For Kenyan girls, free bikes mean escape from sexual assault — and a better education.

Growing up in rural Kenya, Dianah had two choices for getting to school: She could walk three miles or hire a "boda boda" motorbike, if she had the money.

Neither option was particularly appealing.

The long walk was especially difficult in a culture that expects young girls like Dianah to handle their domestic duties in the morning before heading off to the classroom, while the boys are free to wake up and go.


And even when if her parents could afford to pay for a ride from the so-called "motorcycle men," there was still a risk of assault involved in the country's makeshift transportation service.

"These men who ride the motorcycles, they want to get the girls, they annoy them and then meet them here outside. They normally stop you when you’re on the way [to school]. They tell you that they want to offer you a ride, but when you go with them, they will take you and refuse to..." Dianah explains, trailing off.

Dianah. All photos provided by World Bicycle Relief, used with permission.

Even when the trek went well, the threat of rape and bodily harm followed Dianah and her friends into the classroom and hurt their education.

Teen pregnancy is known to have a damaging effect on education, and teen birth rates are high in Kenya. The looming menaces of child abuse, poverty, and other traumatic events can also have a lasting impact on the development of a young mind. This all compounds with stress and the exhaustion from waking up early to take care of chores, and, of course, walking several miles while avoiding assault.

The administration at Dianah's school does what they can. But it's not easy. "We have involved the parents in driving their children, but it is not always affordable," says Dianah's vice principal, Monicah Ndun'gu. "We also have guidance and counseling sessions in school where we talk about issues of pregnancy and how the girl can be able to protect herself."

But something changed during Dianah's junior year, and all it took was balance and a little legwork.

Dianah was one of 100 students at her school to receive a free Buffalo bicycle courtesy of World Bicycle Relief, a nonprofit that aims to mobilize and empower underprivileged communities across the world with the help of bicycles. 70 of the bicycles went to girls to help compensate for the gender inequalities in the country, with the other 30 going to the boys in the classroom.

For Dianah's part, she's able to arrive extra-early at school to prepare for the day, and she feels more energized and less tired than before. She even stays later after school to finish her homework or work on projects, and she doesn't have to worry anymore about walking home alone at night. "When you have the bicycle, you pass by motorcycle men very fast and they won’t ride after you," she says.

"Performance records have really improved in the last year, for both boys and girls, since they got the bicycles. It has also reduced absenteeism of both. And many of the girls are happier now that they are able to get to school on time, and to home on time, too," adds Vice Principal Ndun'gu, saying that she's observed a noticeable reduction in student pregnancies, too.

"When I have the bicycle, it’s like flying through the forest," Dianah says. "We can ride together with friends on the bicycles and we are stronger."

Before the bicycle, Dianah's life was mostly schoolwork, chores, and walking between them. Now, with faster commutes, Dianah and her friends are able to spend more time together. She has an easier time socializing with the boys in her classroom, many of whom she sees as brothers and who she also says have been challenged in exciting ways by the newly energized girls in the classroom.

Her family is just as excited about these new two-wheel opportunities. Dianah lives on a farm plot with her parents, a younger brother and sister, and three orphans. "At home, I normally help my parents. Now when they want to send me to the market, I use the bicycle and there are no more distractions on the way," Dianah says.

"They’ve seen me change, because I want to really use the bicycle for their help and also for my health."

Now a senior in high school, Dianah is anxiously awaiting the results of her exit exams.

"After my results, I would like to study as a lecturer in education," she says. She even wrote a powerful poem about her passion for schooling, called "Education for All":

"The right to education is for all, even for a girl
People may wish for sons, but I’m glad I was born, born a girl child
Challenges may be more, but the blessings will be bigger
You educate a girl
You’ve educated a nation
It’s only education that equalizes a rich man’s daughter
And a poor man’s daughter
As I cycle my Buffalo Bicycle to school every day
I know, my future will be great."







As Dianah says, education is a great equalizer for gender and poverty.

These are both complicated issues, of course, especially in rural African areas like the one where Dianah lives. When it comes to these socio-economic-cultural struggles, it can be hard to isolate and solve the root of the problem.

But sometimes something as simple as a bicycle, or even a washing machine, can treat enough of the symptoms to open up new opportunities and let these students shine. That's pretty amazing.

