Zach Powers '10

TACOMA, WASH. (Jan. 13, 2017)- Jacob Taylor-Mosquera ’09 was 18 when he returned to Colombia. Although he considered it a homecoming, it took several more visits for him to truly feel at home.

“It got to the point that I was on academic probation for a semester,” he said. “I had to refocus, and did so by thinking about my family in Colombia.”

When he felt unmotivated, Taylor-Mosquera would remind himself of the generational poverty and lack of educational opportunities he’d witnessed during his sojourns back to Colombia. “I would say to myself ‘if they are in the kind of situation they are, and I get to be here, then I really need to get it together.’”

Eventually, an introductory Hispanic literary studies course — taught by Carmiña Palerm, associate professor of Hispanic studies — eliminated his indecision, and Taylor-Mosquera was back on track.

“It was all about Latin American history and had a big focus on political science,” he said. “I loved everything about it.”

Palerm clearly recalls Taylor-Mosquera’s presence in that class and others. “He contributed insightfully to class discussions in the classroom,” she said, “gently pushing his peers to engage difficult conversations about race and class in (Latin American cultures).”

At PLU, Taylor-Mosquera’s passion for travel and cultural inquisition grew. He received a Wang Center grant to conduct research in Ecuador and spent his final semester studying away in Oaxaca, Mexico, where he discovered his knack for conducting research in Spanish-speaking countries.

Taylor-Mosquera earned degrees in Spanish and global studies, building lasting friendships with PLU faculty members along the way. They represented what he aspired to become, he says.

“There were a handful of professors — Carmiña, Michael Zbaraschuk, Tamara Williams, Teresa Ciabattari, Jim Predmore and a few others — who I looked to as people that I wanted to be like,” he said. “They were incredible teachers and mentors, they were presenting at academic conferences, they were traveling all over the world. I saw in them the lifestyle, work and purpose that I wanted for myself.”

And that’s exactly the lifestyle, work and purpose Taylor-Mosquera is pursuing.

His time in Oaxaca inspired the journey he’s on today. “I was working with young people every day, and I felt an unmistakable pull toward teaching,” he said.

Predmore, an associate professor of Spanish who oversaw the capstone paper Taylor-Mosquera wrote in Oaxaca, says “it was one of the best I had seen at PLU.”

After graduating from PLU in December 2009, and spending a year in Panama serving with the Peace Corps, Taylor-Mosquera returned to Tacoma, where he would immerse himself in teaching Spanish.

Serving at Tacoma’s Annie Wright School and SeaTac’s Tyee High School, Taylor-Mosquera relished the opportunity to introduce young people to the language, cultures and peoples of Central and Latin America.

His message to his middle and high school students was simple: “You have one world when you’re monolingual, but when you learn another language you’re opening a door to another world.”

Taylor-Mosquera was inspired by the opportunity to help his students discover a world that he loved. “I saw my students really grow with their Spanish as I had in high school,” he said. “It was a very powerful experience to lead others in that process.”

After three years honing his abilities as an educator, Taylor-Mosquera was hungry to continue his educational journey, and to experience a new part of the world. He enrolled at Leiden University in the Netherlands, completed a research project in Chile and earned a Master of Arts in Latin American studies in 2014.

Taylor-Mosquera now lives with family in Cali, working with adoptees and teaching high school English. He’s savoring the newfound identity he questioned for decades.

“I’ve always felt Colombian in the states,” he said, “but before this I never felt Colombian in Colombia.”

He speaks the language and understands the culture. He built authentic relationships with his family. And he is a newly minted citizen of the country he calls home.

“Becoming a Colombian citizen last April and getting a Colombian ID and passport meant the world to me,” he said, smiling broadly.

Taylor-Mosquera is content in Colombia for now, but he hasn’t lost sight of his vocational goal, the result of the “roadmap to the future” he gained at PLU: “Teaching at the university level,” he said.

Taylor-Mosquera has submitted applications to Ph.D. programs in the United States and Europe. As has been true many times throughout his life, he doesn’t know where he will wind up, but knows where he will always return.

