It was over a typewriter in the dank basement of a three floor house in Bogota, Colombia that my endeavor into journalism truly began. I decorated the old, steel table that stood in the middle of the room with a lamp, ample paper and a bottle of wine. I knew very little about my new environment, but with a degree in political science from McGill and a heart full of ambition, I stayed awake late into the night pounding the keys until I produced something of value. My first article explored the reelection of President Uribe and I submitted it to the Colombia Journal Online. My next piece, on a national cockfighting tournament, ran in the Oxford Owl, again without pay. Months later, while investigating how landmines had impacted the Colombian military’s ability to defeat the FARC guerrillas, I was introduced to the country’s chief military commander and a number of soldiers who had lost limbs from landmines. The article eventually ran in the Montreal Gazette on International Landmines Day and it paid. For the next three years I moved around the country writing on aerial fumigations, paramilitary demobilizations and diplomatic fracases for publications like the Globe and Mail and World Politics Review. I perfected my Spanish and frequented precarious neighborhoods that were off limits to foreigners. I discovered countless stories but also realized the limited space available in international publications for their voices. Before returning to Canada to pursue a Master’s of Journalism at Ryerson University, I travelled to the Horn of Africa to report on corruption in Egypt and refugees in Somaliland.