Kine Dawit: ‘The attitude was: be grateful that you are allowed to be here’

Master’s student in clinical neuropsychology Kine Dawit (24) came to the Netherlands at the age of 19 from her home country of Germany, where she grew up in a warm family environment with her Ethiopian relatives. Her bachelor’s degree was a disappointment. ‘As internationals, we lived in a bubble. I thought: how can I ever get to know this country if I don’t form a connection with the Dutch themselves?’

In the windowsill of a narrow student room in the Korvel district, tea lights flicker in the bleak winter light. Master’s student in clinical neuropsychology Kine Dawit places steaming mugs of tea on the table. Between her small desk, which also serves as a dining table, and the single bed, just two chairs fit.

We speak in early November, as Dawit is in the final phase of her studies. She recently completed her master’s thesis in clinical neuropsychology, investigating the possible link between neural dedifferentiation and the memory and attention problems experienced by people with ADHD. ‘In neural differentiation, neurons—nerve cells in the brain—develop in such a way that they can perform increasingly specialized tasks,’ she explains.

‘In neural dedifferentiation, this process is reversed, and the function of those nerve cells becomes increasingly general. This process usually occurs at an older age. The nerve cells, so to speak, become tired and worn out, which affects cognitive function. People, for example, experience memory problems or have difficulty maintaining their attention. I was curious whether this process also occurs in people with ADHD, since they have similar complaints, and if so, why those nerve cells develop in this way.’

Dawit wrote her thesis in the university library, a fifteen-minute bike ride from her room. ‘The university library is my second home,’ she says. ‘I also love going to the public library, the LocHal. It’s a pleasant, colorful place, there are English books, and it has an open atmosphere.’ That warmth has sometimes been lacking in Tilburg, she will later reveal.

Dawit grew up in Kelsterbach, a city near Frankfurt, as the child of Ethiopian parents who, like many compatriots, settled there in the 1990s, attracted by the strong job market in the industrial city. When Dawit was two, her parents divorced. Her father moved to Canada. At the age of ten, she went to live with him. They had a good time together, but after a year, she returned to Germany without him.

She does not want to elaborate on her parents’ relationship issues, but it has had an impact on her life, she says. ‘I found it difficult that my father was no longer around. We have only recently reconnected. It hurts, for both of us, that we have been such a small part of each other’s lives.’

Even though her father lived on the other side of the world, young Dawit was anything but lonely. She lived with her mother, an uncle, and later four aunts in an apartment. ‘It was a cheerful, loving childhood,’ Dawit recalls. ‘There was always someone at home to play with or help me with something.’ Her mother worked long hours. ‘She had her own cleaning business and her own jewelry shop, which is remarkable considering she came to Germany from Ethiopia with nothing and built everything herself.’

For years, Dawit and her family moved from home to home. ‘Sometimes because the house was being demolished, other times because we didn’t have enough space or because the rent was too high. We were determined to stay together. In the beginning, we had two bedrooms with two beds each, and we slept three to a bed.’ She laughs. ‘When I turned six, they decided I needed my own room, but it felt so empty and lonely. At night I had nightmares and would crawl back into bed with my aunt. I didn’t want my own room at all.’

In short, lots of attention, but probably also lots of people keeping an eye on you?

‘A collective upbringing means that everyone has something to say about your life—or at least they think they do. That is still the case. Everyone gives unsolicited opinions, which sometimes makes me unsure of what I truly want. That really affected me last year. Sometimes I thought: please, just be quiet, all of you. I had to learn to filter out the useful advice and ignore the rest.’

Do all those pieces of advice have something in common?

‘Yes, that I have to get married. That’s the mindset in African families. Get married and build a career. I do want to marry and start a family, but not because I’m being pressured into it.’

Dawit extinguishes an incense stick. ‘I burn one every day to feel calmer.’ On the mirror above the sink, a Bible verse is written in white marker: ‘The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.’ She has needed this encouraging verse over the past year, she says. ‘I had fallen into a negative spiral.

‘I felt I wasn’t performing well enough in my studies, and I was in a relationship with someone who made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. I asked myself: what am I worth, what am I even doing this for? Looking back, I think it was mainly because I was far away from my family and loved ones. It felt like I was completely on my own.’

What do you do when you feel homesick? Do you cook Ethiopian food?

‘Oh no, Ethiopian food is so strongly tied to a sense of community for me that if I eat it alone, I just feel even more homesick.’

Dawit gets up, rummages through one of the full bags hanging from hooks on the wall, and pulls out a brightly colored robe. ‘These kinds of dresses, called dera, are what we wear in Africa to relax. As soon as I put one on, I feel at home.’

Did you manage to continue your studies?

‘Yes, but I slowed down. I spread the academic year over two years because I didn’t want to rush through it; I wanted to truly delve into the research.’

Why did you choose Tilburg six years ago?

