Florentina-Daniela Gheorghe, Skoll Scholar 2018-19, reflects on her own personal learnings moving out of Oxford in September 2019, a few months before COVID-19 struck the whole world.
“You will really understand the value of the MBA after 2-3 years,”
a friend and Oxford MBA alumnus told me last year.
I took the MBA as a reflection and learning year: to get to know myself better, improve my leadership skills, understand my strengths and my values in contrast, get to connect with people from all around the world. Learn not only about myself but about the state of the world: of business, of economics, of government. What a ride it was: from moments of exaltation, to moments of tension, to deadlines, to a variety of projects, to cultural alignment and conflict. A ride that I appreciate more and more with the passing of time.
I moved to Oxford for the MBA in September 2018 and moved out of Oxford in September 2019, a few months before COVID-19 struck the whole world.
I am very grateful for the opportunities that reached me in these hard times.
Here is what happened since September:
I got my visa application rejected for South Africa from UK twice! When I finally received it, COVID-19 was spreading all over the world.
I had my ticket and luggage ready to fly the next day and went to the embassy to pick up my passport: I found an empty passport. I applied again; application was rejected again. I was devastated. I was so excited to spend some weeks in South Africa and do an internship with a cool payment startup for SMEs in Cape Town. I was introduced to the company’s founder by a fellow Skoll Scholar and friend from the Oxford network. Four months later, I received a visa which I never used: by now, it was February 2020.
The wine industry
I worked on a project I never imagined myself working on, in the English Sparkling Wine industry in Hampshire, UK.
With no place to stay in London and no visa for South Africa plans, in November I moved to a beautiful vineyard in the South Downs. What a splendid experience! Extremely grateful to a professor from Saïd Business School who recommended me for the project. For 3 winter months, I spend my days understanding the art of winemaking, the market and the sustainability challenges. I was dreaming to making our brand the first circular wine brand in the world! After walking my dog in the darkness of the vineyard post 4 pm every day, I spent many quiet evenings – a blessing after a busy MBA year. The most fascinating thing about wine making is that every single activity in the vineyard, every single touch of the vine can change the final taste of the wine.
My journey as an independent consultant was just beginning
Building on the relationship I developed during the class “Implementing new initiatives in business”, I continued working with an education technology startup in Oxford and helped the five people team think through its value proposition. So many wonderful ideas can arise when we put our customers’ needs at the center of our business decisions.
Social impact consulting for non-profits
While at the vineyard, far away from the city life, I found myself with extra time in the evenings. Towards the end of November, a colleague and friend at Oxford introduced me to a social impact consulting project for a London based consulting firm. Since then, together with other MBA colleagues, we mapped the fundraising markets in Romania, Egypt, Uruguay, scanned the world for emergency funds for children, and looked at global strategies for expanding the number of regular donors for different international non-profits.
My favorite project so far: access to finance in emerging markets
I got introduced to a skill development institute in East Africa by another colleague at Oxford. Since February, we together looked to map the so-called ‘missing middle financing gap’ for small businesses in Kenya and beyond and understand how we might ensure their access to the most needed capital. Then COVID-19 hit the developed world. Many African countries imposed their own form of lockdown. We are now looking at being part of the mobilization for recovery. 100+ million ‘new poor’: the African continent sees the dark consequences of broken supply chains and economic shut-down. It’s imperative we act.
As a startup founder in an emerging market, I experienced first-hand the struggles for survival in under-developed support ecosystems for entrepreneurs. Talking to some mentors and system change experts, I knew I didn’t want to work in impact investing: there is enough money in the world. It’s the time for investors to step up during the pandemic. However, what the world needs more than ever is support for entrepreneurs to become investable, to survive and recover.
NEW! Climate tech startup
What else can I do from my small office desk in St Albans, UK? This time, my mentor in the Executive MBA cohort, introduced me to a circular economy startup run by one of her colleagues. I joined the team recently. We look to create a circular sourcing gateway for the textile and packaging industry. In my partnership role, I seek to bring people together and write fundraising applications in advance of our MVP launch in July this year. It’s so exciting to see how the world is progressing to circular strategies. Here is one of my favorite videos on the change towards a circular economy.
