s degree in English. I wanted to be like my professors and get my Master’s degree and eventually a Ph.D. I want to teach English for students like me, and write stories for the girl I was. I will make a difference by creating worlds that allow my readers to love reading like I do. I will invent worlds that someone can immerse in and escape, if only just for a moment.
I thought there would be no more obstacles. I survived my abusive home. I survived the death of my father, I survived being homeless, sleeping on friends’ floors and couches. I’d learned what I wanted to do with my life. I had even applied as a transfer student to Howard University, my dream school, and was accepted for Fall 2016. What could stop me now?
The simple answer is this: money. I have received grants and loans to attend Howard, but I still have to pay part of the cost myself—and I have to find a way to get there. I am willing to work while I go to school to pay for my fees and books, live off campus in the cheapest possible housing, take the bus, and live on the bare essentials. But I still need help putting together enough funding to move from Houston, TX to Washington DC, to put down first month’s rent on a room, and to live until I can find a job and get my first paycheck.
At this point, you may be asking how I am different from any other student. And I will tell you that I am not. I am in the situation that many other students are in: ambition to go without the finances. I am not taking no for an answer. I will find a way to achieve my goals. I will find a way to get my education. I just ask you to help me help myself. Even if you have never met me, I can assure you that I will not let you down. I have come this far on my own. Please help me make it this last mile.
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Organizer and beneficiary
Eva Foster
Organizer
Houston, TX
Kenya Hall
Beneficiary