Diana Gombe: ‘My world has expanded greatly in Tilburg’

Kenyan Diana Gombe (23) began her bachelor’s in Global Law in Tilburg in 2022. In the Netherlands, she feels liberated from the strict norms her home country imposes on girls, but in return, she faces prejudices. ‘When people ask me if I used to go to school on the back of an elephant, I just nod yes.’

Lees dit interview in het Nederlands.

On April 26, 2021, Global Law student Diana Gombe arrived in the Netherlands from Kenya, but her compact student room still breathes nostalgia in every corner. A Masai warrior mask keeps watch on the wall. Above a table full of spices from her homeland, a painted scene of four girls’ heads lined up, gazing at the sea, hangs.

‘On my last day in Kenya, I went to the beach with three friends. On my birthday, one of them gave me this painting, capturing that very moment.’

As a teenager, Gombe already decided she wanted to study abroad, just like her sister, who went to Spain for her studies. ‘I wanted to explore the world and was curious if I could be someone different in another place. Kenyan society is quite restrictive; there’s a fixed idea of how a proper girl should behave.

‘My sister and I couldn’t openly be sexual beings, that part of ourselves had to be suppressed. If you kissed your partner in public, you could get a fine, but if you’re a boy, everyone turned a blind eye. I thought it was ridiculous that I was being punished for being a living being who enjoys male company.’

Her upbringing was all about discipline, Gombe says. ‘I’m headstrong and like to challenge things—typical traits of a lawyer. But in Kenya, you can’t talk back to your parents. Later, I learned to appreciate that because it stems from utu—’I am because we are’—an African philosophy centered on community spirit. Don’t put yourself above others, that was the essence.

‘I was raised Catholic, and there was also room for traditional African customs at home. I still believe in God, but for a while, I stopped going to church because I struggled with certain aspects of my faith. My studies in Global Law made me realize how people have turned religion into something political that suited them.

‘It was our oppressors who brought Christianity to us. First came the explorers, then the missionaries, and after that, the colonists, who sowed death and destruction. The connection between the colonists and the church was so close that the church justified the colonists’ behavior. Some Catholic schools founded during that time remained anti-black. I wear my hair naturally now, but back then, I couldn’t go to school like this.’

Did you have to straighten it?

‘Yes, because kinky hair was seen as unkempt. But who decides that? At mixed schools, boys and girls weren’t allowed to hug or touch each other. You weren’t allowed to wear certain clothes in church because they would distract the preacher. If your body developed quickly, it was used against you. It was your fault if something happened to you, because you should have dressed differently.

‘As a child, I was angry about this, and later I joined the women’s movement to put an end to it. My mother inspired me greatly. She was aware of the traditions and wanted to protect me, but she understood very well that the woman is not the problem. Society simply needs to raise its sons better.’

What did your father think of that?

‘My parents divorced when I was seven, but on the big issues, they agreed: ensure girls get an education and give them more space. My father didn’t play a role in my upbringing. Every time he tried, things exploded. He struggled with depression and tried to numb it with alcohol. In my youth, he was a stranger. We didn’t reconnect until I was 16.

‘By now, he no longer drinks and has turned his life around. He’s the head of the library at the University of Nairobi and is working on his PhD. We are now kind of friends, which is nice in itself, but we missed an important stage: the whole foundation.’

Did that have a big effect on you?

‘I still find it hard to trust people. The worst is over, but it hurt for a long time. Thankfully, my grandmother’s love softened the blow. When my father left, she took over the care.’

Justice is a significant theme in the Gombe family. After a long career as a lawyer, Gombe’s mother was appointed one of the first female senators in parliament in 2013. ‘Her generation changed our lives,’ says Gombe proudly. ‘She was part of a female bar association that fought for women’s rights and campaigned against gender-based violence. Many child marriages were dissolved by female leaders in the community, who set up boarding schools where these girls could finish their elementary education.’

Gombe grew up in Nairobi West, a business district 15 minutes from Nairobi National Park, ‘a huge park in the middle of the city, where you can see lions and giraffes walking around.’ The capital, which now has 4.4 million inhabitants, is a melting pot, Gombe says. ‘We are used to different cultures and ways of thinking.’