As I write this in June 2020, there is still a lot of uncertainty in the world post-pandemic. I am humbly trying to do my best to remotely support amazing initiatives. Though, my heart is in emerging markets, on the ground, in the streets, among people.
Daniela is a customer centricity consultant, ex social entrepreneur in ed-tech in India and a Skoll Scholar at Oxford Saïd Business School. Find her on Twitter @ella_gh
Tsechu Dolma is a current 2019-20 Skoll Scholar on the Oxford MBA. In this blog, Tsechu reflects on the last three months of the current situation. Sharing her lived experience growing up and howCOVID-19 has exposed an already existing pandemic – systemic racial injustice.
My homecoming has been beleaguered with grief,
anger, heartbreak, angst, exhaustion, and hope.
Ten weeks ago, as in-person classes suspended,
borders shut down, and toilet paper ran out, I scurried out of Oxford and
sought my mother’s warm embrace in Queens, New York. Little did I know then
that I was stepping into one of the hardest-hit communities in the world, and
the COVID-19 pandemic was exacerbating already existing pandemics.
This pandemic has exposed stark disparities in my beloved city as minorities are more likely to lose their job and die due to systemic racial inequality. Many states are reopening, and we are still seeing low-income areas and communities of color being hit the hardest in transmission rates. Death has been imminent, and disease prevalent in my neighborhood; we are the city’s working-class borough of immigrants. We all ended up here because we were escaping civil war, religious persecution, Jim Crow South, among others, and building our ethnic enclaves for security and economic mobility. Everything has felt so out of our control in the last three months.
My community and inner cities across the country are burning today, protesting the use of excessive force with perceived impunity on people of color by police officers nationwide; George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, these are just recent names added to a list of countless horrifying racist killings. I have been participating in the peaceful Black Lives Matter protests, and I have never once felt in danger or seen violence in these demonstrations. However, being a brown girl growing up in post-9/11 New York on refugee status, I have always been afraid of law enforcement. Every morning, starting in sixth grade, my classmates and I would line up for an hour waiting to pass through the metal detectors to get to classes. We had a police officer for every thirty students. What does this do to black and brown children’s psyche when you have armed police in your cafeteria, classrooms, and playground? We had very little margin of error. More of my classmates ended up in the prison system than in four-year colleges.
Colonization, white supremacy has been around
for centuries. Today, I am emboldened by demonstrations around the world. We
need to sustain this movement with staying power to reimagine systemic and
structural racial justice work radically. Currently, most of the funding does
not go into black and brown communities. Every $1 a white-led organization raises,
a black-led organization will raise only $0.24.
I leave you with this quote from Howard Thurman, Black-American educator, and civil rights activist,
“All around us worlds are dying and new worlds are being born; all around us life is dying and life is being born; It is the extra breath from the exhausted lung, the one more thing to try when all else has failed, the upward reach of life when weariness closes in upon all endeavor. This is the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on when times are out of joint, and men have lost their reason, the source of confidence when worlds crash and dreams whiten into ash. The birth of a child — life’s most dramatic answer to death — this is the growing edge incarnate. Look well to the growing edge!”.
As our MBA program is coming to an end from a distance, and we step into our business and management leadership positions, I encourage my classmates to look well to the growing edge and be better allies. I will be using my Skoll Scholarship to fight racial injustice in the American inner-cities. We all have to do this work collectively. We need to prioritize supporting leaders with lived experience, leadership, and communities of Black people.
Author: Tsechu Dolma, 2019-20 Skoll Scholar and Oxford MBA.
Dr. Diana Esther Wangari is a current 2019-20 Skoll Scholar and Oxford MBA. She is the co-founder of last mile health venture, Checkups Medical Centre in Kenya where she dedicates her work to treating those who need it most. Read more about Diana’s experience as a health professional during two viruses.
