Growing up on a farm, I learned from my parents about the large bees we called mangangava. But in college, when I gave a presentation about those bees, I didn't mention their familiar name; instead I used formal terms when describing their adaptations for pollinating (授粉). I was afraid of being judged for expressing my personal knowledge in a science class. But when the instructor pressed me to tell the class whether I'd seen the bees myself and what I called them, my views and my whole career path began to change. I realized my background was valuable, and that my calling was to help educate others like me.
My parents worked on a small farm and I often helped out when I was not in school. They had a close relationship with nature, something they learned from my grandparents and passed down to me. This was why I became interested in biology.
In college, I joined a series of labs to gain research experience, but my interest in pursuing a career as a scientist began to wane after I realized my research was not helping poor people like my parents. As a black student from a rural community, I also felt out of place in most classes. The feeling of not belonging circled in my head. I sometimes thought about giving up.
My instructor's request that I share my knowledge of the mangangava bee changed my view. She saw that tapping into my personal experiences would help me grasp the scientific concepts. No other professor had shown that kind of sensitivity, which helped me realize I did have a place in higher education and that I didn't need to hide who I truly am.
I'm now a master's student in education, working on a project that explores the connection between science and traditional knowledge. I don't think I'd be here if I hadn't crossed paths with my instructor. We need more educators and scientists like her-people who can serve as role models and know that the best way to nurture new scientists is to allow students to be themselves.