But during her childhood, tribal conflicts raged, fueled by significant income disparities, with the Kikuyu developing into the ruling class on one side, and the Luo, among others, to which Gombe’s parents belong, on the other. ‘After independence was declared in 1963, the Kikuyus saw themselves as the new British,’ she explains. ‘They were rewarded with land by the British for their loyalty, and after the Republic of Kenya was declared, their businesses won big government contracts.’

When Kikuyu tribe member Mwai Kibaki was elected in the 2007 presidential elections, his political opponent Raila Odinga, a Luo, accused him of electoral fraud. Violent riots erupted. As a seven-year-old, Gombe saw bodies lying along the roadside in neighborhoods where many Luo lived. ‘It was traumatic; the violence almost led to ethnic cleansing.’ At school, friend groups suddenly turned against each other. For safety reasons, the family moved to another neighborhood.

For Gombe, the violence was a decisive experience. ‘People live together and then, from one day to the next, they start killing each other.’ It inspired her decision to study law. ‘I want to help strengthen the foundations of the country so that people no longer feel the need to take up arms against their neighbors.

‘Initially, I wanted to become a lawyer like my mother, until I realized that as a lawyer, you’re essentially facilitating bad laws. I’d rather help build better laws. I want to pursue a master’s in public governance, so I can eventually contribute to my community in Kenya. Maybe I’ll even go into politics, so I can prevent disasters before they happen.

‘When people claim that the Kenyan government is just a bunch of crooks, I think: but how did we end up in this situation? Our constitution is fine, but there’s a gap between the law and its practice. A redistribution of wealth is needed so that no one has to steal. Kenya’s problems can be solved. If we build a strong government and start investing in education, social services, and employment, we’ll get there.’

‘I often feel treated here as if I’m not a person, but something exotic’

On June 25, some time after our conversation, Nairobi’s parliament was stormed by thousands of angry protesters, demonstrating against massive tax increases, which the Ruto government brutally repressed. By July 2, the Kenyan Commission on Human Rights reported 39 deaths.

The widespread discontent, primarily voiced by twenty- and thirty-somethings, has a long history, Gombe explains during our conversation. About half of Nairobi’s population lives in slums.

‘I come from a large family. We regularly visited cousins who lived in slums and barely had access to electricity. I remember asking my mother why we bought so much detergent, diapers, groceries, and clothes when we visited them. She explained that not everyone had it as good at home as we did. My parents also paid for school fees and medical bills for people in the community.’

Kenya has a high youth unemployment rate, estimated at 60% in 2024, Gombe explains. ‘It’s quite common to send your child abroad for education if you can afford it. The education in Kenya is good, but there’s corruption and nepotism. To get a job, you need to know someone on the selection committee.

‘Many unemployed people are educated. Engineers sometimes have to drive Uber because the funds to create jobs are siphoned off. Kenya has a problem with good governance, and the law is not very fair, free, or refined. But then again, what can you expect from a country that has been plundered by colonizers? The corruption didn’t start with us; it was introduced by the colonists.’

Gombe’s decision to study in Tilburg happened by chance. She was accepted as a law student at Kent University but found out that her scholarship was not granted. While she began her studies in Nairobi, her mother was appointed ambassador in The Hague.

By then, the COVID pandemic had broken out. Because her grandmother was too ill to travel, Gombe was forced to stay behind in Kenya to care for her, in between her Zoom lectures. During a check-up at the hospital, her grandmother contracted COVID. Within two weeks, she passed away. Gombe flew to her mother in the Netherlands.

‘I couldn’t believe she was gone,’ she recalls. ‘My grandmother was so important in my life. When my father left, she took care of us.’ Gombe was 21, and going back to Nairobi alone was not an option. After a gap year, Gombe started her bachelor’s degree in Tilburg in September 2022. ‘If you want to study global law, this is the best university, and Tilburg is picturesque and quiet – the perfect setting for an intensive study program.’

What stood out to you when you arrived in the Netherlands?

‘That it’s freezing cold in spring! And people here say what they think; you immediately know where you stand. In Kenya, there’s a common saying: “What will people think?” The moment you step outside the norm there, whether you’re a bit too direct or get that extra piercing, you hear that phrase. That’s what’s nice about Dutch society: no one cares what you do.