It started when I was in the queue at
immigration. This was at Brussels Airport. The elegant lady looked at me,
almost apologetically, then whispered to her partner. He turned and looked,
decidedly less friendly, pulled her towards him and they moved forward.
They didn’t have to tell me what they
were thinking. I was the only African in this queue, and it was at the height
of the 2014 Ebola crisis in West Africa: they had no way of knowing what
country I had come from.
And by then, global news headlines had
already proclaimed the ultimate horror: a man infected with Ebola had travelled
all the way to the USA, without his deadly infection being detected.
Worse still, he had interacted with
various members of his friends and family – over and above his fellow
passengers on the flights to the US, and the airline crew – before the truth
had emerged that he had Ebola. Total panic had ensued in America, and demands
were made for all flights to the US from West Africa (if not all of Africa) to
be suspended immediately.
I knew they were looking at me and
thinking just one thing…Ebola.
It was a time of global hysteria over
this terrifying disease, and thus not really the best time for an African to be
flying to Europe or North America.
So why was I there? At that airport?
In that immigration queue?
I had travelled from Nairobi, Kenya to
My final destination was the Institute
of Tropical Medicine (ITM) Antwerp, the very institution where Ebola had been
discovered by Dr. Peter Piot back in 1976.
You could argue that this feeling of
being dehumanised – of being seen essentially as a potential carrier of a
deadly and highly contagious virus – was all in my head. But I was to have an
even more disturbing encounter in the train on my way from Brussels to Antwerp.
On the train where I was seated next
to the window, a child came and sat next to me only for the mother to promptly
grab her hand and swiftly move with her to a distant couch. The gentleman
seated opposite, noticing my facial reaction, leaned in and started speaking in
Now while I do know some French, it
certainly didn’t prepare me for the verbal onslaught of incomprehensible French
that poured forth, and so I stared at the gentleman and said, “En anglais s’il
“Aha, so you are not from a
Francophone country,” said the gentleman, “I was simply apologizing on behalf
of the lady as it is ignorance and now, I see that you are not from West
In the conversation that followed, I
explained to the kind gentleman that I was actually from Kenya. And that
despite there being no cases of Ebola in Kenya, the impact of the Ebola
outbreak on sectors of our economy would be notable.
Our parliament had officially decreed
that Kenya Airways, our national carrier, suspend all its flights to West
Africa for fear that one of the many transit passengers from West Africa would
bring the dreaded disease to Kenya.
The Kenya Airways management argued in
vain that they were taking precautions against any such possibility; that there
were even European airlines still flying to the West African nations affected;
and that flights from West Africa to Dubai or China, via the Nairobi hub, were
a key profit centre for Kenya Airways.
But the parliamentarians would have
none of it. One MP even declared that the next flight from West Africa landing
in Nairobi, would find him – along with his supporters – lying on the runway to
prevent it from landing “if that is what it would take to secure the lives of
innocent Kenyans, threatened by Ebola”.
But I digress. Bruno (for that was his
name) told me of his dream to go on Safari in Kenya and was considering going
to the Maasai Mara to witness the annual wildebeest migration, famously, “The
eighth wonder of the world”.
I was smiling and laughing by the time
I got off the train. But that night – my
first night at ITM – I cried. I just could not help it.
However, that nasty experience of
being an African traveling in Europe at the time of Ebola was quickly forgotten
as I settled into ITM, as every day I got to interact with scientists who were
travelling regularly to Liberia at the very heart of the outbreak: the kind of
courageous and dedicated biomedical researchers that the world has learned to
think of as heroes, since the COVID-19 pandemic descended on us all.
And speaking of COVID-19, six years
after the incident at Brussels Airport, I found myself in another queue. This
time at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi.
After completing the re-entry
formalities, getting into the Uber, I noticed the undue speed with which the
driver picked up my bags and flung them into the boot.
And then, once I was seated in the
back of his car, ever so casually, he asked, “Where are you flying in from, my
“London,” I answered.
And I could hear the “Oh” and then a
moment of silence, before he continued in a rather accusing tone of voice,
“Kenya just confirmed its first case of “corona” yesterday. It was a lady
coming from London as well.”
