Greetings dear readers, from the hallowed lands on which this blog was in fact originally founded (fun fact); Egypt. As I write these words I am halfway into my first visit back in just over three years. This post comes as a result of the inner struggle and range of emotions I’ve experienced since being back. I apologize for the fact that it is mostly comprised of my musings on being an outsider to your own culture and has little to do with veganism per se, so if that doesn’t interest you please feel free to skip this one. I will add however that it is an extremely important subject to me, and I hope that by discussing it I can in some way shed light on it that may comfort others who find themselves similarly afflicted.
Now for those of you aren’t familiar with my somewhat confusing back story, I’m what most people would refer to as a third culture kid. Both of my parents and my entire extended family are originally Egyptian, but I was born and raised in the Kingdom of Bahrain where I lived up until I was 17. I attended university and worked in the UK for 4 years and am now back to living permanently in Bahrain.
Growing up in the Arabian gulf my exposure to Egyptian culture was limited to my own household and yearly month-long visits to Egypt spent between Cairo and Alexandria where we would visit relatives and travel around the country. My parents always lamented the fact that my brother and I spoke English before we spoke Arabic as children, and our cousins never failed to point out the mistakes in our broken Egyptian accents, but we paid no mind and were happy all the same.
In my early years I never felt like an expatriate in Bahrain. We had tons of Egyptian family friends, and the British primary school I attended comprised of students from a list of nationalities more diverse than the UN itself. I made friends with kids from all over the world; India, the UK, Pakistan, Lebanon, Bahrain, The Philippines – you name it.
When I moved schools (to what was eventually the American high school I graduated from) I was slapped in the face with a dose of Bahraini culture in the form of a not-so-diverse student body that, for the most part, took pleasure in singling out students that didn’t quite fit in the cookie cutter mould. I quickly learned that speaking in my native Egyptian Arabic dialect was a no-go, that my long curly hair was considered freakish and “weird”, and that the expressive reading techniques that I had been encouraged to use in my old school would get me nothing but merciless taunting.
Fast forward a few years and I had come into my own. By middle school, I had a great group of friends, most of whom were more like myself – highly westernized Arab expats or mixed Bahrainis. We spoke English 99 percent of the time, listened to American bands, worshipped British TV shows and dressed a little less conservatively than most of our schoolmates. My friends and I can all attest that we had a great high school experience – this isn’t one of those stories. I’m also happy to report that as we got older our student body became much more diverse and tolerant in terms of bullying – but to say that I felt completely comfortable with my cultural identity would be a lie. When I did speak Arabic, I spoke Bahraini Arabic almost exclusively, even, ironically at times to some of my Arabic teachers who were fellow Egyptians. The possibility that I would be singled out, teased or mocked for speaking differently was too great a risk for me. But anyways, I digress.
Moving on to the formative years of University. I spent four years studying and working in the United Kingdom. Cue another culture shock from all angles – weather, food, language and socializing to name a few. My British friends couldn’t for the life of them understand why I spoke with a quasi-American accent (the explanation that all my high-school teachers were mostly American or Canadian didn’t seem to suffice), or why I wasn’t covered from head to toe having hailed from an island just off the coast of Saudi Arabia. I didn’t understand why Brits seemed to love queues more than life itself, or how anyone could touch marmite with a ten foot pole.
That said I integrated pretty well eventually and left the UK with priceless memories and life experiences that I will always cherish. But what, you may wonder, became of my already withering cultural identity after being abroad for so long? The answer is; not much.
During the summer of my penultimate year of university I spent close to a month in Egypt to renew my student visa for the UK. It was odd being back, at that age, to a place that felt so far from being home in every sense of the word. A place that was neither Bahrain – the country I’d grown up in and become accustomed to spending summers in, nor was it England, my new “home” and current place of domicile. My Arabic was as rusty as ever, and I hadn’t the slightest idea on what the socio-cultural norms had morphed in to, particularly hot off of the revolution that had taken place earlier that year in January 2011. Add on top of it the fact that I was just on the cusp of transitioning into veganism, and transitioning out of restrictive eating habits, I don’t think I possibly could’ve felt like more of an outsider.
I stumbled, fell and found my footing during that trip. I vowed to make a change and channeled all my energy into trying to “fit in”. I read Arabic books and newspapers, watched Egyptian talk-shows with my family and even forced myself out of my comfort zone by volunteering to attend social functions and visits with my mom that I would usually opt out of. I was practically glued to twitter, and kept myself informed on all things related to the ongoing revolution and protests. By the end of the trip, I had developed a new love and connection to my culture that I had never really had a chance to experience before. I even found myself struggling to switch back to speaking in English once I got back to university – definitely a first.
Following that visit, my absence of three years can be attributed to graduating from university, and settling into a new job and life back in Bahrain. Any time off I had I spent traveling to obscure corners of the world and needless to say my travel plans hardly ever coincided with my parents’ semi-regular visits back to Egypt. So when it came time to plan a trip this September, for a family wedding, I really wasn’t sure what to expect. My anxiety mounted as the trip grew closer and rather than deal with what may befall me I simply ignored it until it was time to get on the plane.
