Carl’s story

Carl was in the first year of a medical degree at the University of Manchester when he took part in a Grit Black Leaders Programme.

My name is Carl Muzusangabo Kulimushi. My parents gave me a name that had with meaning. But for a long time, I never truly thought about what it meant - or whether I was living up to it.

I didn’t always see myself as a leader. Getting into medical school and becoming a doctor felt like enough of a challenge. I missed my offers the first time around, had to reapply, and when I finally secured a place at the University of Manchester, I was just grateful to be here. But imposter syndrome set in fast. Medicine is built on high expectations, constant exams, and endless self-comparison. I looked around and wondered if I truly belonged.

And leadership? That felt even further out of reach.

Then came the Manchester 10/10 Black Leadership Programme. When the applications opened, I hesitated. “Leader” wasn’t a word I had ever used to describe myself. I nearly didn’t apply.

One of the programme’s defining experiences was the Grit Black Leaders Programme. For the first time, I was in a room filled entirely with Black students like me. My medical school cohort has over 400 students, yet only 36 of us are from Black heritage backgrounds. So to be surrounded by people who shared my experiences without needing explanation? That alone was powerful. But what struck me the most was from the very start, we were told that we were already leaders. Not because of our titles or achievements, but because of the qualities we already had.

We introduced ourselves by explaining what our name meant to us. Muzusangabo means “one who wakes himself up but doesn’t stop there—he wakes up others too.” A leader of himself and others. For years, my name had followed me, but I had never stopped to ask if I was following myself. That moment in the workshop changed something in me. It made me reflect on the spaces I had convinced myself I didn’t belong in, the opportunities I had let pass me by, and the doubts I had allowed to define me. Grit didn’t give me confidence - it made me confront the fact that I already had it, I just wasn’t using it.

Since then, I have stepped forward in ways I never expected. I became Vice President of the African Caribbean Medical Society (ACMS), helping to rebuild it into a thriving organisation. Now, we’re running major events, bringing in inspiring speakers, and preparing to host our first-ever national conference. And I have created a national network for Black medical students to collaborate, share ideas, and drive change.

I’ve delivered presentations at major national conferences, including at the Royal College of Surgeons of England, and later this year, I will be presenting at one of the largest healthcare improvement conferences in Europe.

I have taken on a new role as a Faculty Student Inclusion Partner working directly with senior staff to shape policies that will improve Black student representation in medicine and reduce the degree awarding gap.

At its core, Grit didn’t make me a leader—it made me realise I already was one. It didn’t hand me confidence or tell me what to do. It simply forced me to look in the mirror and recognise what was already there.

And yet, the more I do, the more imposter syndrome lingers. It never really disappears—it just shifts. The bar keeps moving, and the feeling of not quite measuring up never fully fades. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that most people feel the same way. No one has it all figured out.