I got the impression that he felt I
should have volunteered that piece of information about having flown in from
London before I got into his cab; given him the opportunity to decline to drive
An uneasy silence followed.
“Are you worried?” I asked despite the
fact that I was in the back seat with ample space between. He quickly shook his
head but did not say anything.
We drove in silence. But it was
unnerving to see the occasional glances he threw back – taking his eyes away
from the road for a second or two – as if he was checking for some indication
that he was at risk: that a fine mist of coronavirus might be floating towards
him, brought back from a contaminated London, to infect innocent people in
On arrival, I volunteered to take out
my own bags. The driver seemed relieved.
Thanks to that great Kenyan
innovation, the ubiquitous Mpesa mobile phone money transfer system, I was able
to pay him without having to hand over to him, what he would no doubt have
considered to be “corona”-infected cash.
There was a time when I would have
been very tempted to scream at him that I refused to be treated like a leper in
my own country.
But I had seen much more of the world
over the past six years. I understood fear. I just paid him and thanked him. I
even gave him a tip.
And that night, I did not cry.
For you see, I had learnt over the
course of time, life is not black and white. I was now an MBA student at Oxford
University’s Saïd Business School and I had the sinking feeling that our MBA
experience, just like the rest of the world, was not going to be the same. It
has been two months and I was right.
Perhaps the hardest part was being
torn between answering the call to aid my country as a health professional and
continuing down the path I had already embarked on at Oxford. And some days, I do
find myself volunteering in the hospital because the little we can do, we must
And as we continue with our classes
online and I think back to the classmates, the faculty, the friends and the
family I made, I know it has not been easy.
I will tell you what Bruno told me as we left the train that autumn evening at Antwerpen-Central, “Take care of yourself my dear. Don’t forget to smile. It shall pass”.
Joaquín Víquez is a 2019-20 Oxford MBA and Skoll Scholar. He began his social impact career in his native country, Costa Rica, where his passion for environmental sustainability led him to many projects and ventures. Now Joaquin finds himself among 300+ other global MBA candidates in one of the world’s oldest institutions, the University of Oxford.
great adventure, time does truly fly. It seems like yesterday my family and I
were packing our “life” in a few bags to move to Oxford. It has now been almost
8 months since our big move; Michaelmas and Hilary term have come to an end,
which means we are more than halfway to completing the MBA!
After having been away from school almost eight years, I must openly share that the first half of Michaelmas term was an emotional roller coaster. First, you find yourself working through the “jungle” of getting to know your fellow classmates. You think it’s easy but even now, ending Hilary, I’m yet to finish this task. Second, getting used to going to class and purposefully making the effort of acquiring knowledge and making sense of the dozen (if not hundreds) of frameworks to tackle pretty much any business (or non-business) problem you can think of, is exhausting – the expression “drinking water from a fire hose” does become quite literal.
big assignment during the MBA as a team effort, was advising Kraft and Heinz
(ketchup, Mac and Cheese, etc) to deal with its operational challenges. Being a
social entrepreneur, you might agree with me, that this was a somewhat boring task
(I mean there are bigger problems to tackle out there). So yes, at one
point I was nearly convinced I had mistakenly chosen to do an MBA…
But, the advantage of being a [social] entrepreneur, is having perseverance which gave me enough juice to stick with it, in hope that things would get better. And like many fairy tales, it did! New courses came along, bringing much brighter, truly challenging and meaningful tasks; my adaptation phase was over, and days were literally getting brighter and better. With this I want to list a few highlights of the programme and the experience so far:
The climate OBN invited me to share my personal story and journey of starting and running Viogaz (my former renewable energy from waste social startup). Preparing the slides and sharing the story was simply brilliant (as they would say here).
