I thought taking a tram would be simple. Back home, if you had money, you could get where you needed to go. So when I saw the tram approaching in the Netherlands, I felt a small sense of accomplishment—like I was already figuring things out.
Then I reached into my pocket and realized I had only cash. No bank card. No OV-chipkaart. Just a few bills that suddenly meant nothing. I looked at the driver, hoping I could pay directly. He gave me a look that said he had seen this before—sympathy, maybe, but also impatience. “We don’t take cash,” he told me. “You need an OV-chipkaart or a bank card.”And just like that, the tram pulled away, leaving me standing there, still holding the money that couldn’t get me anywhere. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t just a newcomer trying to navigate a foreign country. I was locked out of a world that assumed digital access was a given. It assumed everyone had a smartphone, a bank account, a chip card, an app. It assumed a kind of digital fluency I simply didn’t have.
At the COA reception center, I asked for help. A kind woman took my phone, opened an app I’d never used before, Google Maps, and typed in the address I needed. “This little dot is where you are,” she explained, pointing at the screen. “And here’s where you need to go.”
Since then, I’ve faced many more quiet moments of exclusion. I couldn’t top up my phone without a Dutch bank account. I couldn’t register for language classes because I didn’t have a DigiD. Even making an appointment with the house doctor became a struggle—everything had to be done through a digital link they sent by email. There was no phone number to call, no receptionist to talk to, just a silent system that left me feeling isolated. That was just the start. Every part of daily life, from signing up for a doctor’s appointment to applying for jobs, seemed to need an app, a QR code, or an online form I couldn’t figure out. The internet, which was supposed to be a bridge to opportunity, felt more like a barrier. I quickly realized that in this increasingly digital world, if you didn’t know how to navigate it, you were left behind.
- See also the related article: Bridging the digital divide: Empowering female refugees for inclusive employment
For me, digital skills weren’t just a luxury; they were essential to surviving in this new world. I knew I had to learn, but I also realized that no one should have to figure it out alone. That’s when someone at COA told me about the university program at Radboud University. It was a life-changing opportunity, being there as a student meant reconnecting with a part of my identity I thought I had lost. At the university, I met my buddy, a Dutch student who helped me navigate the digital challenges—registering online, using platforms, and understanding tools that were second nature to Dutch students but completely foreign to me.
This story is not unique. Through my experience teaching refugee women, I have seen how their challenges are shaped by systemic barriers from their countries of origin and by the structural inequalities in the host country. Many carry heavy caregiving responsibilities, often without the support of extended family, making it harder to study, work, or even attend a class. These burdens, combined with limited access to technology and gendered power dynamics, further increase their vulnerability. It’s when we question the assumptions we make about digital access that we truly begin to understand inclusivity. Simply digitizing programs isn’t enough. We need to actively bridge the digital divide—by offering alternative ways to apply, providing accessible digital skills training, and ensuring multilingual support.
Real inclusivity isn’t just about access, it’s about meaningful engagement with those at risk of being left behind. It’s about rethinking our policies, challenging our assumptions, and designing systems that work for everyone—not just the digitally fluent. We need institutions, educators, and policymakers to act, treating digital accessibility not as a luxury or an afterthought, but as a fundamental right.
In a world where everything moves at the speed of Wi-Fi, being digitally excluded means being left behind. But that doesn’t have to be the case. We have the power to change it. The question is: will we?
Curious to dive deeper into this important topic? Check out the RUNOMI policy brief below by Noemi Mena Montes, Lia Kleuskens, and Colleen Boland, which examines the role of digitalization in shaping learning opportunities for these communities, highlighting both barriers and potential solutions.