“I have two families, and I have two countries,” he said. “I have no idea where I’ll be next year, in five years or in 10 years, but I know what I’ll be doing, and I know that I’ll always come home.”

An estimated two million people died as a result of war, famine and disease caused by the Second Sudanese Civil War — including five of David’s siblings and his father. At one time, four million people were displaced. David, now 29, remains one of them.

David was well known at PLU. His energy was boundless, and the warmth and kindness with which he spoke and listened was transcendent. It also was known to many that David was a member of the Sudanese refugee cohort known as the Lost Boys, who came to the U.S. to escape bloodshed that marred the largest country in Africa.

Although we were good friends, I always hesitated to ask David questions about his childhood. I worried that, if I knew details about what I suspected was a horrific past, I might somehow treat him differently. I didn’t think either of us wanted sympathy to unnecessarily alter our friendship, or the jocular culture of our college house.

Throughout two years living together, David and I spent countless hours discussing topics typical of college students: politics, religion, dating, etc. Our conversations were open, honest and even chippy at times. But it wasn’t until he was featured in the spring 2010 issue of PLU’s Scene magazine (now ResoLute) that I knew any details of his personal journey.

Upon arranging to discuss David’s return to South Sudan, I was excited but nervous to address what had gone unmentioned for years.

The moment David stepped into my house, the strength of character and zest for life that so many remember him for was immediately on display. When he saw my 16-month-old daughter, his face lit up. “Look at this sweet, beautiful little girl!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with delight. He bonded with her throughout the afternoon, twice pausing our discussion to read her the children’s books she placed in his lap.

We discussed memories we shared at PLU. We reminisced about the party we hosted at The Embassy the night President Barack Obama was elected, as well as the many nights we spent playing basketball together in Names Fitness Center. But soon after, we talked of his life in the present. It quickly became clear that the weight David has shouldered throughout his life was becoming increasingly difficult to bear.

David has earned two master’s degrees — both in business — since earning a bachelor’s in communication at PLU. He’s now a recruiting coordinator at Equity Residential, a publicly traded real estate investment trust with properties and offices nationwide.

David told me he “can’t even imagine” what his 10-year-old self, living in a Kenyan refugee camp, would have thought if he could have known the accomplishments he would achieve in the two decades to come.

David tries to maintain a positive outlook, and is quick to acknowledge and give thanks for what he has, where he is and what he has achieved. Even with his success, his longing for his family has only grown over time.

For years, David planned to travel back to South Sudan once he’d earned enough money to bring substantial change to the lives of his family. Although his career in corporate human resources is off to a strong start, he won’t return with the means he suspects many expect from him. He says he simply can’t wait any longer to return, and he’s dreading the disappointment that his family may feel.

David also knows that after 16 years in the U.S., he will have changed in ways that will not please his friends and family. “America now defines me,” he explains. “I’ve been here longer than I lived in Sudan, Kenya and Uganda combined.”

David still speaks the language of his Dinka tribe, but has forgotten many words and “elements of conversation,” he says. He worries that America’s influence on him, and his struggles with his native language, will lead family members to question his identity.

That concern runs deeper for David. He has long worried that he may never feel fully at home here or in South Sudan. When he travels there later this month, he anticipates being treated as an American — an outsider. And in the states, he says, he is seen as African — as a black man.

Though David faces many worries and fears as he prepares to depart, they are easily outnumbered by thoughts of excitement and anticipation. He is eager to reconnect with his cousin and yearns to talk with his sister. “I can’t wait to see her, reminisce and ask her what she remembers of me.”

While reconnecting with his family is the rudder propelling his journey, it’s apparent that David is eager to learn about himself from others. He has many questions about who he was before coming to the states, and how he resembles the child his relatives once knew.

Above all, David looks forward to seeing, holding and being with his mother. The two have communicated for the past 11 years, since his first year at PLU. He tracked her down through tireless research during his teen years in a Tacoma foster home.

