5 min. read
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| (c) Al Nik (Unsplash) |
I’m officially just over the halfway mark of my PhD and it’s getting real. Nebulous enquiry and rabbit holes must submit to the discipline of tailored arguments, if my colleagues and I are to complete our projects on time. Our supervisor, Brigitta advises us from very early on in the (calendar) year to focus on writing, and not be distracted by attending too many conferences. This advice is especially apt to me. My first year and early into my second were awash with academic presentations. I didn’t expect to receive so many positive responses to my abstract submissions. It’s been a heck of a ride. My conference adventures have afforded me the privilege of travel further afield both in Europe and on the African continent. Conference preparation has been great in helping me formulate arguments. However, it is time consuming and disruptive to the regular programme.
At the start
of 2026, I finally experience what it’s like to have an abstract submission turned
down. That one would take me to Senegal, all expenses paid. You can
imagine how tough the competition is. Several hundred applications for 20
spaces. The rejection turns out to be a blessing in disguise. Life gets pretty hectic
around that time. Dakar will wait, I suppose.
To adhere to Brigitta’s admonition, I limit myself to one other conference application this year. The call for submissions by the African Studies Association of the UK (ASAUK) comes on my radar via the British Black Studies Digest in autumn 2025; almost a whole year before the next biennial conference is scheduled to take place. The 2026 theme, Narrative, Power and the making of African Worlds is a cosy fit for my research. It takes place early/mid-September at Durham University, in England’s North-East. (Not as glamourous as Dakar, of course). I start to re-arrange my Q3/Q4 2026 plans around it. If my abstract is accepted, I’ll bring forward my usual late autumn UK trip and combine academic business with pleasure, passing by London to see family and friends. Fortunately, my submission is successful.
By the time ASAUK 2026 rolls around, it feels like a lifetime has elapsed between when I first spotted the call for abstracts.
According to the conference website, there are umpteen streams. I’m concerned that the vastness of the event will lead to all kinds of organisational faux pas, including important, travel-related info coming through last minute. To my relief, the organisers release a tentative programme at least a month in advance, so I know exactly when to travel up to Durham ahead of my session. The conference programme is as intimidatingly lengthy and detailed as I fear. So many panels, too little time.
On the plus side, I find it extremely reassuring to see so many African names amongst those
giving interventions. I’d guess it would be more than the (personal) fifty-percent
threshold of Afrodescendants that I already consider pretty decent. The Yoruba
ethnic group seems to be especially well represented. The head of operations is
also Nigerian. Given the geographical focus of ASAUK, a strong African
presence should be obvious. I’m just so used to Europeans and other non-Afrodescendants
dominating the academic space, even when it comes to matters concerning the African
continent, it remains somewhat a novelty.
One of the draws of attending a conference in the UK is the thought that it would be cheaper than the usual academic excursion elsewhere. I’ll be staying at mum’s for free for most of the trip. I’m sure that I can find decent and affordable accommodation near Durham Uni. Neither do I expect the registration fee to be especially high. I’m wrong on both fronts.
It's proportionally the most expensive conference I’ve attended, with eye-watering daily rates for academics based in Europe – even for pre-docs. For some reason, I can’t find any cheap and cheerful lodgings in Durham either. I don’t want to risk staying outside the city in case it’s a nightmare to commute. I turn to the ASAUK organisers for assistance. They do indeed have available campus accommodation – at double the nightly rate I’d hoped to pay, and for what turns out to be a new and clean – but still basic – room.
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| Durham, UK (c) Jeffrey Zhang (Unsplash) |
At least I’ll have
company from my research team. Diego is a visiting professor at the Belgian
University, originally from the North-East of Brazil. Naturally, my interest in
the language and culture – especially Brazilian music – facilitates our rapport. Diego is very patient as I try to practise my still-faltering Portuguese (precisely
because I don’t get enough oral practice).
Diego will be presenting as part of the stream coordinated by writer, literary
scholar and general Girl-About-Town, Kadija George. Kadija and I met many
moons ago, in a different literary context. I look forward to reconnecting when
I attend Diego’s intervention.
On arriving at Durham, it’s soon clear that the conference is taking over the city. I stop a random fellow and ask for directions, assuming he’s a member of the general university population. He's not. His response instead suggests we’re in town for the same event.
Interacting with locals, I realise that I’ve developed an affection
for the North-Eastern intonation with age. It could also be attributed to
having spent so long out of the UK.
I ask a bus driver at Durham station’s terminus whether I’m on the right track to locate my accommodation. He gently reprimands me for not letting all the passengers off first before stepping on board. ‘Oops. Londoner’, I reply apologetically. It’s odd, since in Belgium, I try to be attentive to this sort of etiquette because so many Bruxellois are not.
On the eve of my presentation, after checking in to the accommodation, I squeeze in a couple more run-throughs. My panel is first thing in the morning. It’s been weeks in the making. I can’t say I’ve committed my intervention to memory but I have been working on cadence and making sure my speech is dynamic enough to hold folks’ attention. I’m not one of the numerous academics I meet who can arrive at a conference with their presentation still incomplete. My brain just doesn’t work that way.
Part II
