Longhorns everywhere know that what starts at The University of Texas changes the world. Haley Lowry, MBA ’13, embodies that philosophy, taking the skills she learned in her Texas MBA at Houston classroom all the way to Rwanda. According to Rwanda’s National Institute of Statistics, 44 percent of the population of 10 million is considered poor. In Rubavu, located in the nation’s western region, 48 percent of the population is poor. Sixty four percent of people in Rubavu must walk one hour to access healthcare, and in 2009, there was just one doctor per 43,000 residents. Nineteen percent of the population under 20 has lost at least one parent, many to AIDS and the 1994 genocide.

The Ndengera Clinic, located in Rubavu, was established as part of the Ndengera Foundation’s movement to protect these orphans. Typically, orphans are taken care of by neighbors and friends, stretching already thin resources. The foundation provides access to food, shelter, and education for orphans and their community, but the clinic struggled to provide this care due to a lack of patients with health insurance.

In spring 2012, Lowry and a team of her Directed Studies in Global Management classmates started Caring Connections Consulting, a nonprofit healthcare firm, to set up a marketing plan for the clinic with the help of Lowry’s sister, an ER nurse who moved to Rwanda to help establish the clinic.

“We were charged with creating a business that had a fit in Africa, and our team thought that the clinic would be a great opportunity,” Lowry said. “They were really struggling with awareness, and our team really dove in and came up with a lot of different options. People had to figure out how to get to the clinic, but first they had to know that the clinic was there.”

The team found there were two centers to the community: service and church. In Rwanda, the last Saturday of each month is dedicated to nationwide, mandatory community service activity, and most members of the community regularly attend church. The team created a marketing strategy for the clinic, and designed traditional media such as posters and brochures to hang around these hubs. Lowry distributed the materials when she visited the clinic in April 2012. This media, in addition to outside efforts and insurance changes, helped the clinic grow from 10 patients to 536.

Lowry says that she was surprised by the amount of creativity involved in the strategy planning, but even more surprised by the work the community has done to recover from the devastating genocide.

“Anyone can make a brochure; that is not that creative. The creativity was in understanding the social network, the place where everyone goes and how everyone is connected,” Lowry said. “Everyone in Rwanda is required to do community service as a way of remembering the genocide and working together for their country. People talked about how their whole family was killed by their neighbors, but they’re all friends now. I’ve never seen an act of forgiveness like that, and they’re living it out.”

She says that while she was the only member of her team to visit the clinic in person, she was inspired by the contributions possible even from 8,500 miles away.

“With an MBA, you might think that there is not much you can do from abroad, but there really is,” Lowry said. “As long as you have a passion for it, you can continue to help people. Little things like sponsoring a child go a long way.”

In addition to pursuing her MBA, Lowry is the global packaging solutions manager at Dow Chemical in Houston, where she works with companies such as Wal-Mart, HEB, and Costco to manage packaging.

“Creativity is something that drives me, but this is a different kind of creativity that drives me to create new business models and new ways of making revenue,” Lowry says. “The ability to be creative through new business models is my favorite thing.”

Lowry says she has already benefited from her experience in the Texas MBA at Houston program.

“I didn’t expect to have such an expansive network and a really close-knit class,” she says. “The MBA program gives you the skills you need to make decisions, but also gives you the network to bounce ideas off of.”

Lowry says the MBA program has opened her eyes to the way business works outside of the United States, which will continue to help her in her career.

“I personally love to travel, and I’ve always been intrigued by other cultures and different ways of doing things,” Lowry says. “I started with a travel bug. Now I’m interested in ways that business is done in different regions and countries."

After graduation, Lowry will continue her work at Dow and hopes to travel more internationally. She says that while her direct work with the Ndengera Clinic ended, she will continue to sponsor two young children she met during her trip to help pay for their food, water, shelter, school uniforms, and other supplies. She encourages others to find ways to get involved as well.