This year’s Global Threats and Opportunities Oxford (GOTO) was on Climate Action within Food and Agriculture – it couldn’t have been more specific to my background and passion. I persuaded my team to focus on the future of food security driven by the unsustainable management of phosphorus and its impact on climate change– I agree, it was a bit technical but really enjoyed working on it! Plus, our group was randomly selected and is now featured in a series of documentaries which is pretty cool. Oh! I was able to start an Entrepreneurship project with an amazing team, with an idea that came out of the GOTO project!
Oxford is just like they say – there is so much going on and “FOMO” (Fear of missing out) is pretty real. Balancing your time is difficult, especially with a family expecting you to be home for dinner. But! I was able to fit in a few things which added so much joy to the whole experience: formal dinners, Oxford half marathon, running club, thanksgiving dinner with friends, drinks after exams, climate change school, etc!
As a young boy, I also experienced the great value of living overseas for some time (I spent a couple of years in the US as a kid). Having the opportunity to do the same for my children and witnessing the transformational experience it has been for them, is definitely a highlight of my time in Oxford.
Now to be
honest, I started working on this blog at the end of February. Back then I had
written how my next challenge was around deciding the future; should my family
and I move back home or stay in UK/Europe for a while? What kind of job should
I apply for? Should I go for summer courses or plan to do an internship? I am
now finishing this blog a month later back in Costa Rica. One week after our
MBA had been moved online until further notice and the day before the UK
announced full lockdown, my family and I once again, packed our bags and left
So much has
been said about this pandemic. All I can say for now, is that the decisions we
make and the actions we take, can be seen as a form of test of how we handle
adversities. For most of us, we will get a chance to see our true selves.
Rangan Srikhanta is a 2019-20 Skoll Scholar and MBA. He is dedicated to equal and fair education for all as a catalyst for future progression and access to opportunities for the world’s most marginalised communities. Rangan shares the story of how this came to be his passion and how he ended up at the University of Oxford doing his MBA.
My journey to Oxford isn’t a typical one,
but then again – as I soon found out, no one’s is!
Born in Jaffna, Sri Lanka, my family and I
fled a civil war that would change the lives of millions of people. Arriving in
Australia, it took me many years to realise that social disadvantage transcends
nations and disproportionately affects minorities.
Many government policies when combined with
externalities, in whatever their form, first manifest as minor differences in
education and health in early childhood, but snowball into much wider social divides
later in life (lower life expectancy, lower employment opportunities and so on).
Layer in the rapidly changing landscape, thanks to technology – a fast forming
digital divide, would also become synonymous with an opportunity divide.
As fate would have it, in 2005, I found an opportunity to do something to contribute to improving access to educational opportunities for thousands of children by closing the digital divide. One laptop per Child (OLPC), was a partnership among businesses, NGOs, and governments to produce the world’s least expensive laptop and to distribute that device to children all around the world. I was intrigued by OLPC’s vision of bringing those sectors together to solve social problems. I was equally impressed by the low-cost laptop that OLPC proposed to create.
The device, which came to be called the XO,
would cost just $100 a piece to manufacture, had free and open software,
ultra-low power usage, a sunlight-readable screen and be field repairable.
Inspired on so many levels, I chose action
over theory, opting to make numerous late-night phone calls to MIT to figure
out what we could do to bring the project to Australia. Armed with what would
be my greatest asset, my child like naivety on how these projects came in to
being, I set upon a journey that would not only improve educational
opportunities for thousands of primary school children but also change my
entire trajectory in life.
Whilst our early days were focused on
advocacy, it wasn’t until after our volunteer group formalised into One Laptop
per Child Australia that I realised that the OLPC initiative needed a re-think
to some of its core principles.
After delivering computers to many remote
communities, it was clear that flying in, dropping off computers for free and
then leaving was not sustainable and would undermine our ability to improve
access and usage.
A major challenge facing remote schools in
Australia is the tenure of teachers. On average teachers last 8 months. Any
model that required face-to-face training was not scalable, would only serve to
build a dependency relationship on our organisation, and do little to build
local capacity to overcome teacher turnover.
In fact, we found there were many
dependencies on suppliers (by design) that resulted in schools being forced to
come back for repairs, support etc. This was a market failure that increased
the cost of technology and reduced access to those that needed it most.
