About Sani
Madaniyyah Sani is a Türkiye Scholarships awardee and an undergraduate student of Software Engineering. Her interests span across women in tech advocacy, education accessibility, and cultural diplomacy. Having lived and studied across Nigeria, Kenya, Abu Dhabi, and Türkiye, she brings a rich global perspective to her academic and personal initiatives. She is also an active member of the Association of Nigerian Scholarship Students in Konya (ANSSKO).
I wanted to go back the moment I arrived. An overwhelming wave of self-doubt hit me. It wasn’t really about Konya; if anything, the city has a quiet charm. The Mevlana Museum is stunning I like how it sits at the heart of the city, deeply intertwined with both daily life and culture. The architecture of the mosques also stands out, each one different from the next. But even beauty can feel distant when you’re homesick. As international students, we’re all living the same story just in different fonts and at different paces.
When I first got to the dorm, the dorm manager was so nice too nice, in fact. Quite the contrast to what I was used to. She looked at us like puppies, which led to one of the first Turkish phrases I learned: “Çok tatlısın ya!” At the time, I didn’t know any Turkish, so we communicated through mimics sometimes frustrating, sometimes funny. Honestly, there were days I just nodded and smiled even though I had no idea what was going on.
The Shift
After my first year, I went home for the summer. It was everything I missed: the food, the people, the culture. And to be honest, I needed it. Seeing the proud faces of friends and family gave me the motivation and belief that I could do it again. Between us though… a good part of me didn’t want to return.
But something shifted on my way back. As the plane landed in Konya and we drove along the familiar roads, I caught myself thinking, “I’m home.” That thought startled me. Konya, home? The same place I once couldn’t wait to leave.
Maybe that’s how you know you’re growing—when the unfamiliar starts feeling familiar without you even noticing. I started to appreciate the ease of life here more because, the truth is, I can navigate Konya better than I can navigate Abuja. That’s what independence does. At home, I’m Mimi. Here, I’m Madaniyyah.
Acquired Taste
Then I reached the stage everyone had promised the part where it actually gets better. I knew I was there when I started drinking Ayran. A drink I once described as salty milk became quite tolerable an acquired taste that mirrored my relationship with Konya. It wasn’t just about mastering the tram and bus system. It’s realizing that feeling at home lives in small, unexpected moments. It’s the proud moments when I can hold a short conversation in Turkish, before they go too deep and I fall back on my default reply: “Tamam.”
One thing I’ve found really interesting is how people react when I say I’m Nigerian. If they know the country, I’m always curious to hear their thoughts. So far, I haven’t heard anything negative. Most times it’s about football someone always brings up Osimhen.
Thorns and Pressure
On most days, I feel like I’ve got it. Then there are the hell days when bureaucratic processes and the weight of constant studying take me back to square one. Days when I have to run after the tram because I’m late. Days when I forget my umbrella or don’t dress warmly enough, and I end up freezing because we’re going through all four seasons in one day.
Have I mentioned the imposter syndrome that creeps in? It feels like being an international student means you’re expected to be either extraordinarily brilliant or hopelessly lost. It’s a pressure that makes every small setback sting a little more.
Some professors here are genuinely like friends. They don’t take the whole “respect me because I’m your teacher” thing too seriously, and that makes learning easier. It’s a small thing, but it makes university life feel a little less scary.
Quiet Belonging
What I love about Konya is how many parks there are. Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed or just need to clear my head, there’s always a park nearby where I can sit, get some air, and reset. Sometimes, just sitting on a bench and watching life go by is the best therapy.
Time is a strange translator far better than Google Translate. Konya is not a city that hugs you on the first day. But if you give it time, it opens up. It teaches you things you didn’t know you were ready to learn.
The long, uncertain looks from a Teyze or Amca no longer feel judgmental. I’m simply a story they’ve never read before. And my time in Konya is definitely a special chapter.
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