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name, where they are from, and just say hello to them, it can make a world of difference. It’s funny; I may not always remember a name, but I do remember where people are from, and I always say hello. Because of this, my students feel more comfortable in life and in college and that helps them to stay and succeed. It is human nature—people just want to feel that they belong and that someone out there cares enough to ask how they are doing. I advise new graduates to be patient and never limit themselves when they are looking for a job after graduation. I have a degree in social work with a concentration in commu-
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nity organization and social administration, but I am not a social worker. I think people should think about their dream job and then market themselves and prepare for it. With a college degree, many doors can and will open for you. Never limit yourself to just knocking on one. Be patient and if you can’t find a job, go back to school to better yourself or do an internship. My work at Glenville State has inspired me to become a professor. In addition to my counseling, I am working as an adjunct professor of sociology. Someday, I’d like to be a provost and eventually a college president.
M O U N T A I N E E R S
An alumnus of the Eberly College of Arts and Sciences at WVU, Onick Lewis received a BA in sociology in 2005 and an MSW with a concentration in community organization and social administration from the Division of Social Work in 2008. While a student, he was a member of the Gamma Epsilon Chapter of Iota Phi Theta and a graduate assistant in the Advising Center. Currently, Lewis is a teacher/ counselor for Glenville State College’s TRIO/Student Support Services Program and an adjunct faculty member teaching sociology.
Dealing with Weekends and Water: A Mountaineer Reflects on Her Time in a War Zone WRITTEN BY SARAH LOVELL
As I arrived back in D.C. after a weekend
away, I couldn’t help but feel like this is the stuff memoirs are made of. A bright-eyed gal arrives in the “big city” and it marks her life: the expansive ceilings of Union Station, the stroll to my place on Capitol Hill. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the coincidence that my residence is located between a Quaker lobbying association with a memorial stating “War is Not the Answer” and a Veterans of Foreign Wars building that has a sculpture memorializing fallen soldiers. Was there any better analogy of how I felt upon return? Caught in between. As we began orientation for my fellows program, a screen was dropped down, a PowerPoint presentation initiated, and my whole being groaned. I hadn’t had to deal with droning PowerPoint presentations for a year! In my line of work in Iraq, there was only “do.” But perhaps that’s why it’s been refreshing to get back and think. Coming home each night, the creaky gated elevator of my dormitory always pulls me back to the same antiquated people-pulley system in the Cambridge University Library. It has been two years since I’ve been home to the United States as more than a vacation or holiday. I can scarcely recall the girl I was without the perspective of Cambridge, without Iraq. I barely recognize the snapshot of the girl who just arrived in Iraq. I was pretty fresh off the C-130 and had joined the incoming military unit work-
ing at the badging office on their tour of the Al-Rasheed Hotel near our worksite. My hair is fresh from the benefit of one of my first contractor paychecks; treated with a European hair straightener. My smile is wide, as this trip marked the beginning of one of my first and closest friendships from my year, with this picture’s photographer, an Iraqi-American, Sam. I’m still bewildered with where I am, still gaunt from adjusting to time zones, food pallets, dining hall schedules, and shock. I was so thrilled to be there, and I think that was the prevalent theme of my smiles throughout my year. I couldn’t believe I could be so lucky to participate, witness, and be shaped by this experience. As I look back on this picture, I feel that I was so young when this snapshot was taken. I grew up in Iraq. The sweet, diverted kisses of strapping men. Being expected to make decisions and implement, not just make good grades. How delicate the human heart is, how prevalent deception is, the brutality of which humans are capable—my eyes were opened, faith molded in new ways, thinking honed, and I feel as though I were dumped upon departure, into the sands of Kuwait after my last C-130 ride, as a woman. It is a point of pride to return as a woman and I don’t necessarily regret the diminishing of my own naiveté. I am confident that spending a year in Iraq will always be recounted as the greatest adventure of my life. I was proud to serve as a woman,
especially after reading former NBC correspondent Andrea Mitchells’ memoir, Talking Back. I noted how her first chapter was entitled “Copyboy.” At least I had a gender-ambiguous title: field systems engineer. Upon recently revisiting the World War II Memorial in D.C., I was pulled to an engraved quote from Colonel Oveta Culp Hobby: “Women who stepped up were measured as citizens of the nation, not women . . . This was a people’s war and everyone was in it.” My first stop back in the United States was at Fort Benning in Augusta, Georgia, where I had to complete out-processing. As we were both wrapping up, a kind colonel offered me a ride back to the airport. We were both going to visit our sisters, and I think I could safely say that we were both terrified of what lay ahead. He had served as the only doc on a small outpost, and it was very heartwarming to have one last conversation with an Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) veteran before reentering my domestic capacity. Those first steps out into the real world were thankfully under the guidance of my sister; she takes such good care of me. She currently calls Athens, Georgia, home, and our first night out on the town was a concert at a local music venue. We were a little late in arriving and I shook my head in disbelief with the first song we caught. The artist took the time to explain that it was dedicated to his grandfather who had served in World War II. The song, entitled “It’s Happening Again,” has a verse: “Now my best friend’s overseas in the desert
aineers West Virginia University Alumni Magazine
2010
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