‘At 18, I wanted to study psychology, but in Germany, you can only do that if you score straight A’s, which I didn’t. Plus, I wanted to study in English, which isn’t possible in Germany. I applied to Nijmegen, Groningen, Tilburg, and a university in Austria. Tilburg was the first to accept me, and it was the closest to home. I chose it out of convenience; it wasn’t that I specifically wanted to go to Tilburg.’

Has your choice to study psychology been influenced by your background?

‘Oh yes, absolutely. I chose psychology to better understand myself and my family. I’ve always been curious about how people influence each other and the role culture plays in that because I’ve always felt like I lived in two worlds. Outside, I spoke German, at home we spoke Amharic and I was raised with Ethiopian values, which were very different from what I saw among my friends and classmates.

‘I grew up in the Orthodox Church. Taking care of each other is deeply ingrained; the idea of splitting small costs via payment requests doesn’t exist in Ethiopia. I find it fascinating that people living in the same environment can think so differently. I wondered: why is it such a huge issue for my family if I come home late, while my friends’ parents don’t care at all?

‘My cousin wants to move out to study, but her mother won’t allow it because, in our culture, you only leave home when you get married. I didn’t even realize this was an issue until I left for Tilburg and my family asked, ‘Why are you going so far away?’ I thought: huh? I’m just doing what all my friends are doing. I wasn’t aware of cultural differences until I crossed that boundary.’

Was independence one of the reasons you wanted to study abroad?

‘Absolutely, I wanted to do my own thing without having to constantly justify myself.’ Dawit smiles. ‘But now that I’ve been here for a few years, I actually miss having people around who care about what I do. Everything I wanted to distance myself from, I now appreciate more.’

For Dutch students, university life often equals freedom.

‘Exactly, whereas my family expects me to move back in with my mother after I finish my studies. But I don’t know if I want that.’

What stood out to you during your first days in Tilburg?

‘That all the houses look the same. At first, I kept getting lost.’

Did you find housing easily?

‘Before I arrived, I had found a room, but it wasn’t available until a month after my studies had already started.’ Dawit bursts out laughing. ‘I remember my mother taking me to the Central Station, where she started approaching every Ethiopian she saw. “Hello, can my daughter stay with you for a month?” So embarrassing! Eventually, we met an Ethiopian girl in her early twenties who let me stay with her temporarily. That’s typical Ethiopian culture.

‘When we Ethiopians meet each other on the street, we always greet each other. “Salaam!” When I had just started studying here, a girl on campus came running towards me, screaming with excitement because she was so happy to see another Ethiopian. She’s now one of my best friends.’

Are there certain topics that are easier to discuss with other Ethiopians?

‘Yes, especially about our parents, because their generation is so different from ours. They are strict and involved in our lives, yet there are so many things we can’t share with them. A friend of mine has ADHD, and she told me: “I could never tell my parents. They’d say, ‘ADHD? That’s not a real problem. Depression? What even is that?’”’

How welcome did you feel on campus?

‘Many staff members offered to help me find my way around the university, which gave me a good feeling. But I didn’t feel very welcome among Dutch students. My Dutch classmates had this attitude of: we have enough friends already, bye! After class, they wouldn’t stay to chat or grab a coffee, they just weren’t interested in socializing.

‘We gave up a lot to come to the Netherlands from all over the world, so we talk to everyone. I left home to experience new things, but as internationals, we lived in our own bubble. During my bachelor’s, I had two close friends who happened to also be from Germany. Every day, we studied, ate, laughed, and cried together. It felt like I was still in Germany because we always spoke German among ourselves.

‘I haven’t seen much of the Netherlands because international students don’t get a free public transport card. I thought: don’t you want me to explore the country? Am I supposed to just walk in circles around my front door? I joined a choir, but everything was in Dutch. I thought: how can I ever get to know this country if I don’t connect with the Dutch people? As soon as I could, I went to visit my family in Germany.’

Kine stands up and makes fresh tea in the kitchen she shares with two Turkish students. She has only lived here for a month but already feels more at home than in her previous three student houses. ‘We do groceries together and go out together. We share food and do the dishes for each other. In the other student houses, everyone lived more independently.

‘Before this, I often felt like a guest in my own room. Some landlords would just walk in without knocking or take advantage of the fact that I didn’t know my rights very well. I sometimes paid too much rent or got evicted before my contract ended. When I reported a leak, my requests for repairs were ignored. The attitude was: be grateful you even have a place to stay.

‘Every time I had to look for a new room, I kept seeing the words ‘Dutch only’ in listings. I understand that a house full of Dutch students might prefer to add another Dutch person, but after so many rejections, I got so frustrated that I thought: fine, guys, if you don’t want me, then I don’t want you either. I’m here for my education, and that’s it. Tilburg is nothing more than a stop on the way to something better.

‘Still, I find Dutch people much friendlier and more open than Germans. Germans are quiet, serious, and rarely smile. The Dutch customer service is also very good. When my previous room was broken into, I was welcomed warmly at the police station. The next day, victim support called me: “We heard there was a break-in at your place, is there anything we can do for you?” Wow, incredible.’

Where on campus do you feel at home?

‘The African Student Association organizes parties and events where everyone brings food. They try to support African students who are struggling. But we have to fight for our space at the university. Other student associations have it easier because they’ve been here for a long time and speak the language.

‘Our association doesn’t get funding, even though we’ve repeatedly asked for it. That makes it harder to keep our group going, even though we need the support the most.’

How big is the African community in Tilburg?

‘Less than 100 people, I think. It’s nice to have that community and to share food and music with people who understand your culture. As an African, I’m expected to help raise family members and think about how I can improve their lives, even financially. I can’t share that with my Dutch friends because they are only responsible for themselves. They don’t mind asking their parents for money. I wouldn’t do that so easily because my family already struggles enough.’

Do you notice other cultural differences? ‘In the Netherlands, people easily go out and drink alcohol. In Ethiopia, especially as a girl, you’re expected to go straight home after school instead of hanging out with friends. My family was even stricter about that. Dutch media show a lot of nudity, and people talk openly about sex. In Ethiopia, you never see people kissing in public. I don’t even hold my boyfriend’s hand at home.’

Does that reservedness suit you?

‘I see it as a form of respect to hold myself back around family, but I find it difficult that I cannot date in public because it’s expected that I wait for sex until marriage, and that I have only one partner for my entire life. But a great partner doesn’t just fall out of the sky, does he?

‘Most Ethiopian women only tell their families they have a boyfriend when they’re sure they want to marry him. Everyone secretly tries out different relationships. I have an Ethiopian boyfriend in Germany, but hardly anyone knows about it.’

Is it also an advantage to move between two cultures?

‘Yes, I can choose every day who I want to be. I can be German, for example, if I want a gap year, but as soon as that doesn’t work out I can say: sorry, that’s my Ethiopian side. For instance, when I’m late somewhere, haha. A sort of positive code-switching.’

What was it like growing up as a Black woman in Germany?

‘When I was little, everyone mixed effortlessly. My best friends were Iranian and Chinese; there are many Turkish people in Germany. I remember a classmate in kindergarten once said I couldn’t play with him and his friends because I was Black—even though he himself was Turkish. I didn’t understand it, and it made me sad. I cried a lot.

‘I consider myself Ethiopian, born and raised in Germany. But as I got older, I became more aware of the way others looked at me. I sometimes worked in my mother’s jewelry store, where many older Germans came. Often they would exclaim in surprise: ‘Your German is so good!’ When I explained that I had gone to school in Germany, they said: ‘Oh, so you can also read and write German?’ Uh, yes—the vast majority of German schools offer language classes, don’t they? I usually just joked by saying: ‘Your German is excellent in its own way.’

‘I’m lucky that my mother always made it clear that she doesn’t see herself as a stranger who doesn’t belong. She feels German. But many African friends my age feel excluded in Germany because they are seen as ‘the other.’ I never really had that problem; at the grammar school in Mainz, it was even cool to be Black—even if that is a bit dubious, of course. When people were curious about my hair or my culture, I would simply explain.’

In 2020, halfway through her bachelor’s, the corona epidemic broke out. Dawit went back home and continued her studies online. ‘It was a scary time; I wanted to be close to my family.’ After finishing her bachelor’s, she took a gap year and spent six months living with her grandmother in Ethiopia, where she had spent a year when she was seven.

‘Afterwards, I went back a couple of times, but in Germany I felt a bit cut off from my roots. Sometimes I felt alienated in my own family, as if I were less Ethiopian than they are, having truly grown up there. I heard all the information secondhand and couldn’t reflect on it on the same level. I wondered: where do I belong? What is my identity? Could I live in Ethiopia?

‘Spending some time with my grandmother made me feel more deeply connected to my heritage. I discovered that it isn’t about your skin color, or how well you speak the language, or what kind of passport you have. Identity isn’t a single thing—it’s the sum of your experiences, it’s what you make of them.’

Did life in Ethiopia feel different than in Germany or the Netherlands?

‘I noticed that in Ethiopia I was more relaxed. It feels like I can be more of a human being there and be accepted for who I am, whereas in the Netherlands and Germany I’m always conscious of how I present myself.’

What do you think is the reason for that?

‘I have the impression that in Germany and the Netherlands, what I do matters more, because I essentially represent more than just myself. It’s as if one wrong step on my part immediately affects the entire Black community. Germany has become increasingly multicultural since the 1990s. But in the past, I was often the only Black girl in many places—people paid extra attention to me. I had little room to maneuver, so I made sure not to stand out any further.

‘I sometimes feel jealous when I see immigrants of color who behave loudly and casually, because I often think: Kine, you can’t be so ‘extra.’ I find it sad, because by holding back I limit myself. I’m slowly trying to allow that freer side of myself and be more true to who I am, without worrying about what others think.’

What made you decide to return to Tilburg for your master’s after your gap year?

‘I wanted to study clinical psychology in Frankfurt or Cologne, but I wasn’t accepted. I had become interested in positive psychology—a new field at the time that was only taught in the United Kingdom and in Tilburg. Studying in England was far too expensive, and in Tilburg the admission process was much easier for alumni, so the choice was made quickly.’

What do you find interesting about positive psychology?

‘Classical psychology focuses on what goes wrong in life, and how to make someone with an unhealthy mind healthy. Positive psychology looks at what goes right and how that can be stimulated. What does someone need to lead a good life? Both on a personal level and within a community? You can coach an individual, but you can also help companies create a healthy work environment or advise schools on setting up a good learning space.’

Enthusiastically: ‘My master’s changed my view of the Netherlands and Tilburg. I had more contact with Dutch people, especially through my positive psychology internship. The company where I interned works with children and students from vulnerable neighborhoods. They wanted to know what their approach did for the wellbeing of that group.

‘I had a great exchange with the owners of the company—I shared my scientific knowledge with them, and they introduced me to the cultural life in Tilburg. I went into the city more often and discovered how lively Tilburg is, even though the city gives off an introverted vibe at first.

‘I worked at Action for a while, which was a lot of fun. I got to know more Dutch people and practiced having simple conversations. I felt more and more at home. After a year of positive psychology, I switched to clinical neuropsychology because you need a clinical master’s degree to be allowed to treat people as a psychologist.’

What do you plan to do with your studies in the future?

‘I write poetry and take singing lessons. I want to see if I can integrate my artistic side into psychology. At first, I thought of music therapy, but I’m not sure yet.

‘It also seems interesting to me to work as a psychotherapist for Ethiopians in Germany. Many Ethiopians move to Europe for job opportunities, but that comes with all sorts of problems and disappointments. Many people miss their country and their family. My uncles and aunts moved to Germany after their studies, only to find out that their diploma wasn’t recognized, forcing them to take a job that doesn’t bring them satisfaction. I find it sad to see how many people have had to say goodbye to their dreams.

‘As an international, you aren’t taken seriously if you don’t speak good German. It’s difficult to express yourself well in a language you don’t fully master, especially when it comes to your feelings. I want to help with that. Because I’m multicultural and multilingual, I understand that not everything is as it seems. Some people, for example, think Ethiopians are rude because they don’t look you straight in the eye during a conversation, while an averted glance is, for them, a sign of respect when you don’t know someone well.

‘In Ethiopia, we don’t quickly share personal matters with strangers. White people—whether they’re Germans or Dutch—are often seen by Africans as meddlesome, even though they often ask questions out of genuine interest. But an African might think: what are you getting involved in? Africans don’t dive deep that quickly. As a result, many Germans and Dutch assume that Africans don’t want to talk to you or prefer to be left alone—they just need some time. So be open, and don’t be so quick to label someone’s behavior from another culture.’

It is mid-December when I speak with Dawit again, this time via WhatsApp. A month after our meeting in Tilburg, she is back with her family in Germany. Even her grandmother has permanently moved from Ethiopia.

‘We live together with three generations!’ Dawit writes excitedly. In mid-January, an update follows. In October, she will officially complete her master’s in Tilburg. In the coming months, she will intern in Frankfurt, and afterwards she plans to look for a job in Germany.

‘It wasn’t a spontaneous decision,’ she explains, ‘but the conclusion of a long process of thought. Initially, I planned to stay in the Netherlands, but I realized that my life would have to start from scratch again—learning a new language, forging new bonds. If I stayed here, I’d only be putting up barriers for myself. I want to be closer to my family and my boyfriend, and I think I have a better chance of finding work in Germany. So I’m taking the plunge and going to see if a better life awaits me in Germany.’

How do you look back on your studies in the Netherlands?

‘I’m glad I came back and discovered a new side of Tilburg. I would recommend studying here to everyone. In my opinion, the pace of study is a bit too high, but the atmosphere here is more open than in Germany. There are many study opportunities, and the academic advisors and educational coordinators are always there to support and advise you. My thesis supervisor was very kind—I could always count on her for help. All these staff members radiate the message: everyone is different; let’s see what works for you. You can feel that the university truly wants you to succeed.’

What has coming to Tilburg brought you?

‘In Tilburg, I got to know myself. I met my best friends here and had my first relationship.’ With a laugh: ‘But I also discovered that there are many things I can do alone that I’d rather not do by myself. I prefer to rely on other people, and that’s okay.’