The Afro-diasporan

The Nordbahntrasse: Wuppertal's Flattest Path

Sat, 18 Jul 2026 05:15:34 -0700

There are places that quietly become part of your life before you realise they have. For me, the Nordbahntrasse was one of them.

I lived just a few minutes away, and before long, this former railway line became woven into my everyday life. It was where I went when I needed fresh air after a long day. Where I ran without constantly reminding myself that Wuppertal is, quite frankly, one giant hill. Where I walked through every season of diasporic life. And yes, where I processed some of the hardest breakups of my life, one step at a time.

Looking back, I don't think I ever came here simply to exercise. I came because this place had a way of making everything I was experiencing, as a woman living oceans away from her family, feel a little lighter.

Where Wuppertal Lets You Catch Your Breath

If you've never been to Wuppertal, you should know one thing: it is steep. Really steep.

Walking from one neighbourhood to the next often feels like an unplanned workout. Cycling can be even more ambitious. Which is why the Nordbahntrasse feels almost like a small miracle.

This is where you'll find joggers finding and eventually settling into their rhythm, cyclists on their morning commute and others trying to up their pulse, parents with prams, dog walkers, inline skaters, and friends catching up over a leisurely stroll. It is the one place in the city where you can simply move without constantly negotiating another hill.

The route stretches for around 22 kilometres, connecting neighbourhoods across the different parts of the city. The section I know best runs between Ottenbruch, Mirker Bahnhof and Loher Bahnhof, but every part of the Trasse has its own character. Tunnels suddenly open onto wide views across the valley. Former station buildings have found new purpose. Miniature woodlands, graffiti walls and artsy yards appear where you least expect them.

The Day the Trains Stopped

Long before runners and...Read More

The Ölberg: Unapologetically Wuppertal

Mon, 13 Jul 2026 13:14:09 -0700

"I didn't know flats could look this majestic!"

That was my first thought in 2009, when I went to the Ölberg neighbourhood in Wuppertal (Germany) for the first time. My circle of mainly university friends had invited me to one of the first Ölbergfeste. I went. With no plan, no expectations, which is why I must have been amazed by everything I saw. The Jugendstil architecture, those impossibly tall buildings with their ornate facades and large windows seemed to lean into the steep slopes of the neighbourhood; almost as if they were holding the whole thing together.

People sometimes call Ölberg the San Francisco of Germany. And to be honest, I get it now. San Francisco has those famous hills, a steep topography that makes your calves work for every stride. But there's something about how Ölberg's architecture responds to those slopes, how those Jugendstil buildings don't fight the incline but lean into it, almost embracing it. It's the same defiant geography, the same refusal to flatten itself out for our convenience.

The buildings caught me in my tracks in 2009. As did the people. Couches dragged onto the street. Students spilling out of shared flats in clusters, laughing at volumes that only happened in summer. Bodies flat on the tarmac at midnight, still talking, still awake, as if the 10:00 p.m. German sunset had just invited them to stay a little longer. There was a kind of freedom in it, but only the kind you recognise when you're young enough to think it's normal.

That festival was my introduction to the Ölberg neighbourhood. I've been living in Wuppertal for 20 years now, and over this past decade and a half, I've spent countless hours learning that the real Ölberg isn't found in the crowds.

The everyday Ölberg

I keep coming back to Ölberg. Mainly for the version of this neighbourhood that exists on ordinary Tuesdays, or any weekday.

The galleries tucked into ground...Read More

The Briller Viertel lied to me (in the best way)

Fri, 12 Jun 2026 11:18:01 -0700

Twenty years ago, when I was deciding on whether to move to Germany, I did what everyone does: I googled. I looked at photos of Wuppertal online. I scrolled through university's websites, travel blogs. And what I saw was... underwhelming. Grey. Industrial. The kind of city people move through, not to. The kind of place you'd settle for if nowhere better wanted you. And I remember thinking: Is this really where I want to spend the next years of my life?

But life doesn't always ask for your permission.

I had convinced myself and my family that I needed to go. It was my calling to go and start a life elsewhere. And a door had opened for me to go as an AuPair. In Wuppertal. There was a chance to learn German properly, to build something, to escape what felt suffocating back home in Uganda. So at 23, with a mix of resignation and desperation, I boarded a plane to this grey industrial city I'd already decided I wouldn't love.

I was wrong. So completely wrong.

The Briller Viertel changed everything

My AuPair placement was with a family living in the Briller Viertel. I remember the exact feeling of driving up the extremely steep and narrow road to the house for the first time. And I remember thinking: This cannot be Wuppertal. This cannot be the same city I saw online.

The Briller Viertel is where Wuppertal first whispered its secret to me: this city has gems everywhere. You just have to know how to look.

The neighborhood was stunning—I won't pretend otherwise. Gründerzeit villas rise up on quiet, tree-lined streets. Bay windows. Manicured gardens. The kind of architecture that speaks to a particular moment in history, when textile magnates shaped this region. For one year, I walked those streets every single day. I watched how the sunlight hit the majestic villas and how the sun rays glistened through the tree branches. I got used to listening to the silent sound of a place where you can actually hear yourself...Read More

I Came to Germany. Wuppertal wasn't the plan.

