Snapshots from the ASAUK Conference 2026@ Durham University: Part II

 5 min. read

Part I

Durham, UK (c) Jeffrey Zhang (Unsplash)

Breakfast is included in the price of the room. I’d usually skip out on it during a weekday, considering it too indulgent. I’m nonetheless so scandalised by the daily fee, I insist on getting my money’s worth.  At breakfast, Diego introduces me to Gina, one of his compatriots whom he’s met at the conference. The full gamut of my Portuguese is on display, from the worst to the best. At least it’s practice. I ask if either have come across other Lusophones. They nod. Gina mentions over-hearing some fellow Brazilians and speaking to a Cape Verdean participant.

I’m hoping Diego will accompany me to the main venue but he’s yet to check out. He’ll meet me there, during my intervention for which I’m already late. I have no idea how to get to the lecture hall. I take a chance by following a young woman with what looks like a conference bag.

It’s quite a trek to the lecture theatre. I don’t trust my orientation skills to have made it on my own. In the process, I reckon I work off at least a bit of the more generous than usual breakfast I’ve consumed (a portion of scrambled eggs, veggie sausages, baked beans, a dollop of yoghurt, sprinklings of muesli, fruit and half a bagel? Wanton excess).

I arrive at the venue in time for the latter half of the first of my co-panellist’s talk, as part of the Histories of Women at Work: Works of Care stream. Diego arrives as the second panellist, Matimba, is in full flow. She’s a confident white Zimbabwean post-doc, currently based at Cambridge University. Her activist parents decided to reverse the colonial convention and give their daughter an indigenous name. Matimba has in turn done the same for her son, whom she claims doesn’t have any connection to her Zimbabwean ‘roots’ otherwise. I get it, I tell her, I’m just not sure what I think about it. 

I’d be the first to decry the proliferation of Western names amongst Africans. Matimba agrees with my framing of it as a form of cultural annihilation. Nevertheless, on reflection, I’m not as convinced as she that the response is for more Europeans to give their children African names. 

It’s well-intentioned but comes across as a paternalistic gimmick and even cultural appropriation. The aim is not for more white people to walk around with non-Western names. It is for African parents not to feel embarrassed/reluctant/hesitant/sceptical about giving their children indigenous first names (forget that middle name business that so few people ever use in every day life). 

Despite the many ways Anglophone Europeans in particular find to butcher my own West African name, and being aware that in a world of systemic discrimination it puts a target on my back in certain contexts, I still wear it as a badge of honour. I often say, only half-joking, that it’s the one truly African thing about me.

(c) Tiago Silva

Structural racism makes us overly concerned with what white Westerners think of our names. What should matter is how we Africans regard them. That won’t change simply because a few Caucasians choose Kwesi over Kevin, or Bunmi over Becca for their own children. It's not a favour to be returned.

If we diverge over nomenclature, Matimba and I have overlaps in our research, which we share during and after the session. Over the course of the day, I’ll be made to understand that my intervention was received well. Rehearsing ad nauseum was not in vain.

I enjoy some choice snacks during the tea break (another indulgence) and a convivial conversation about Afro haircare with a Nigerian artist accompanying her academic husband. Now that my presentation is behind me, I’m free to roam the conference, spread all over Durham’s campus. I’ve already spotted three sessions I’d like to attend at the same time. In the end I narrow it down to a panel on former liberation movements in Southern Africa and another about the economic imperialism inflicted on African states by international financial institutions, bond markets and Eco-colonialists. I end up at the latter when I discover the other has no more seating left. I’ll be glad to have made that choice. The session on economic imperialism has a more ethnically-diverse, not to mention all-female, panel.  In any case, I’m ever-ready for a refresher on economic policy, as I often feel my grip on that domain remains tenuous. 

It turns out that two thirds of the panel and some of the audience all write for the same anti-imperialist publication which, to my shame, I’ve not heard of until that point. The session is followed by lively discussion about the agency of African heads-of-state in their own oppression (and therefore their potential liberation), the wedge that neoliberal policies drive between social and economic policy, and whether a ‘purist’ Marxist class analysis is adequate for attending to the intersectional nuances of marginalisation.

(c) Jeffrey Zhang (Unsplash)

Two of the guests are of Ghanaian extraction. One of them, Dzidula – as I guess from her indigenous name – is part of the Ewe ethnic group, like my late maternal grandfather. Thanks to her, I learn my mother’s surname is the equivalent in Eʋe of ‘Makinde’ in Yoruba; that is ‘the one born after twins’.  Dzidula sees many linguistic similarities between the Ewes and Yoruba. I've learned something new. I was aware of the historical link between the Yoruba and the Ga but ignorant of any connection with the Ewes. 

Incidentally, that day I'm wearing a traditional outfit handmade by my Ewe colleague, Geraldine. I'll regret not sharing this small detail with Auntie Dzidula.

I’ll insist on calling Dzidula 'auntie', which makes her feel awkward. I mean nothing but respect by it. She’s of my mother’s generation. It’ll be like calling my mum by her first name. 

We convene for lunch and I find out more about the others in the anti-imperialist collective. (Uncle) Kofi studied law up to PhD level before dedicating his life to professional activism. He found his legal studies in the UK too ‘positivist’, he says. Dzidula spent most of her academic career in Ghana, and then accepted an opportunity to work for a prestigious London university to avoid spending her whole working life in one location. Independent researcher Portia, originally from Italy, knows more about the activist credentials of one of my almae matres than I do.

Before I realise, the afternoon is fast spent. I can squeeze in one more session before leaving to catch my train. The decision about which panel to attend is already made and life is much easier for it. Loyalty demands I join Diego’s session, chaired by Kadija Sesay. It’s a very eclectic panel, with presentations on performance-based Yoruba funeral rites, representations of the enslaved in West African cinema as well as Diego’s paper on Gayl Jones' depictions of Brazil in Anglophone literature that side-step fetish and cliché. The post-show discussion is as vibrant as the previous panel I attended, if not more so. I manage to catch up with Dr. George before and after the session. She has a hard time placing me until I pass her my business card. In fairness, it’s been a decade or two since our last encounter.

Another tea break. I say ‘Até logo’ to Diego and ‘Adeus’ to Gina, grabbing a couple more deluxe flapjacks on the way out to catch my bus to Durham train station. To my chagrin, I’ll miss out on yet another conference keynote lecture.

As I step out into the sunny and mild afternoon, I hear inflections of melodious Portuguese as a group of Brazilian scholars congregate in front of the lecture theatre, before we all eventually head towards the same bus stop.

Snapshots from the ASAUK Conference 2026@ Durham University: Part I

 5 min. read

(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.

Durham, UK (c) Jeffrey Zhang (Unsplash)

I start to curtail my conference plans according to the ballooning budget. I’m not getting any university funding for this trip, at least not yet. Furthermore, the Eurostar rates are pricier around that period. Add to that the train ticket to Durham, and even with the best available deal, it all mounts up (I could 'coach' it but the bus timetable doesn’t suit my agenda). I already know I’m not planning to stay for the whole three days of ASAUK 2026. I have Manifiesta plans back in Belgium that same weekend. However, I did hope to attend for two days at least. In the end, I cut my cloth according to my size and only participate on the day that I’m presenting. Alas, it won’t give me as much time to fraternise with other attendees as I’d like.

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