Altes Volksbad: Space for collaboration and community

The Altes Volksbad is a place that goes far beyond the idea of a coworking space or incubator. Originally built as a public bathhouse for the residents of the multicultural Neckarstadt-West neighborhood in Mannheim, the building has been repurposed into a multifunctional hub that now hosts a wide range of initiatives, all united by a common vision: to build enterprises that are sustainable, collaborative, and deeply rooted in the local territory.

Walking through its corridors means moving through layers of function and intention. The showers and bathtubs on the ground floor have not disappeared—they’ve been reimagined as spaces for exhibitions, events, and community activities. The core of the working area is located on the upper floors, with an open coworking space, meeting rooms, offices, and shared workstations.

What makes this place unique is not just the coexistence of entrepreneurial projects, but the culture that animates it: a culture of collaboration, exchange, and shared growth. The Altes Volksbad is not simply a physical structure—it is an environment that encourages dialogue across disciplines, sectors, and languages. Everyone brings their own expertise, but also a willingness to connect it with that of others.

One of the most meaningful moments for me was the braai—a community barbecue held in the inner courtyard. Everyone brought something to eat and share. Among us were social entrepreneurs, innovators, cultural workers, consultants, and more. There were no badges, no formal roles. We cooked together, ate together, and talked about work and life—freely and without barriers.

This experience led me to reflect on how physical spaces can shape professional relationships. The presence of shared areas, meeting rooms, and open, accessible courtyards is not just a design feature—it is a cultural and political choice. It fosters exchange between projects, encourages informal discussion, and breaks down divisions between roles and sectors.

I believe that Altes Volksbad is a concrete example of social innovation built on collaborative ecosystems—able to integrate inclusion, sustainability, and entrepreneurship in a meaningful and lasting way.

Pietro Speziali, Eufemia (Italy)

Coming Home to a History I Never Lived—But Will Never Forget

There’s something about the scent of cinnamon and cardamom that brings memories rushing in, even ones that aren’t quite yours.

I’m standing in the Company’s Garden in Cape Town, the sun filtering through ancient trees, the chatter of birds mixing with the easy laughter of our group as we tuck into warm koesisters made by a Cape Malay auntie. The air carries a quiet dignity here. The food is comforting, nostalgic. But today, this is more than a picnic. It’s a pilgrimage. A reckoning. A return.

Earlier that morning, we visited the District Six Museum.

I’ve walked by that building on Buitenkant Street many times before. I’ve read the plaques, seen the faded street signs and sepia photographs in textbooks, nodded in solemn agreement about the tragedy of forced removals. But nothing prepared me for what it would feel like to enter the space where my mother’s childhood had been erased—street by street, brick by brick and witnessed by new friends.

As we stepped into the museum, I felt a weight settle into my chest. It was the kind of silence that doesn’t ask for words. The kind that holds you.

You walk across a floor map of the old neighbourhood. Each step, a name. Bloemhof Flats. Caledon Street. Hanover. The names my mother used to whisper when she spoke of her girlhood, her neighbours, the aunties who’d hand you half a banana over the wall, the uncle who played saxophone in the evenings. Ghosts, every one of them.

I didn’t grow up in District Six. I never lived there. But that morning, as I stood looking at the exhibits, a reconstructed home corner with a floral tablecloth, enamel mugs, a sewing machine like my grandmother’s, I realised how much of me still did.

My mother was young when they came. They didn’t ask. She and her family were given notice to leave under the Group Areas Act, told that the land they lived on, loved on, bled on, was no longer theirs. “For whites only.” Her family was moved to Bonteheuwel on the Cape Flats. They lost their home, their neighbours, their sense of belonging.

She never quite got over it. We were raised in a home where certain words were said with a kind of reverence. They were spoken like lullabies, like prayers. My mother taught us to love a place we had never seen, like others teach their children to love the sea or the stars.

So when our group planned this visit, I knew it would be emotional. But I didn’t expect it to feel like a homecoming.

The museum is more than a building. It’s a living, breathing archive, curated not just by historians but by former residents themselves. People who fought to salvage fragments from the wreckage of bulldozers and bureaucracy. The stories are stitched together from old letters, photographs, newspaper clippings, and oral histories. I ran my fingers over a name written in blue ink on a cloth banner of remembrance, and it hit me: someone’s mother. Someone’s child. Someone’s street.

