Ayana.

Around thirty she started her own star chart: a notebook where, every clear night, she writes down the date and what she saw, one line, then goes to bed. She cross-references sightings from different years the way you'd cross dirt roads on the savanna: the same star shifted slightly, an object that was there and this time isn't. She's not aiming for anything grand; she just records, stubborn and by hand, the sky over Niamey. She keeps count of what she's seen, dated, so she can't fool herself about how much sky she's really looked at.

None of this was handed to her. She couldn't afford a telescope, so she built one out of two old eyeglass lenses and a plumbing pipe, and taught herself through trial and error. When someone assumes you need expensive equipment to look at the sky, she corrects them without arguing: you don't need NASA to look up, just a dark night and knowing where to look. It's a t-shirt for anyone starting to find their own thing; and who she is, in full, is told in her biography.