When I was in high school, I told my friends I wanted to become president of my country one day (This is extremely hilarious because I‘m from Tanzania). A step above what I had told my dad a bit more than a decade ago that I wanted to become a minister…of what? I don’t know. I was ten. I was just patriotic.
In my last two years of schooling, I attended one of those fancy international schools because I was a smart kid™. My O Level grades were not perfect, but something to boast about back then: I had four As, including in MATHS! (thirteen years later and I’m still shook. I only got Cs and Ds in my tests). I wrote a great application essay for a scholarship at the school that would later become my school. I passed the written exams which were algebra (ugh) and writing, and the interview in which I had conversations with seven people for ten minutes each. I somehow managed to convince them that I had big dreams worth investing in and that I believed in my ability to achieve those dreams one day.
At 29, most of those dreams I had have either faded or been crushed by the brutality of capitalism and forces beyond my individual power.
The first dream to fade was that of becoming a doctor, although I’m not even sure I can call this a “dream”. I didn’t even want to become a doctor, but a miscommunication during a conversation with a family member led to “Nibwene wants to become a doctor” being repeated at family gatherings for several years. I was good at Biology and excellent at O Level Chemistry. So, I thought, why not? Doctors make decent money. In my first year of the IB program, I got a 4 (a solid mid in the IB grading scale) in my Chemistry HL (higher level) final. I wasn’t even bothered. I was just happy I got a great grade in History HL. I enjoyed learning history as much as I did in my O Level education. Adding to my knowledge of African history, I learned about the tensions in Western Asia since 1948, the Cold War, the civil rights movements in the Americas and democracy in India and South Africa. I even wrote a paper on the rights of Indigenous People in Canada. We regularly watched historical dramas and documentaries in the school’s cinema. Our history teacher, the Australian globe-trotting Argentinian-tea-drinking Mr Hunt, shared interesting articles in politics and history on a Facebook page he had created for the class and, I think, he was a communist.
By grade 12, I wanted nothing to do with STEM. I was set on studying political science, international relations, or even writing (gasp) in university. I decided to give it a shot and try getting into the IR world. I ended up studying IR (and political science, I guess) and history for my bachelor’s and international affairs and EU governance for my master’s.
With only an IB Diploma to my name, I got an internship at the United Nations Climate Change (UNFCCC) HQ in Bonn, an experience that changed my life (overall positive). I went on to do internships and student jobs at other prestigious dreamy places yearned for by IR students: the International Renewable Energy Agency, Germany’s GIZ, the Research Institute for Sustainability and the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research. I grew my network and collected experience for work in the climate and energy sector. For five years, I was laser-focused on building myself for a full-time role in the sector, somewhere in Berlin, where I am, Bonn, where I previously was, or Brussels (*laughs in my non-EU passport*), where I now know I’ll never be. I even co-founded a student club for African Policy and led a cool week-long event with great speakers, lots of in-person and online guests, and great food! My graduation was at the Berliner Philharmonie on a beautiful summer day in 2024. I fully believed that the future was mine. In other words, I was delulu.
And then the mass rejections came.
I had received rejections before. This time it was too much for my frail little heart. At the same time, I was taking note of the nepotism and blatant discrimination in the hiring process in this particular field. It was sad because these are the same people who claim to be for fairness, human rights, sustainable development bla bla. I got all my previous positions by applying for them, so I thought it would always be that straightforward. I never knew anyone in the teams I worked in prior to joining, but now I heard that it’s all about “who you know”. Someone even told me not to apply for jobs if I don’t know anyone in the team/office hiring. Huh?
In my unemployment era, which started exactly a week after the Eras Tour in Hamburg, there were several periods when I felt completely detached from reality. This can’t be real, I thought. I was the girl who had turned down an interview for an internship at the Green Climate Fund just four years prior because I had a better offer. Now, I was in people’s inboxes, both E-Mail and LinkedIn, desperately asking them if they had a job, any job, for someone like me. I got a total of two positive responses. One invited me to a chat that led nowhere, probably my own fault because I glitched when asked a technical question, and the other was encouraging and acknowledged that I’ve got “a really strong CV” in the areas they work in and that I should apply when positions are open. I had, in fact, applied for four positions just a few months prior, and, each time, I was ghosted.
My ego was bruising faster than my bank account was depleting. I applied for a mentorship program for young women from my region (SADC – Southern Africa) in climate and energy which was supposed to be a year-long thing, but I terminated it after 8 months. I was in a dark place. I had started to fully spiral some time in the summer of 2025 after not getting a job following the only interview I had that entire year. That Monday, several hours after receiving the rejection E-Mail, I went to see Tyla at a club and allowed myself to dissociate as the same Amapiano hits were replayed every hour while the MC strung us along saying, Tyla is on her way, until she actually showed up at almost 1 am. Tuesday morning, basically. The ticket was 16€ so maybe I shouldn’t complain too much.
My last proper job application was on 01 January this year. I sent what others and I thought was a very strong application for a position with an old employer. It was the perfect role for a recent graduate who was familiar with the specifics thanks to having worked in an adjacent team not too long ago. I even tried the who you know thing and asked an old colleague to put in a good word for me. After a long search, it finally felt like things might be working for me. An interview? I hope. A job? Let’s not jinx it, but OMG it could finally be time (some thoughts in my head from at that time).
I got the rejection E-Mail a week later while I was at a Lidl with my partner stocking up for several snowy days ahead. Grocery shopping is one of my top 5 all-time favourite things to do (seriously), but after reading that E-Mail I wanted nothing more than to abandon everything we had in our cart and go home so I could cry until I passed out.
Then, two months ago, I made this poster on Canva and said fuck it and posted it on LinkedIn.
You might have noticed the pattern if you made it to this point: rejection, crash out, try again. Believe me, I hate myself for it.
The response to my poster was very positive. Don’t hold your breath though; I did not get a job offer simply because I couldn’t bring myself to apply for most positions that were shared with me because of the ridiculous requirements for experience and videos (wtf?!). Or maybe that’s just what I’ve been telling myself to avoid applying for anything. Staying away from the application process for nearly five months has helped me heal a tiny bit or, at the very least, kept me calm and untriggered long enough to feel okay and stop regretting my life choices. Who knows what another “we regret to inform you” might do to me. I know I have to get back into it at some point soon.
To end this very long entry on a positive note, I did get one promising lead for a freelance gig because of my poster. Someone I didn’t know at all actually reached out to me after seeing it. In a different time, I would be scared to even mention it on the internet out of fear of bringing bad luck. But this is 2026 and not many of the established ideas and beliefs make sense anymore. To quote a famous songstress, I ain’t gotta knock on wood. This also made me realise that I want to be a freelancer for now so that I can continue to have the free time to explore my other interests and craft new less delulu dreams for myself. Without a doubt, my new dreams won’t involve politics (seriously, I don’t want to end up dead) and will be fully in line with the saying secure the bag.
I’m still a believer and I don’t know why (mirrorball, Taylor Swift)
the writing nib 
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