‘The downside is that people sometimes say thoughtless, blunt things. I often feel treated here as though I’m not a person, but something “exotic,” which is an absurd way to describe a human being. Come on, I’m not a bird or a tropical plant.’

Can you give an example?

‘I worked as a babysitter for a while. One of the children, a seven-year-old girl, wanted to draw me. She made a face with bright pink, extremely large lips. She said, “That’s because you don’t have a normal mouth, but an African mouth.”

‘I felt hurt, it reminded me of the heavily exaggerated black faces from minstrel shows (a phenomenon from the 1830s where white New Yorkers would perform in blackface to portray enslaved people, ed.). I wanted to tell her how that made me feel, but how do you explain something like that to a seven-year-old?’

Did it look like blackface?

‘Yes, that’s how it felt. I thought, here we go again. Characteristics of Black people being grotesquely exaggerated in a humiliating way. When a child does it, it hurts even more because you think: where does she get it from? The children also liked to stick their fingers into my hair uninvited, as if they were petting an animal. Those kinds of microaggressions hit me deeply.’

Do you experience things like that in Tilburg?

‘In class, someone once asked me how it felt to be the minority. I thought she was joking, because Black people are the majority worldwide. But she was dead serious. And it’s not entirely her fault, because our personal lives have become partly political. Think, for example, of left-wing parties that “protect minorities” or “give them a voice.”

‘As if we’re not people, but merely subjects of debate. You feel like an insect pinned to the wall, being dissected. The assumption is: I am the norm, and you are the other. This happened in Professor Goodwin’s class, where global law is discussed in relation to ethnicity, and we examine how the law is used to supposedly “civilize” certain populations. Apparently, that falls on deaf ears.’

‘In the legal history course, we discuss the transatlantic slave trade and its impact on later generations. A colleague of Slavic descent said, “I think Black people are always playing the victim. All that whining from those Africans. As if you were the only slaves. We were slaves too, you know.” I was stunned.

‘At a party, I once got into a conversation with a colleague about colonization—maybe not the best topic when you’re both tipsy. He outright denied that colonization had robbed Kenya of its civilization. The idea is: yes, there were human rights violations, but in the end, we did manage to teach them something.

‘How can you even say that? Look, to be fair, you can hardly claim that female circumcision was an ethically responsible practice. That’s a human rights violation. But I believe we would have figured that out on our own.’

What do you miss most about your homeland?

‘Nairobi is a hectic and chaotic city, but there’s a sort of calm in the air. The Netherlands is my home now, and I’m happy to be here, but social life here is like Tetris; everything is awkwardly squeezed into time slots. In Kenya, life feels less like a treadmill.’

How do you find the atmosphere on campus?

‘On some days, the campus feels super international. As I walk from one building to another, I hear so many languages! But on other days, I feel how big the gap is between Dutch students and internationals. Global law is just a small part of the law faculty.

‘The large faculty association isn’t interested in internationals at all. Most events are aimed at Dutch students. Meetings are held in Dutch, and even at career days, everything is in Dutch. The law faculty gives off one message: they don’t want us. For us and by us, that’s the mentality. And it doesn’t come from the professors, but from the students themselves.’

What do you think are the main challenges for internationals in a broader sense?

‘Government policies are pretty aggressive toward internationals. If you’re lucky, as an international, you pay between 400 to 500 euros a month for rent because the cheaper housing usually goes to Dutch students.

‘When I say I came here for a better life, people assume I’m a refugee’

‘But as a non-EU resident, you can work a maximum of 16 hours a week. That’s not much, as most student jobs pay minimum wage. With my study load, I can only work eight hours a week, but my tuition fees are three times higher than those for a Dutch student.’

Have you ever faced discrimination?

‘I haven’t received any racist remarks specifically directed at me as a Black woman. It’s more about “othering”—the blunt separation where discrimination begins. When I was looking for a general practitioner, I was repeatedly told I should find an international doctor. I know the Dutch healthcare system is overwhelmed, but after the umpteenth time, I thought: do you really think my body functions so differently?’

You come from an upper-middle-class background. Are you seen that way here?

