The project’s roots go back to the spring of 2021. At the time, I developed an initial idea in response to an upcoming call for a Dutch infrastructure grant. What followed were months of intense collaboration with colleagues from Utrecht and Rotterdam, as well as Kate Ekama from Stellenbosch University. We built the proposal piece by piece, drafting a complex budget, holding countless meetings with faculty members, and navigating the intricacies of project administration, finances, and HR. It was a serious, collective effort.
And then it was rejected.
Not only was the proposal turned down, it was deemed ineligible. In my view, the funder had effectively changed the rules during the process. I spent days drafting a rebuttal, but it made no difference. The decision stood.
It was a difficult moment. I felt disillusioned, even somewhat ashamed that the proposal had not made it past the first round. Eventually, the project was filed away in a familiar place, a folder on my laptop filled with unrealized ideas, half-written articles, and unfulfilled academic ambitions. There it remained for years, while the academic train kept moving and other, smaller projects took priority.
What changed everything were two seemingly small, almost accidental encounters. In late September 2024, after a meeting in Utrecht, I offered a former colleague, Wouter Ryckbosch, a ride home. We caught up about life and work. The next day, he reached out to continue the conversation and explore whether we might develop something more concrete together.
That same week, I also connected with Eva Marie Lehner, a postdoctoral researcher at the Bonn Center for Slavery and Dependency Studies. I had been following her work, and we shared a mutual connection in Kate Ekama.
At that point, the old idea resurfaced. It seemed possible to revive the earlier plan, to dust off the infrastructure proposal and reshape it into a research project.
We had just two months before the submission deadline, which made for an intense period of work. We met frequently, refined the concept, and I once again navigated the familiar carousel of preparatory meetings with university administration to clear internal hurdles.
Eventually, we submitted the proposal late November 2024 and let it go. The academic train never stops. Teaching quickly took over my attention, and the proposal gradually slipped to the back of my mind.
But then, in April 2025, out of the blue, an email landed in my inbox. It was from Anna Kuschmann, project manager at the Gerda Henkel Stiftung. There were two attachments and a message containing just one enigmatic sentence: “I am pleased to send you the attached letters.” I opened the files immediately and read that the project had been accepted for funding. I was over the moon, walking on sunshine, and I reached out straight away to Wouter, Kate, Eva, and everyone else who had helped make this happen.
If there is one takeaway from this story, it is this: never delete that folder of unused project ideas. Academic work rarely follows a straight line. Ideas take time to mature, and sometimes they simply wait for the right combination of people and circumstances. Keep those old ideas. Rekindle past collaborations. And remain open to new connections, because you never know which conversation might bring a project back to life.