The second I landed, I found myself, once again, feeling like an absolute stranger in what was supposed to be my home country. Sure I may hold the same little green passport, and sport the same signature curly hair as many of my fellow countrymen and women, but the similarities ended there. I walked through the airport dumbfounded – confused and worried at the most insignificant details like whether or not I could fill out a landing card in English or if I could board a shuttle bus without paying a fare. I wasn’t dressed outrageously, but people took one look at me and could instantly tell I wasn’t from there.
I had a long layover at the domestic terminal before I got on to my flight to meet my mom and brother in Hurghada, a resort-type area by the Red Sea. I spent most of it people watching, silently observing, like a goldfish in a tank staring out at a room full of people; although ironically I would also liken how I felt during those moments to a fish out of water.
As I grow older this feeling only seems to magnify, and torment me further. The feeling that I don’t truly belong…anywhere. The feeling that my ethnicity and cultural identity are so completely disconnected from one another. Someone once told me that your home town is where you spent the majority of your life, or in other words where you grew up. I suppose if I had to pick anywhere that feels most like “home” to me, it would be Bahrain – in the sense that I feel comfortable there. It’s familiar. All my childhood memories are tied to it, most of my close friends still live there, and I’ve built my career there thus far. I know my way around the roads, and I can tell you in a split second what all the good restaurants and places of interest are.
But when I look at what actually ties me to Bahrain I realize that the only thing keeping me there is my job and consequent work permit. Without it I would plain and simply be asked to leave the country, being far too old now to be a dependent on either of my parents’ work permits, and not having a Bahraini passport. (For the record, I have applied for one twice; once with my family and once individually, to no avail as of yet). So how could home be a place where I would no longer be welcome if the day came that I was suddenly unemployed? That fact in itself is pretty unsettling, and something that I have to grapple with on a daily basis.
Furthermore, despite the fact that I am obviously privy to socio-cutural norms, speak the local dialect and understand local customs and traditions, at the end of the day, I’m just not Bahraini. I will never be treated as an equal to a local – not at a social gathering, not in a business meeting, nor when trying to buy property or even establish my own company.
As for Egypt, I have always maintained, from a very young age, that while I immensely enjoy visiting – I could never live there. Partly because I’ve become such an outsider and am so disconnected from cultural norms but largely because I’ve grown accustomed to a standard of living that I wouldn’t be able to easily replicate. Things like a tax-free income, driving my own car, an easy commute to work, decent air quality and even the ability to be mobile and feel safe as a young single woman walking the streets are all aspects of my admittedly cushy life that I would have to give up.
So the question remains – where is home and what is my true cultural identity?
I have no definitive answers for either – but what I do know is this: I am extremely fortunate to have been exposed to and influenced by so many different cultures from such a young age. I’m also very lucky to have grown up in a safe and liberal country – a rarity in a region that has become infamous for it’s instability and tumult in recent years. I’m immensely grateful for having had the opportunity to live and study abroad. I’ll never take for granted how that experience shaped me and helped me evolve into the person that I am today. I’m also conscious that I have garnered the ability to be able to relate to so many different types of people – whether it’s Bahrainis, other Arab expats who grew up in the GCC, Egyptians, or even Brits. For all the anxiety inducing aspects of being a “global citizen”, there’s definitely a silver lining.
My solution to this ongoing dilemma of mine would be to say that I’ll simply go on as I have, and that I won’t stress over the minutiae details of where I’m from and who I am culturally. I’ll be thankful for all the wonderful benefits being a third culture kid has afforded me, including might I add, being exposed to and eventually finding my path towards veganism. It would be to say that I’m creating my own cultural identity, one that’s completely unique to me, and that just because it isn’t what society dictates as the norm – doesn’t make it abnormal.
The only problem with that solution?
It might get a little lonely.
Kirsty says
Just a note to say I really enjoy your posts … I find them really interesting! Re this post … I like the saying, ‘home is where your heart is’ … not so much a place, history or where you’re expected to be … so eventually you find it … it might be somewhere totally new. I think too that going vegan does change you …. 100% agree … you see and feel things differently and that also makes you feel like an outsider to general society … but in a wouldn’t have it any other way type of feeling!
Manal says
Love this post, so beautifully written and honest. <3
Dixya says
That is a lot to deal with… I feel the same way sometimes although I have only lived in 2 countries yet I already feel like an outsider a little bit when I visit Nepal.
Hotmail says
Hey Nada, I know exactly how you feel, my family are originally from Jordan who were living in Kuwait, in fact I was born in Kuwait, did all my schooling there, knew the culture inside out, my family didn’t go home to Jordan often, so Kuwait was my home as a kid, however, the minute I finished high school (that was just before the war) it dawned on me that I am a foreigner, I had no rights to go to uni there, or have a job etc (without a big wastah) anyway like you I came to the UK for uni, and stayed here after, working here now. So its been over 20 years in the UK, its home now for me.
It amazes me how most countries in the world would consider a person a citizen with all the rights of natives if they spend anything from 2 to 5 years there, except for the middle eastern countries where one can be evicted from the country the moment your work permit expires !
