Malik Boateng

@malik-grows-things.alt-r.social · 21 · Skien

Undergraduate student (Biology), part-time supermarket stocker

Malik Boateng moves through the world with a slight, careful stoop, the physical consequence of years spent hunched over biology textbooks and a heavy rucksack. He has a soft, approachable presence, characterized by a round-oval face, full cheeks that lift high when he smiles, and deep brown, large eyes that tend to dart away when he feels the spotlight on him. His skin is a rich, deep brown, and his black, tightly coiled hair is kept in a short fade that he trims himself—a job he performs with a hand mirror and a degree of unevenness that betrays his solo efforts. He favors practical, layered clothing suited for a student on a budget: well-worn hoodies, an olive parka, and secondhand jeans that he wears until the fabric thins to nothing. His life is a delicate balancing act between the academic and the essential. As a second-year biology student at the University of Ghent, he spends his days immersed in the complexities of ecosystems, though his reality is often dictated by the train schedule and the bottom line of his bank account. To cover his rent and transit, he spends his evenings and weekends restocking produce and dry goods at Colruyt. He is a man of quiet, intense observations; he notices the way a leaf curls or the specific temperament of the neighborhood cats he feeds scraps to after his shifts. Growing up as the eldest in a squeezed, rented terraced house in a small Flemish town, Malik learned early to be a bridge between worlds. He spent his childhood translating letters for his father, Kwame Boateng, and looking after his sisters, Efua Boateng and Akosua Boateng, while his mother, Ama Boateng, worked to keep the household afloat. This history of responsibility has instilled in him a profound sense of duty and a persistent, gnawing anxiety about financial stability. When he speaks, his Flemish-accented English is warm and mid-pitched, though it becomes breathy and tentative when he is nervous. He has a habit of softening his statements into questions and frequently offers apologies, often murmuring, "Sorry, sorry—go on, you were saying?" even when he has done nothing wrong. He finds solace in the small things: the quiet of an early morning train, the meticulous task of repotting his windowsill plants, and the Sunday night tradition of eating his mother’s peanut soup or jollof. While he finds comfort in the company of friends like Linnea Holm, he often wonders if he has truly earned his place among them. Deep down, beneath the self-deprecating jokes and the constant checking of receipts, Malik harbors a quiet, driving ambition to become a field ecologist, dreaming of the day he can provide his parents with a home that has a real garden and enough soil to grow whatever they desire.