“Where you live shouldn’t affect how you live,” Lowry says. “It isn't just throwing money at something, it’s becoming involved. Don’t just give a man to fish, teach him how to fish. Becoming involved and using my MBA to really dive in and make a difference is really engaging.”

Originally posted on McCombs Today

Is this a safe space? I feel like maybe it is. I'm just going to bet that it is.

I have this deepish, darkish secret belief that I could be on American Idol. And that sounds super overconfident, so let me clarify by saying that I am overconfident about most things on this planet.

Again, this is a safe space. Hear me out.

It's not that I'm a narcissist. I don't even really think I'm particularly fantastic at any one thing, except maybe wearing denim shirts. But when I start to think about [literally any activity], I always conclude that if I am not already one of the greatest [literally any activity-doer] on this planet, I probably could be.

"But Kelly," you're thinking, "you just defined narcissism." But I don't overstate my talents because I actually think i'm fantastic, it's usually because I am dreadful at comparing talents in any quantitative way and also I have a lot of motivation. And if I don't support myself, who will? No one. On a scale of dreadful to fantastic  I am definitely a solid "alright" every time. But why not choose to think I am fantastic? Someone should.

Of course I can't be on American Idol. Do I rationally think I am as talented as Kelly Clarkson? Of course not. But maybe I could hang? Probably. I definitely could hang. And win. I should be on American Idol because why the hell not, right? I am fantastic!

See? So now that I've made myself sound like a self-obsessed ass, I'll just continue along that road.

Growing up, I was a competitive cheerleader and I really liked playing soccer. I was either fantastic or dreadful at these things. (Know that while I will always believe I was fantastic, I was objectively dreadful at both of those things.)

I think I was okay at musical theater, though. I really liked being on stage and singing and wearing character shoes, and while I never got any leads (dreadful) I was usually cast as more than just a chorus member (fantastic.) I think during this phase of my life I was in 15ish musicals, some of which I performed a few times as different parts at different theaters because I have crippling ADHD and my parents liked to keep me busy.

As soon as I was old enough, I joined the choir and the show choir at my middle school and started singing The Supremes' songs for everyone. I was that girl. I was in choir all throughout high school, minus my senior year, when I quit because I had an unfortunate relationship with the choir directors that ended in one physically slamming the choir room doors in my face. I'd like to believe that this was because the directors were crazy, and that probably was part of it, but I also was extremely negative and probably kind of annoying to be around. Also, I was fantastic.

"Enough, Kelly," you're thinking. "Why am I still reading this? This is unending."

I was setting the scene. Now you know that I was really into choir and really into myself. Now rewind some. The year is 2001. I am 10 years old. I probably look something like this:

It is the night of my first ever choir concert. My elementary school had a choir for the 4th and 5th graders, and because I was fantastic, I had a solo. I distinctly remember knowing  I would rock it.

I didn't. I was not fantastic.

The stage lights were bright. The Haggar Elementary School gym was packed with parents and disgruntled teenage siblings. I was probably wearing overalls and my hair was probably in a knotted, giant ponytail because no one has ever really been able to figure out just what to do with my afro.

I wasn't nervous. Why would I be nervous? I was born to be fantastic at this solo. The song was about tongue twisters or something; I don't remember all the chorus parts because I was elite, obviously. Before long, it was my turn. I walked to the microphone and waited and then right on cue, forgot everything I was supposed to sing. Every word. I just stood there like a tiny, 10-year-old idiot, and right as I was supposed to turn back and return to the group, I burst into tears.

The show must go on, though, so everyone kept singing and I guess I must have eventually walked away from the microphone. But I kept crying. I remember the music teacher mouthing "it's okay," because what else do you tell a sobbing child that just ruined the single most important musical event of the season?

There isn't any really deep reason why I suddenly felt like sharing this story, except the other night as I was laying in bed contemplating what combination of yogurt-bagel-waffle-apple I would eat for breakfast, those forgotten words popped into my head. 11 years late, but clear as day:

If a dog chews shoes, what shoes does he choose to chew?

So, my friends, I am redeemed. I am fantastic. Bring it on, Kelly Clarkson.