‘No, people assume we’re all the same. They see us all as that starving child with a fly on her face from those emergency relief ads, especially when I say I’m African. They really see you as the cliché from the ’70s, as if there’s nothing to eat in Africa. There’s no appreciation for anything else that comes out of Africa. Now, I’m not saying there’s no poverty in Africa, because there is. But look beyond your nose.

‘I don’t often say I’m the child of a diplomat or that I was in Germany for an exchange program when I was 16. But when I say I came here for a better life, people assume I’m a refugee—not that there’s anything to be ashamed of. I don’t even correct them anymore. When people ask me if I used to go to school on the back of a lion or an elephant, I just nod yes.’

What about love?

‘I was curious about that too, but it’s no better here because Blackness is fetishized. It sounds a bit crude, but men want to know what a big butt feels like, and if the carpet matches the drapes. I’ve deleted all my dating apps because it became ridiculous. My sister told me that after a while, you start recognizing the signs. When someone starts with “Oh, your skin is so soft,” I think, how do you know that? You’ve never even touched me.

‘They see you as something separate and exotic, something outside of themselves. For them, sleeping with a Black woman is something to check off the list, something to brag about to their friends. They’ll never take you home because they don’t see you as their equal.

‘In Kenya, my body type is celebrated. My beauty is recognized as it is; I don’t question it. But I remember a Dutch guy once told me, “Oh, for me, a perfect body isn’t important. You don’t need an hourglass figure; I think normal is fine too.” I thought: why isn’t my body perfect? My curves might not look like what you’re used to, but don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.’

Gombe pours Kenyan tea—a combination of black tea with milk, flavored with ginger or Indian masala. ‘I can’t live without it. My grandmother always made this for us. I drink it mainly in winter, to stay warm. It makes me feel less far from home. As long as I can cook Kenyan food and drink tea, I’m okay. It reassures me that at least some things are normal.’

Are there places where you don’t feel like ’the other’ and can just be yourself?

Enthusiastically: ‘Cicero, the debate club, is a great place. There, the gap between Dutch and international students doesn’t exist because we discuss topics that matter to all of us, and we share a passion for debating.

‘I’m also a member of Dance Nation, Tilburg University’s dance club. It’s a fun place where everyone gets along. Maybe that’s because the dance itself is a cultural product, an embrace of culture in a way. Dancing helps me because tension also builds up in the hips.

‘I’m naturally a bit prone to stress, but it’s gotten worse here because of everything going on. It also affects my mental health. Many internationals become depressed in the Netherlands because of the mentality here. But I don’t want to act like my life here is all misery, because I’m actually enjoying myself.’

What keeps you here?

‘That’s a good way to put it! In Dutch society, I can develop myself without being judged by my surroundings. Here, you’re not condemned for enjoying sex as a woman. I’ve been able to do things here that I didn’t dare before. I drum, I sing soul and jazz, and I create content on TikTok—hobbies I used to hide from the outside world.’

Do you think your student life would have been different in Nairobi?

‘Absolutely. Now that I live here, I know I can make it anywhere. For the first time, I’ve managed my own bank account. In the Netherlands, you become responsible for yourself in one go when you turn 18; in Kenya, it happens in more gradual steps. You remain dependent on your parents for longer. My childhood friends say I’ve changed a lot; they think I’ve grown up. Would I choose Tilburg again? I think so. My world has expanded so much here.’

What do you think is the best feature of student life in Tilburg?

‘The “passing culture”! In Kenya, students would rather die than get a six; they measure their self-worth by their grades. Wanting at least an eight is ingrained in me, but if I get a six here, I think: just let it go, there’s more to life.’

Has living here given you a different perspective on Kenya?

‘Yes, I had already become more positive about it. But when you’re young and you see things systematically going wrong, you think: I can’t wait to leave this godforsaken country. Doctors have been striking for better pay as long as I can remember. But those kinds of problems are solvable. For a young nation, with our history, we’re doing pretty well.

‘Some aspects of home that I used to overlook, I’ve now embraced. We welcome other cultures; we’re not xenophobic. When I found out that the word to describe me here was “international,” it sounded rather distant to me. My Dutch friends told me that people used to refer to “foreigners” back in the day.

‘Here, we talk about expats, migrants, and refugees, but in Swahili, we have only one word for all of that: mgeni, which means guest. That makes a big difference.’

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