Thu, 04 Jun 2026 06:02:56 -0700

Germany had other plans.

When I was twelve years old, sitting in a foreign language classroom in Kampala, I fell in love with a language I'd never spoken. German felt exotic to me then—all the sharp consonants and precision, so different from the Luganda and English I grew up with. My teacher made it sound like a door opening to another world. By the time I finished secondary school and later university, I'd decided: I was going to Germany.

I was not going to simply do a tourist visit. I planned to study and perhaps work there, and who knows —move there eventually? In my mind, there was always a specific image of what that would look like. I imagined Berlin—the city everyone talks about. A creative hub; the place where things happen.

So, I had majored in German studies at the university in Kampala, spent years perfecting my written skills, reading German literature, absorbing the Landeskunde from thousands of miles away. Everything I did was building toward one goal: get to Germany, get to one of the large metropoles, further my studies and perhaps build a life there. It never occurred to me that Germany might have other plans.

The 'walk around.'

Here's what people don't tell you about moving to Germany from Uganda when you come from a working-class family background: it's damn expensive! Universities in the Westfalia area, while they do not charge tuition fees, demand proof of financial stability—a "blocked account" with thousands of euros sitting untouched, just to prove you won't become a burden for the tax payer. My family couldn't afford that. We'd worked hard for everything we had, but we didn't have that kind of capital lying around. So I found a workaround. I came as an au pair.

Doing an an au pair year was practical, unglamorous, but I felt like it was the right thing for me to do before immersing myself into a foreign culture and education system. It would not only provide me with...Read More

Scholarships: What international students in Germany often get wrong

Tue, 17 Mar 2026 14:05:58 -0700

For many international students, the dream of studying abroad often begins with a very practical question: "How will I finance my studies?"

Over the past decade, first as a scholarship holder myself and later working within the academic system, I have had countless conversations with students who believe scholarships are almost impossible to obtain.

Some assume that only students with excellent grades qualify. Others believe scholarships are only available in certain disciplines. And many international students are convinced that funding opportunities are extremely rare.

In reality, the situation is often quite different.

Scholarships do exist, and every year thousands of international students receive funding to pursue their studies abroad, including in Germany and other European countries. However, what I have observed repeatedly is that many students approach scholarships with misconceptions about how they work and how to prepare for them. Understanding the process can make a significant difference.

Scholarships are not only about grades.

One of the most common misconceptions is that scholarships are awarded solely based on academic performance. While strong academic results are certainly important, many scholarship committees also look at broader factors such as:

* intellectual curiosity

* motivation and long-term goals

* social engagement or leadership

* the potential impact of a student’s work

In other words, scholarship committees often try to understand the person behind the application, not just the transcript. This is why a strong motivation letter and a clear academic vision can be just as important as grades.

Many students start searching too late.

Many students begin looking for scholarships only after they have already been admitted to a program. In reality, many scholarship processes, especially Bachelor's and Master's Programmes,...Read More

Why Smart International Students Struggle in German Universities (Pt. 1).

Sat, 14 Feb 2026 13:52:38 -0800

What No One Tells You.

When I first arrived in Germany, I did what had always worked for me at Makerere University in Kampala. I studied hard. I showed up prepared. I respected my professors. I cared about my work.

And yet, something felt… off.

Not in a dramatic, obvious way. More like a quiet, persistent confusion. I was doing everything right — at least according to the academic rules I had learned before — but the feedback I received didn’t quite match the effort I put in. Sometimes it was blunt. Sometimes it was vague. Sometimes it felt like I had missed an instruction that no one had actually given.

If you’re an international student in Germany and this sounds familiar, let me start with something important: You’re not failing.
You’re playing a game whose rules no one explained.

Many international students who come to Germany were top performers back home. They arrive motivated, capable, and used to succeeding through discipline and hard work. So when things suddenly feel harder — not intellectually harder, but structurally harder — the first instinct is often self-doubt.

Maybe I’m not good enough.
Maybe everyone else understands something I don’t.
Maybe I’m just not cut out for this system.

But in most cases, intelligence is not the issue.
The issue is the hidden curriculum.

German academia runs on expectations that are rarely spelled out explicitly. Professors expect independence, but what that independence should look like is often left unsaid.

You’re expected to think critically, however, the form of critical thinking can differ from what you learned before. Rarely is this addressed or exemplified in foundational...Read More

When survival mode becomes home

Fri, 30 Jan 2026 13:00:16 -0800

Listen when people who love you, respect you, and genuinely care about you tell you that you have changed — not in a flattering, glow‑up kind of way, but in the quiet, concerned tone that suggests something is off.

When my mother visited me in Germany for the first time, she noticed it immediately. I was no longer the bubbly, smiley, sometimes witty person who struck up conversations with strangers and made small talk feel effortless. Instead, I was tense. Guarded. Permanently braced.

