Four thousand miles from home, Stina Almqvist has overcome homesickness and hardship to enjoy a standout basketball career at Penn.
In Kinna, Sweden, “everyone knows everyone,” Stina Almqvist says. Her father, Fredrik, a longtime basketball coach, once won a “Citizen of the Year” award in the town of roughly 15,000 people. And Stina is somewhat of a celebrity there—known now as a standout senior on the Penn women’s basketball team but, prior to that, as “the girl in the accident.”
It was April 2017. Stina and 50 of her eighth-grade classmates and teachers were on their way to a ski resort when the double-decker bus they were on tipped over on an icy highway, falling on its side into a ditch. Three students were killed and 20 were injured.
One of the students who died was a close childhood friend of Stina’s, someone she used to bike to school with and play basketball with every day. Another had walked onto the bus at the same time as Stina and, when they were picking seats, ended up sitting right behind her. “It literally could have been me,” she says.
The accident became national—and international—news. Fredrik was quoted in an article, picked up by the Associated Press, that he had been awakened by a call from his “panic-stricken” daughter who “screamed and screamed.” The prime minister of Sweden came to visit and speak to her town. Television stations, radio stations, and newspapers interviewed Stina. Everyone in Kinna, it seemed, knew that Stina had been on the bus. She would go to the store and be recognized and reminded of the accident almost every day until she left for college. “Am I supposed to have fun and laugh?” she recalls wondering. “But I know if I died, I wouldn’t want anyone else to be miserable for the rest of their lives.”
Basketball became her refuge, “the only thing that could keep me out of those thoughts.” And the accident served as a constant reminder to never to slack off on the court, because her classmates who died “would have done anything to do that one more time.”
Stina had hurt her shoulder and arm in the crash and initially feared that she would never be able to play basketball again. But after a few days, she was able to start moving her arm again. And about a month later, she resumed playing the sport that means so much to her and her family.
Although soccer and ice hockey dominate Swedish sports, basketball has always loomed largest for the Almqvists. Fredrik played in Sweden’s professional basketball league for three years and has coached for the past 40. Marie, Stina’s mother, is a board member of the local basketball club where Fredrik coaches. Stina’s older sister, Jonna, has been playing professionally in Sweden since 2020, and her younger sister, Penny (named after former NBA great Penny Hardaway) plays too, with Stina often staying up late to watch her games on YouTube. Growing up, Stina remembers, “it was either you sit and watch it or you participate.”
Fredrik was her first coach, always emphasizing “fun first and basketball second.” But he quickly noticed a potent competitive streak. “She hates to lose,” he says. “So in that way she’s more American than Swedish.”
Her competitiveness, dedication, and skills propelled her to Sweden’s youth national teams from the U15 to U20 levels, racking up medals and accolades along the way. Game film found its way to the Penn women’s program, where associate head coach and recruiting coordinator Kelly Killion was impressed with her poise against older competition. Stina hadn’t heard of Penn when the Quakers began recruiting her. She got offers from other schools, but a friend of Fredrik’s praised Penn’s reputation, so she committed, joining the class of 2025.
The first in her family to attend college in the US, Stina struggled early on with the transition. Moving from Kinna to Philadelphia was overwhelming. So was studying in English and figuring out little things like the mathematical terms used in American classrooms, which differed from the ones she had used before. When Penn head coach Mike McLaughlin once told her to be on the balls of her feet, Stina translated the phrase literally in her head, leaving her confused. “I was having a hard time [making] friends in the beginning,” Stina says, “because I think it was hard to speak English and crack a joke and all that.”
One day, during her first semester, Fredrik flew over to surprise her. When McLaughlin called her in for a meeting, she walked into the room, saw him, and started to sob. “It was unreal,” she says. “It was like an out-of-body experience.” Had he not come and stayed for a week at a cheap hotel in Chinatown, Stina believes she might have left Penn for good. “Now, I love it here,” she says, “so thank God he did that.”
Fredrik knew Stina was having a hard time in college. “She called every night,” he remembers, because “she needed to talk to us.” But that didn’t mean he regretted sending her so far away. “I encourage her all the time that she needs to fly with her own wings,” he says.
Stina has gradually spread her wings beyond the basketball court and her Wharton studies. She is copresident of Penn’s International Student Athlete Association, where she plans events like Friendsgiving for international student athletes who can’t go home for Thanksgiving break. And she’s a member of the Friars Senior Society, where she’s come to see “a whole new side of campus,” supporting fellow Friars at their Mask and Wig shows and punk dance workshops. “You’re only on this Earth one time,” she says. “I never say no to anything.” One of the most memorable things she said yes to wasaccompanying a friend to a Natives at Penn powwow. Though she initially just came to watch, Stina found herself drawn into the dance. “How did I just end up in a powwow?” the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Swede recalls thinking.
On the basketball court, the 6-foot-1 guard has emerged as one of the Ivy League’s top scorers and rebounders this season after leading the Quakers in scoring as a junior and garnering second team all-Ivy plaudits. And she’s become a leader, a co-captain who’s gutted through games on a sprained ankle, gobbled up rebounds, encouraged her teammates, and organized team dinners. Teammate Mataya Gayle, a sophomore guard, remembers after one brutal loss to Princeton last season, “the locker room was just silent, and it was just me and Stina bawling our eyes out. And that just told me, OK, you care. I think as a competitor, seeing someone else that competitive, gave me a lot of respect for her.”
“We expected her to be pretty good,” Killion says, “but I don’t know if anyone expected her to be as good as she’s been.” Killion has marveled at Almqvist’s work ethic and coachability. “She brings people together. So I think it’s not just one story. I think it’s a collection of stories about how she’s brought her community together and brought our team together.”
After the season ends in March and she graduates from Penn in May, Stina hopes to keep playing basketball, instead of immediately pursuing a career with her Wharton degree. Her father, who watches every one of her Penn games live, even though most are on in the middle of the night in Sweden, believes she can have a long and successful playing career in Europe—especially after all she’s been through and the perspective she’s gained.
“She looks at the bright side—because she is living,” he says. “The accident changed her. She was an adult immediately.”
Stina often thinks about her friend who died. Where would he be now? What college would he have gone to? Whenever she returns home, she visits his family. She also has learned to embrace all of the small things in Kinna, from the Christmas tradition of playing basketball with friends at her local club to hanging out with her 12-year-old sister Penny, who rarely calls her older sister because seeing her on the phone makes her sad. But “I’m home for 20 minutes and it’s like, Oh, I’m arguing with my sister again,” Stina laughs.
Yet even these moments Stina doesn’t take for granted. As her intrepid journey continues, she has “needed to see” her home that never seems to change, even as she does.
“Stina is very strong,” Fredrik says. “She is a special one.”
—Hannah Chang C’27