After evolving our programme over 10 years,
raising just under $30 million to train over 2,000 teachers and deliver over
70,000 computers, it became clear that I needed time and space to reflect on my
journey into the future.
Truth be told, after the management
rollercoaster I’d been through over the past decade, I wasn’t convinced I
needed an MBA. But to classify Oxford’s MBA with its deep connection to the
Skoll Centre as ‘just another MBA’ is a career limiting move for anyone who wants
to lead an organisation deep into the 21st Century. It forms the
reason why I wanted to come here – this MBA, is a place to consider how
externalities need to be core business for all executives.
One thing I didn’t anticipate was how the power of such a resilient institution like Oxford could be a catalyst for my own change. In my short time on campus, not onlyhave I been able to reflect on why I came here, but have also started to reflect on where I will be going.
Tsechu Dolma is a current 2019-20 Skoll Scholar on the Oxford MBA. She is the founder of the Mountain Resiliency Project to help build resilient refugee communities through women’s agribusinesses. She reflects on her lived experience and how it led her to an impact career and an MBA at Oxford.
There are 25.4 million refugees in the world; children make up half of them; 3.5 million school-age refugee children do not go to school, and only one percent of refugees enroll in higher education. I was born into these statistics. I grew up in a Tibetan refugee camp and spent the first half of my life as a stateless person. Fleeing the civil war in Nepal, my family sought political asylum in the United States.
After becoming a new American, receiving my education there, then going back, I realized that my refugee community back home was stuck in a culture of waiting that international agencies had perpetuated and we had enhanced upon. Our community has been plagued with development barriers such as heavy youth outmigration, low student retention, poor water access and ethnic marginalization. But we were not working on solving our problems; instead, we waited for outsiders to bring in poorly designed, implemented and costly projects that would only last for a year or two. Inside the past decade, climate change and globalization has made living in the high-Himalayas increasingly more difficult and we cannot afford to wait. I made a risky leap so that we can reverse this development trend, and instead take a grassroots approach to foster local ownership, inclusion and capacity.
My entrepreneurial spirit brought me back to the refugee camps I left behind to start a social enterprise. I founded Mountain Resiliency Project six years ago while I was an undergraduate student. We have a proven track record of improving food security, women’s economic empowerment and leveling patchy development for 15,000 displaced farmers in Nepal. Our average families have increased their annual incomes by 200 percent. Most importantly, 80 percent of our family’s earned income is spent on their children’s continued education and the remaining is reinvested in their trade. I realize the value of hard work and grit in achieving our true potential. Our work has received international awards and recognition for making strides. Today, we have 15 full-time staff leading our work in Nepal. I am rethinking the underpinnings of development in my community that has continued to perpetrate marginalization and dispossession. My vision is to scale Mountain Resiliency’s work worldwide. We want to grow out of South Asia to become the first-ever global network of refugee communities producing and selling goods to the mainstream market. Being a Skoll Scholar has supported my growth as a social entrepreneur and broadened my scope of advocating for and strengthening displaced communities.
The Skoll Scholarship aligns with my lifelong values of growing into an effective leader with
the grit, vision and communication skills to be a steward to my community and
me, it is the tool to address inequities, development gaps and improve
livelihoods. From my work at Mountain Resiliency, I have firsthand experience
of how effective social enterprises that are deeply rooted in empathy and
relationship building can transform lives. Social entrepreneurship is the best
amalgamation of my passion and skills for how I want to influence the world. My
experience with displaced communities has taught me that when the system is
broken and continues to perpetrate disenfranchisement to the most vulnerable,
the solutions must come from the unconventional. On my journey through
different landscapes, I seek connections with the human and natural world to
find my place and understand economic development. The literature on human, nature
and policy has allowed me to use ideas from development discourse, like
‘participation’ and ‘sustainability’ in a way that is both effective and
critical. Displaced communities worldwide have little to no political leverage
and only extractive industries and projects are in their region; resulting in
inconsistent, patchy development. I intend to change this.