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My father was a professor of political science and also a young politician fighting for democracy in Kenya, and when things got ugly, he went into political exile in Mexico. Then I moved back to Kenya shortly after I turned one, and I grew up in Kenya.

I was studying political science; I was adamant that I was going to follow in my father's footsteps.

My father took one of the toughest jobs in the government because he cared about his nation more than himself. His courage and conviction have always driven me to want to make a difference.

My father worked for governments all his life as an engineer and public works director.

I told my father I had to try political science for a year. He thought I was throwing my life away.

My father was an academic, an eccentric. He was a lecturer.

My father was an agricultural economist. In 1989 he was posted to Mbarara, a small town on the Uganda-Rwanda border.

My father was a Jewish immigrant who settled in Argentina and was left to his own devices at the age of 15. My mother was a teacher, herself the daughter of a poor immigrant family.