“As soon as I could I sent money to my mother so she could buy a phone,” he remembers. “That was the start of a fruitful relationship with her.”

David talks to his mother two or three times per month. It’s not uncommon for him to wake up before 5 a.m. local time to call her in Juba, South Sudan’s largest city, before she goes to sleep for the night. “Now, we have a life together,” David says.

Less than two weeks from departing and with travel logistics squared away, David can now reflect on the little things he will finally experience.

“I know I’m definitely going to get emotional about the cooking,” he says. “Sometimes I can’t help but be jealous of other immigrant communities like Ethiopians and Somalis who have restaurants with their native cooking in Seattle. I’ve waited so long to taste our food again.”

Taking a deep breath, David seemed to relax momentarily as he drifted into a distant memory. Cautious words followed: “I’m sure there are going to be times where I’m overwhelmed with joy, and I’m happy and smiling a lot, and I know there will be times where I’m being told things that make me cry.”

As our afternoon together wound to an end, David says he’s grateful for his life. Every day, he thanks God that he’s alive, vows to live for his siblings who are not and wonders how best to continue doing so. His words, much like his life story, were defined by loss and sorrow, but pointed hopefully toward the future.

“I’m really excited for you,” I tell David, as he puts on his jacket to leave.

“She makes me excited to go,” he replies, reaching down to shake my daughter’s tiny hand. “I have so many family members to meet for the first time; babies and children and teenagers. So no matter what happens, I will return with a better life, just from having seen and hugged them.”

How will you remember the experience of being honored, along with the 49 other Teachers of the Year, at the White House and meeting President Barack Obama?

One of the constant challenges of teaching is being passionate in a career that is immersed in negative rhetoric. Often teachers feel under appreciated, overworked and unsupported by their administration, districts or communities. When I attended the White House events and met President Obama, Vice President Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden, and Secretary of Education John King, I experienced my profession being celebrated. Leaving this event, I felt empowered to take steps in my state to make sure all teachers feel appreciated and to continue to spread the positive in Montana classrooms.

Which came first, your passion for teaching or your passion for science? When did you decide to combine the two?

When I started at PLU I knew my major would be teaching. I’d been passionate about making teaching a career from a very early age. In high school, I wasn’t interested in science and was an average student in the subject. However, after taking a few geoscience courses from PLU professors Steven Benham and Duncan Foley, my outlook on science changed. I became deeply passionate about geosciences, almost to the point of switching my major. In the end, I found the best route was a mix of teaching and geosciences.

Was it while you were implementing some of these new practices that you became active in education communities online and on social media?

Yes, this is when I started blogging and sharing on social media about my classroom successes and challenges. It was through this process that I became an advocate for blended learning as an avenue to achieve seamless technology integration, differentiation and personalization in my science class. I also had the opportunity to work as a BetterLesson Blended Master Teacher and have my classroom strategies filmed and showcased on their website.

What is #MTedchat, your involvement with it, and what impact has it had on the education community in Montana?

#MTedchat is a participant-driven education chat focused on connecting and globalizing the practice of Montana educators. I am the co-founder and co-moderator of the chat. Over the past three years, #MTedchat has taken an active role in bridging the gap between teachers, administrators and elected officials in our state. It’s a discussion open to all stakeholders. The chats revolve around popular education topics, including student engagement, innovation in education and assessment. We’ve also held social media chats about Montana’s legislative education bills and chats through the Office of Public Instruction about resources and supports they provide Montana teachers.

Finally, how do you remember your four years at PLU and is there a teaching concept or philosophy you learned as an education student that stands out now, in retrospect?

PLU is where I learned how to learn. I’d spent my entire education career playing school. It was in college that learning became authentic and meaningful. It felt like my learning had a purpose. In retrospect, it wasn’t the teaching concepts or philosophies that have gotten me to this point of my career, but the modeling of building relationships. My education professors, particularly Greg Williams, showed me the power of forming professional relationships and recognizing the human element of teaching. It’s through the human lens that I advocate for my students, teachers and profession.