This article originally appeared on August 27, 2015

Oh, society! We have such a complicated relationship with relationships.

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This article originally appeared on August 27, 2015

Oh, society! We have such a complicated relationship with relationships.

It starts early, with the movies we are plopped in front of as toddlers.

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Each year, an estimated 1.8 million people in the United States are affected by cancer — most commonly cancers of the breast, lung, prostate, and blood cancers such as leukemia. While not everyone overcomes the disease, thanks to science, more people are surviving — and for longer — than ever before in history.

We asked three people whose lives have been impacted by cancer to share their stories – how their lives were changed by the disease, and how they're using that experience to change the future of cancer treatments with the hope that ultimately, in the fight against cancer, science will win. Here's what they had to say.

Celine Ryan, 55, engineer database programmer and mother of five from Detroit, MI

Photo courtesy of Celine Ryan

In September 2013, Celine Ryan woke up from a colonoscopy to some traumatic news. Her gastroenterologist showed her a picture of the cancerous mass they found during the procedure.

Ryan and her husband, Patrick, had scheduled a colonoscopy after discovering some unusual bleeding, so the suspicion she could have cancer was already there. Neither of them, however, were quite prepared for the results to be positive -- or for the treatment to begin so soon. Just two days after learning the news, Ryan had surgery to remove the tumor, part of her bladder, and 17 cancerous lymph nodes. Chemotherapy and radiation soon followed.

Ryan's treatment was rigorous – but in December 2014, she got the devastating news that the cancer, once confined to her colon, had spread to her lungs. Her prognosis, they said, was likely terminal.

But rather than give up hope, Ryan sought support from online research, fellow cancer patients and survivors, and her medical team. When she brought up immunotherapy to her oncologist, he quickly agreed it was the best course of action. Ryan's cancer, like a majority of colon and pancreatic cancers, had been caused by a defect on the gene KRAS, which can result in a very aggressive cancer that is virtually "undruggable." According to the medical literature, the relatively smooth protein structure of the KRAS gene meant that designing inhibitors to bind to surface grooves and treat the cancer has been historically difficult. Through her support systems, Ryan discovered an experimental immunotherapy trial at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in Bethesda, MD., and called them immediately to see if she was eligible. After months of trying to determine whether she was a suitable candidate for the experimental treatment, Ryan was finally accepted.

The treatment, known as tumor-infiltrating lymphocyte therapy, or TIL, is a testament to how far modern science has evolved. With this therapy, doctors remove a tumor and harvest special immune cells that are found naturally in the tumor. Doctors then grow the cells in a lab over the next several weeks with a protein that promotes rapid TIL growth – and once the cells number into the billions, they are infused back into the patient's body to fight the cancer. On April 1, 2015, Ryan had her tumor removed at the NIH. Two months later, she went inpatient for four weeks to have the team "wash out" her immune system with chemotherapy and infuse the cells – all 148 billion of them – back into her body.

Six weeks after the infusion, Ryan and Patrick went back for a follow-up appointment – and the news they got was stunning: Not only had no new tumors developed, but the six existing tumors in her lungs had shrunk significantly. Less than a year after her cell infusion, in April 2016, the doctors told Ryan news that would have been impossible just a decade earlier: Thanks to the cell infusion, Ryan was now considered NED – no evaluable disease. Her body was cancer-free.

Ryan is still NED today and continuing annual follow-up appointments at the NIH, experiencing things she never dreamed she'd be able to live to see, such as her children's high school and college graduations. She's also donating her blood and cells to the NIH to help them research other potential cancer treatments. "It was an honor to do so," Ryan said of her experience. "I'm just thrilled, and I hope my experience can help a lot more people."

Patrice Lee, PhD, VP of Pharmacology, Toxicology and Exploratory Development at Pfizer

Photo courtesy of Patrice Lee

Patrice Lee got into scientific research in an unconventional way – through the late ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau.

Lee never met Cousteau but her dreams of working with him one day led her to pursue a career in science. Initially, Lee completed an undergraduate degree in marine biology; eventually, her interests changed and she decided to get a dual doctoral degree in physiology and toxicology at Duke University. She now works at Pfizer's R&D site in Boulder, CO (formerly Array BioPharma), leading a group of scientists who determine the safety and efficacy of new oncology drugs.

