Kakuma has been created out of an apparent wasteland, but it is now home to almost 200,000 desperate, resilient, resourceful, uprooted human beings. For Rahul Oka, it is more than a study in anthropology.
Resonant, lyric metal, not quite like anything you’ve ever heard before. It’s not the only thing emerging from the foundry of Riley Hall.
News about Notre Dame graduates.
Margaret Ruffing Morris ’98 admits that becoming a producer and director for NFL Films was not exactly on her radar growing up. Neither was football.
Letters to the editor
Stories about Notre Dame alumni.
Books and CDs by Notre Dame people
Deciding who gets in and who doesn’t attracts a passionate band of critics, gripers and second-guessers. Bishop and his staff know quite well their decisions break hearts, collapse dreams and vault young people into life-altering directions.
We managed to keep these cartoons safe from burglars.
For her 90th birthday, Helen Hiatt received a white T-shirt that had been hand-painted to say “Mother of the Huddle,” her long-standing nickname.
While many elements are indeed grim, this story rests on help and hope and the human spirit.
Michelle Melland ’88 is propped up in a hospital bed in the master suite off the kitchen of her two-story house in Kansas City, Missouri. Her eyes light up as I walk into the bedroom, and then she dissolves into tears. I maneuver around the bed and medical equipment to give her an awkward hug hello, which she can’t return because of the paralysis throughout her body due to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS.
Seen & heard around campus
Geoffrey Siwo is ahead of his time — and he’s taking others along with him.
Tablets, texts and Twitter are in classrooms to stay.
A student journalist’s report from the road.
When three Sisters of Loretto processed into Notre Dame’s Log Chapel for Mass this summer, their delivery of a treasured artifact marked a moment evocative of the more than 200-year history of the Catholic Church in the United States.
She was a lawyer, her life was so busy, her work was so consuming, she was struggling to pack it in while raising her kids. I guess that was her excuse for overlooking rudimentary politeness.
The Office of Community Standards has replaced ResLife as the vehicle for helping students who have veered from the track.
For two glorious days I had been following my windshield into autumn. I was traveling whatever roads looked like they would take me to a beautiful day beside beautiful lakes in south and central Wisconsin.
He wasn’t supposed to look. When U.S. Navy Lieutenant Commander John Hiltz ’02 roared over Notre Dame Stadium in his F/A-18 Hornet before the November 2, 2013, Notre Dame-Navy game, he may have had the most enviable view of campus on a football Saturday.
Since someday a medical test could discover within you the thing long feared, the doctor’s office might be a good setting for the beginning of this story.
Perhaps there is something you could do before reading this.
On my last day in Kakuma Refugee Camp, a scorcher in late May, I climb on the back of a boda-boda — the camp’s cheap, impromptu motorcycle taxis — for a ride out to the farthest frontier of the camp, an area called Kakuma Four. At my side is Ed Grode ’71M.A., a retired school principal from Fairview, Pennsylvania, and president of the state’s Notre Dame Club of Erie, who is deeply engaged on refugee issues and working on a documentary about life in the camp.
When I first started teaching more than 20 years ago, I fantasized about being “the one” — the teacher kids adored, trusted and would reference in their Nobel Prize acceptance speeches. In the short term, I imagined them calling me when arrested for childish pranks like TP-ing houses or skateboarding illegally. Wearing a red-sequined, super-teacher cape, I would pick them up at the police station at midnight and drive them home to the embrace of grateful parents.
There was a period of time when I lived in Texas. There was a period of time from age 22 to 23 when I could muster the strength only to dress the part. There was a period of time when salvation lay in closing the blinds. It was my first job out of college, and I had moved far away from anywhere that seemed like home.
Dominique came to the internal medicine clinic desperately searching for help. The tumor had burst through the skin on his left shoulder, leaving an open wound. The wound had started to leak and had a distinct smell that indicated an infection.
I grew up in a home where my mother stressed classics over fads, quality over quantity. She also frequently issued clothing edicts, particularly during my teen years: “Susan, those jeans are inappropriate for church.” Or “We’re going to your cousin’s wedding, Susan, not a saloon — go change into that crepe de chine dress.”
Jack Quinlan is the greatest baseball broadcaster you’ve never heard of.
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 63rd strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends.