6 min. read
(Part 1)
Easily the most time and energy consuming pursuit of late has been an application to do a PhD programme at one of Belgium’s leading universities. I receive notification of three funded literary studies fellowships related to the African diaspora, via a cross-cultural mailing list I'm on. The notification comes courtesy of the supervising professor, Dr Birgitta Puller. She’s recently relocated to Belgium from Germany to take up tenure at The University. Our paths have briefly crossed before in certain academic and related spaces; tenuous enough for us to have only hazy recollection of each other. Fate brings us together again.
The PhD themes are intriguing, the fringe benefits are great and thanks to a heavy tax reduction for students, the salary seems decent by Brussels’ standards.
Two of the fellowships are of particular interest but I end up applying for all three, to better my odds. I’m eventually asked to interview for two. Ironically, the first for which I receive a response is the one in which I’m least invested.
Each interview requires a five-minute Powerpoint presentation on a given theme, the slides for which need to be forwarded two days ahead of the interview. A clerical hick-up means the instructions for one of the interviews arrive with over a week’s delay, a day before a planned trip to the UK.
The interviews take place within a week of each other. I feel I can’t start preparing the second until I’ve finished the first. I plunge myself into research and interview prep. There’s an added pressure given that, as usual, I keep knowledge of the interview to myself. Whilst my family are aware I’ve applied for the PhD, they don’t know when I progress to the next stage. I only inform my life coach Pieter, during our monthly meet-up, when we both happen to be in London, a few days before my first interview. I also inform my friend, Oxford professor Danny Dorling. His support and input is invaluable throughout the process. He and my former MA supervisor, write glowing recommendations to accompany my application. Danny’s reference is so effusive, I tell him no mere mortal could be as good as he makes me out to be. In any case, I credit these great references for me eventually being shortlisted.
Both Pieter and Danny are chuffed for me. The weeks leading up to and during the interviews are somewhat frenetic. I’m constantly exhausted. Whilst initially disappointed that I’m not interviewed for the third fellowship, I start to see it as a blessing in disguise. It would have been too overwhelming. Both interviews go fairly well. The mistakes made in the first allow me to give a slicker performance for the second.
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| VUB University campus, Brussels |
There is nonetheless initial cause for cautious optimism. Dr Puller proposes we get back in touch soon. She adds that we should continue on a first name basis (Birgitta - hard ‘G’). Yet, as I slowly share the news with family, select friends and acquaintances (very few of whom knew about the application in the first place), I lose some of that optimism. It’s not the first time that a prospective employer sets up a meeting, implies there could be future collaboration and then it comes to nothing. I don’t want to be misled again.
That weekend I’ve planned a number of socials which I’m tempted to cancel. Politeness prevents me. That same afternoon, I honour a long-planned appointment with my friend Sylvia. I recount everything from scratch. The tears flow freely and often that day. Sylvia leaves space for that, in a sympathetic but tough love manner. (It's an odd day in general. I run into other acquaintances at this inopportune time.)
The application could only have gone one of two ways. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. A month or so before being called for interview, I have a vivid dream about a less-than-positive outcome. I once heard a pastor say some things are either God or the devil. It could also have been my nervous subconscious speaking. In any case, it helped prepare my mind if the results weren’t favourable. But still. I’m winded by the news. I feel especially bad reflecting on Danny's zeal; how he went over and beyond with his help and guidance. In some ways, I feel worse for him than myself. Danny continues to be supportive and is in no way recriminatory. He’s far more hopeful of what might come out of any future discussions with Birgitta than I am.
True to her word, Dr Puller promptly offers to meet offline before she leaves for her Easter holidays.
Good old German efficiency. There’s no time like the present. I'm eager for targeted feedback about my application. I'm not anticipating much else. I don’t doubt Birgitta’s sincerity. Nevertheless, if she’s a new member of staff, I reason that there’s only so much she’ll be able to do for me. I prepare myself for a commiserative meeting.
Birgitta does offer solace. She explains exactly how fierce the competition was and that I made it to a shortlist of five, twice. I also came pretty close with the third application, she adds. She proceeds to lay out a few options. Before I have time to process her words, she's offering me a project coordination role with the opportunity to study for a PhD over the next four years. I duly accept, trying to maintain my composure whilst inside, I’m on the verge of an out-of-body experience. Have I just heard correctly?
In case I have any doubts, Birgitta wastes no time in setting the wheels in motion before she leaves for her holidays. The fellowship begins in June. The following weeks and months are replete with a mountain of admin and numerous email exchanges. With the exception of mum, Pieter and Danny, family and friends are kept out of the loop until most of the formalities are out of the way. Not even my therapist knew. I am immensely moved by the joyful reactions from various quarters.
Still, it's undeniable that my life is about to change significantly and for upbeat reasons. All the nudges from loved ones to consider seriously a career in academia are being vindicated. Since doing my masters, I’ve been more open to the idea of a PhD. At the same time, paradoxically, I’d never thought of myself as a 'natural' academic. I'm intellectually inquisitive, sure but it's not necessarily the same thing. And yet here I am.
A German professor who moves to Belgium almost two years after I left TTUO is the vehicle of change in my life. Two plus years of soul-searching and turbulence. An unexpected blessing in a roundabout way. It happened when it happened. Not a minute sooner and not a minute too late.
If God indeed has a sense of humour, it’s a dry one. At least in my case.
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