"Scientists focused on drug discovery and development in the pharmaceutical industry are deeply committed to inventing new therapies to meet unmet needs," Lee says, describing her field of work. "We're driven to achieve new medicines and vaccines as quickly as possible without sacrificing safety."

Among the drugs Lee has helped develop during her career, including cancer therapies, she says around a dozen are currently in development, while nine have received FDA approval — an incredible accomplishment as many scientists spend their careers without seeing their drug make it to market. Lee's team is particularly interested in therapies for brain metastases — something that Lee says is a largely unmet need in cancer research, and something her team is working on from a variety of angles. "Now that we've had rapid success with mRNA vaccine technology, we hope to explore what the future holds when applying this technology to cancers," Lee says.

But while evaluating potential cancer therapies is a professional passion of Lee's, it's also a mission that's deeply personal. "I'm also a breast cancer survivor," she says. "So I've been on the other side of things and have participated in a clinical trial."

However, seeing how melanoma therapies that she helped develop have affected other real-life cancer patients, she says, has been a highlight of her career. "We had one therapy that was approved for patients with BRAF-mutant metastatic melanoma," Lee recalls. "Our team in Boulder was graced by a visit from a patient that had benefited from these drugs that we developed. It was a very special moment for the entire team."

None of these therapies would be available, Lee says without rigorous science behind it: "Facts come from good science. Facts will drive the development of new drugs, and that's what will help patients."

Chiuying "Cynthia" Kuk (they/them) MS, 34, third-year medical student at Michigan State University College of Human Medicine

Photo courtesy of Cynthia Kuk

Cynthia Kuk was just 10 years old when they had a conversation that would change their life forever.

"My mother, who worked as a translator for the government at the time, had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and after her chemotherapy treatments she would get really sick," Kuk, who uses they/them pronouns, recalls. "When I asked my dad why mom was puking so much, he said it was because of the medicine she was taking that would help her get better."

Kuk's response was immediate: "That's so stupid! Why would a medicine make you feel worse instead of better? When I'm older, I want to create medicine that won't make people sick like that."

Nine years later, Kuk traveled from their native Hong Kong to the United States to do exactly that. Kuk enrolled in a small, liberal arts college for their Bachelor's degree, and then four years later started a PhD program in cancer research. Although Kuk's mother was in remission from her cancer at the time, Kuk's goal was the same as it had been as a 10-year-old watching her suffer through chemotherapy: to design a better cancer treatment, and change the landscape of cancer research forever.

Since then, Kuk's mission has changed slightly.

"My mom's cancer relapsed in 2008, and she ended up passing away about five years after that," Kuk says. "After my mom died, I started having this sense of urgency. Cancer research is such that you work for twenty years, and at the end of it you might have a fancy medication that could help people, but I wanted to help people now." With their mother still at the forefront of their mind, Kuk decided to quit their PhD program and enter medical school.

Now, Kuk plans to pursue a career in emergency medicine – not only because they are drawn to the excitement of the emergency room, but because the ER is a place where the most marginalized people tend to seek care.

"I have a special interest in the LGBTQ+ population, as I identify as queer and nonbinary," says Kuk. "A lot of people in this community and other marginalized communities access care through the ER and also tend to avoid medical care since there is a history of mistreatment and judgement from healthcare workers. How you carry yourself as a doctor, your compassion, that can make a huge difference in someone's care."

In addition to making a difference in the lives of LGBTQ+ patients, Kuk wants to make a difference in the lives of patients with cancer as well, like their mother had.

"We've diagnosed patients in the Emergency Department with cancer before," Kuk says. "I can't make cancer good news but how you deliver bad news and the compassion you show could make a world of difference to that patient and their family."

During their training, Kuk advocates for patients by delivering compassionate and inclusive care, whether they happen to have cancer or not. In addition to emphasizing their patient's pronouns and chosen names, they ask for inclusive social and sexual histories as well as using gender neutral language. In doing this, they hope to make medicine as a whole more accessible for people who have been historically pushed aside.

"I'm just one person, and I can't force everyone to respect you, if you're marginalized," Kuk says. "But I do want to push for a culture where people appreciate others who are different from them."