It could have been ours.

What struck me most was the care. The way every item was chosen, held, and placed. There’s love in this space. And there’s defiance. You can feel it. This community refused to forget itself.

After the museum, we walked to the Company’s Garden. The trees whispered over us as we sat on the grass, each mouthful echoing through time. We ate like we’d earned it, flavours that cradled us back into our bodies. Fragrant, sweet and sticky koesisters dusted with coconut. I bit into one and thought of my grandmother, who used to make them fresh on weekend mornings while humming old songs. I never got her recipe. But somehow, this one tasted just like hers.

There was laughter, too. The kind that bubbles up after you’ve cried, when the grief has softened just enough to let joy through. That’s what District Six was about, wasn’t it? A joy that lived even in struggle. A community that danced and prayed and sang, even as they were being torn apart.

Sitting there, full in the belly and cracked open in the heart, I thought about what this visit meant. Not just for me, but for all of us who carry stories we didn’t get to live firsthand. The ones passed down in the soft breaks between sentences, in the way our parents look away when talking about the past. This visit gave me something I didn’t know I needed, a reconnection. A way to root myself in the soil of my family’s pain, yes, but also their strength. Their survival.

I thought of what it might be like being here with my mother. Maybe she walked through the museum beside me, saw her house in the photos, smelled her mother’s food in the air. Perhaps she felt that, even now, District Six lives on, not in buildings, but in memory. In resistance. In love.

So here’s the recipe, if you will. Not just for koesisters or bhiriyani, but for remembrance:

Take one part truth, however painful.

Add memory; bittersweet, generous, specific.

Fold in stories, collected with care.

Season with music, art, and laughter.

Serve with humility and fierce love.

This is how we keep our history alive. One visit. One meal. One story at a time.

Zaid Philander, Amava Oluntu (South Africa)

Embracing The Art Of Slowing Down In Torino

The streets of Torino hum with life, each corner revealing vibrant markets and the soothing
sound of fountains. The majestic Alps in the distance create a stunning backdrop for this
ancient city, where time seems to flow differently. Here, the aroma of local cuisine mingles with the casual chatter of locals, offering a unique and almost magical ambiance.

In June, I joined a diverse group of youth workers from Germany, South Africa, France, and Italy for a transformative exchange program in Torino. Our mission? To enhance our skills in areas such as the circular economy, migrant workers, and social enterprises. My days were a delightful blend of espresso-fueled mornings and beer-infused evenings, punctuated by insightful walks, intense learning sessions, and indulgence in local delicacies.

The Power of Diverse Perspectives
One of the most enriching aspects of the SEEDs 4 Youth program was the opportunity to collaborate with individuals from various cultural backgrounds. Each conversation opened up new perspectives, allowing us to explore global issues through different cultural lenses.

Discussing the circular economy and sustainability highlighted how our interpretations of familiar topics varied significantly based on our cultural contexts.
This diversity in thought emphasized the importance of cross-cultural collaboration.
Addressing global issues effectively requires us to step beyond our familiar environments and
engage with different perspectives. This approach enables us to craft solutions with a
broader impact, informed by a richer tapestry of experiences and viewpoints.

Adapting to New Learning Styles –
The exchange program also challenged me to adapt to different educational approaches.
Slowing down to thoroughly engage with theoretical concepts before applying them in
practice was a revelation. This new approach to learning enriched my experience, prompting
me to savor each academic discussion and fully absorb the material.
Savoring Every Moment – As we wandered through the charming streets of Torino by night and delved into profound
discussions by day, I learned a valuable lesson: the art of slowing down. Italy taught me to
Embracing the Art of

Slowing Down in Torino- appreciate each moment—whether savoring the intricate flavors of local dishes, actively
listening during debates, or immersing myself in a new culture.
Embracing a slower pace allowed me to fully experience and understand everything around
me without the need to rush. This lesson from Torino is one I carry with me, reminding me to
savor the journey, not just the destination.

If you’re ever in need of a reminder to slow down and savor life, look no further than the
enchanting streets of Torino. The city will teach you to appreciate the beauty in every
moment, big or small.