She told me my body seemed to arrive in a room before my mind did — shoulders tight, eyes scanning, breath shallow. Worse still, this rigidity had followed me into our relationship. I was impatient, distracted, always half‑elsewhere. At first, I brushed it off. Germany is stressful, I told myself. Adulthood is demanding. Everyone feels like this.

But then I started paying attention to my mornings.

I would wake up with a racing heart, before the alarm had a chance to go off. My first thoughts were never gentle. They sounded more like an interrogation: Did I miss a deadline? Who am I behind with? What have I forgotten to do? The list felt endless, and it greeted me before my feet even touched the floor.

Slowly — reluctantly — I put two and two together. Years of trying to recreate and rebrand myself in a country whose language, systems, and cultural codes were foreign to my own had taken a toll. What I had normalised as ambition, discipline, and resilience was, in fact, survival mode.

And survival mode is a deeply exhausting place to live.

When it becomes your default setting, everything feels urgent. You perform constantly. You people‑please reflexively. You aim for perfection not because you want to, but because you are afraid of what happens if you stop. Your nervous system never quite comes down from high alert.

Left unchecked, this way of living fast‑tracks you to burnout, chronic stress, and — for many —...Read More

The Art of Ordering Bread in Germany

Fri, 23 Jan 2026 16:01:10 -0800

Where Words Failed and Bread Saved Me

There is nothing quite as overwhelming as stepping into a German bakery.

During my Au Pair year, I remember being sent to buy bread for breakfast. My host family preferred freshly baked bread from the most famous (family-owned) bakery in Wuppertal. I always dreaded stepping into that bakery. Not because I never saw Black people buy bread there, but mainly because the shelves were populated with so many different types of bread that I almost got dizzy trying to understand how each one differed from the other.

At the time, I was also not yet articulate in the German language. I feared that my heavily accented Ugandan tongue would betray me—refusing to pronounce some of the names of these loaves with the respect they deserved. And honestly, the bread names didn’t help. In this bakery, bread is named according to the type of wheat used, the seeds or oats sprinkled on top, how crusty it is, and sometimes the region it is associated with. How exactly was I supposed to choose one?

Once you step into this highly sought-after bakery, you are expected to abide by the German shopping netiquette. When the salesperson asks, “Was bekommen Sie?” (translated as “What would you like to have?”—although in all honesty it sounds much closer to “What do you want?”), an audible, confident, eloquent, and fast response is expected.

So there I was, squeezing myself into the 10-square-metre showroom with eight other clients, all of whom knew exactly what they were buying their families for breakfast. They pointed at different types of bread and rolls by name, specifying the exact number of kilos per loaf to be packed into brown paper bags.

Audible. Confident. Eloquent. Fast.

It was almost impressive—quite a sight to behold.

I could only marvel at the efficiency on display during what was, for me, a deeply overwhelming experience. When I was second in line, I decided to prepare myself. I too...Read More

On moving abroad to study

Fri, 18 Feb 2022 11:34:28 -0800

If I could turn back the hands of time, I would tell my 23 year-old-self to remain calm. "You're going to be okay. You will exceed your dreams and everyone's expectations," I would say to her.

The decision to move to a country whose language is not native to my tongue, whose culture is so foreign and exotic from and whose people look so different that I stand out was scary but also appealing. For these and more reasons, no one in my family actually thought I was going to last more than a year in Germany. "Yes you speak the language," said my uncle "but German can not bring food to the table of an African person!" I do not know where he got his certainty from but he sounded very convincing. Other friends that knew about decision to pursue further studies with the goal of working in Germany said that they had only associated the country with the Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, VW and Audi they never considered it a study destination nor a "fun place" to work. "Why not at least Amsterdam?" they asked.

In hind sight, I am grateful that I did not waiver from the road that was guided by my gut. The journey to the pinnacle of my career has been a roller coaster with many highs and lows. If I...Read More

On my shelf: Four novels by Bernadine Evaristo

Fri, 12 Mar 2021 09:08:50 -0800

I have chosen to start the On my shelf book series with four novels by my favourite writer, British novelist and 2019 Booker Prize winner Bernadine Evaristo. My interest in Evaristo's novels was sparked in 2011. Then an undergrad, I attended a literature class on novels about British slavery. We read her novel Blonde Roots (2009) and I was completely sold from then on. If you have read at least one of the novels I am about to introduce below, you might just understand why I think Bernadine Evaristo is, in my opinion, excellent at what she does. There will be no spoilers!

1. The Emperor's Babe (2001)

It is difficult to imagine leading women in legends and films about the Roman Empire without having a specific image of Cleopatra. Women in films about the Roman Empire tend to look like Sophia Loren in The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964) or the Jessica Green in the short-lived Netflix series The Roman Empire (2016) both. The fictional character of Zuleika does not fit this popular Hollywood image. She is of Nubian heritage. Her parents flee from what we know now as North and South Sudan. Zuleika is not only beautiful, witty and smart...Read More