Awele’’

When I first stepped off the plane in Berlin, excitement coursed through me. I had left Nigeria with big dreams, believing that hard work and talent would open doors in Germany. It was a fresh start, a chance to build a career in tech and immerse myself in a new culture. But I quickly learned that reality here was different from the vision I had in my head.

Despite my degree in computer engineering and years of experience, finding a job wasn’t easy. The rejection emails piled up, all saying the same thing: “You need more local experience” or “Your German proficiency isn’t strong enough.” I knew I was qualified, but those words cut deep, making me question if I’d ever be seen beyond my accent or skin color. I eventually took a customer service job at a tech startup. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I needed to survive. I worked twice as hard as my colleagues, often staying late, perfecting projects, and anticipating every need. Yet, my efforts felt invisible. My coworkers got promotions while I stayed stuck, and it became clear that being a Black African woman in this space was a hurdle in itself.

But I refused to let it break me. I threw myself into learning German, attended networking events, and kept pushing forward. After two grueling years, I landed a junior software developer role at a respected firm. The victory felt hollow, though. It took twice the work and three times the patience to get to where others seemed to glide effortlessly. I was proud but exhausted.

Dating was supposed to be easier. I thought love might be my refuge, but that turned out to be another challenge. Many times, I’d hear, “You’re so exotic,” as if I were an object, not a person. Or worse: “I’ve never dated a Black woman before.” Those words weren’t flattering; they were isolating. I was being fetishized, not seen. Dating outside the African community meant enduring the stares and whispers when I held hands with a white partner. It was tiring, feeling like we were always on display like our love was something to be scrutinized. Even dating within the African diaspora wasn’t without its issues. Some men saw my ambition as a flaw, believing I was too career-driven or “too much.”

Still, I’ve found meaningful connections. A few relationships brought joy, even if they didn’t last. My friends, a patchwork of different cultures and experiences, have become my family here. They get it. They understand what it’s like to navigate loneliness, racism, and ambition in a foreign country. Their support is what keeps me grounded.

Yet, racism in Germany lingers, often subtle but ever-present. It’s in the way I’m followed in stores, how my qualifications are questioned more than my white colleagues, or how people hesitate to sit next to me on trains. Even when I speak fluent German, there’s that flicker of surprise, as if I don’t belong here. These moments chip away at me, but I refuse to let them define my experience. I’ve started speaking out, joining diversity initiatives, and sharing my story on panels. My voice may shake, but it matters.

Balancing work, relationships, and the weight of racism is exhausting. Some days, I feel like I’m performing non-stop smiling through meetings, perfecting my German, brushing off microaggressions, and still showing up as my best self. It’s draining, but I’ve learned resilience. I’ve learned to stand tall in spaces that weren’t built for me, to love myself when the world around me forgets to, and to keep going even when it feels like the odds are stacked against me.

For now, that’s enough. I’m shaping my life on my terms. I may be tired, but I’m thriving. And that, to me, is victory.