I love going home to Jordan for holiday, sea, sun, food and all the touristic things, plus the family of course, but I can’t see myself living there !
I got used to living in the UK, I like everything about it, except for the weather lol but you know all about that.
Anyway, just to let you know I know how you feel and for many many years at the start of my stay in the UK I also felt I had no home even when I got my citizenship in the UK, but a few years ago something clicked, especially after travelling extensively and appreciating what this country has offered me. But I still mostly mix socially with Arabic expats here in the UK love to speak Arabic and just spend Arabian nights evenings with them 🙂
I do hope you find your home too 🙂
Love your blog btw, am new to vegan life, and its good to see other Arabs are vegan and see the recipes.
Hots xx
Cadry says
Thank you for this fascinating post and peek into your life. Beautifully said.
Veganopoulous says
Thank you for sharing this, I know people who are/were in similar situations 🙂
Amal says
Nada, darling, thank you so much for pouring your heart out in this post. It is so impressively sincere it’s so touching.
The funny thing is that I can relate -although on paper I am not expected to.
being “purely” Bahraini, having lived in Bahrain most of my life bar 4 years of studying in Jordan, I still experience the lack of a definite cultural/social identity. I have two mixed Bahraini accents with a touch of Jordanian and British plus American sounding English with more Bahraini accent on top, afro hair, non-“typical” khaleeji attired, I wear the map of Palestine on my chest, feel at home in Lebanon and Jordan, absolutely in love with Cairo that I consider Egypt a mother to me and I wiggle my head Indian way in agreement. I do not “find” myself absolutely and fully in any culture, yet I feel that my thoughts, personality and lifestyle are comprised of bits and pieces of all those cultures I strongly and partially relate to.
It could be difficult to answer questions liner, “where are you from,” and “where do you feel home?” Yet, sometimes, maybe it’s worth it to challenge the question with another one, “what does it matter, as long as I’m content and at peace?”.
Wishing you love and peace always.
Keep sharing 🙂
Muna says
Enjoyed your very heartfelt post Nada, and I can totally relate, having one English and one Palestinian parent, spending half my life in Saudi then moving to Jordan where I still live now (and being a vegetarian in a world of meat lovers!). Although we don’t fit a particular mold, we manage to get on well with everyone, everywhere. I think that is the blessing of being ‘multi-cultural’. Who wants to fit in a mold anyway, its so much more interesting being open to so many different ways of life. And there’s a lot more of us out there than you might think, not so lonely after all 🙂
Sarah says
I relate to this so much, but I am almost embarrassed to say that I do.
The reason being that nowhere I could conceivably ‘belong’ even has much culture to speak of, so it almost feels wrong to feel a bit lost. I don’t mind it, but when people ask me where ‘home’ is, I don’t have an answer other than: home is with people I love, wherever that may be. And it can change.
I am an American expat, and now an Australian citizen. Early next year, I will move to the UK. While I have experienced glimpses of most of the things you discussed (save the language issues), they can only be glimpses because…well, I don’t really know what it means – in a cultural sense – to be any of these things (American, Australian, British). Because it can mean so many things, yet still have experienced being an outsider again and again. But I feel it no more acutely than when I go back and visit the US now. Despite being born and raised there, I feel like a stranger in a strange land.
Speaking of which, have you read Bill Bryson’s “I’m a Stranger Here Myself”? It’s about his experience moving back to America after 2 decades in England. I pull it out as a comfort read quite often. It’s quite funny!
I thoroughly enjoyed this post. Even though you haven’t been blogging a lot, your posts are always worth waiting for.
Noora Almutawa says
Hi Nada! I am absolutely loving the direction you’ve begun taking the blog; you’re important ideas deserve to be recorded.
We missed you when u were away and can’t wait to catch up once I’m back! This post reminded me of an article I wrote a couple of years ago http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=353001 I hope it helps those feelings of loneliness
Contrary to yourself, I’ve kind of always felt stifled that my culture was predetermined (Bahraini) despite the fact that I felt unique…. So am I unique, or “just another” Bahraini?
Besides all of that, I really hope u reapply for the passport in a few years. I agree with someone who commented before, our passport laws are too strict, and what is worse is that they are subject to corruption.. But nevertheless, I know I would really miss you if you were ever to leave so please don’t!
Happy to hear your trip was so inspiring… See you soon!
Manar says
Honestly feel like we have lived twin lives. Here I am in my fourth year of university venturing into the world of veganism. I grew up in Aramco, an American compound in Saudi Arabia, with two Lebanese parents and complete uncertainty regarding where I’m “from”. Am I American? Saudi? Lebanese? I will never be able to say. Your blog is helping me tremendously in taking the vegan plunge. I always thought I would wait until I’ve moved to somewhere like LA or NYC where it’s “easy” to be vegan. Veganism in the GCC? That’s impossible, I’d say. I realize now, thanks to you, I’ve just been making excuses for myself. So thank you, thank you!! I hope you keep writing!
Nada says
Manar – that is so eerie you do sound like my long-lost twin! Thank you so much for connecting with me and please don’t hesitate to get in touch via e-mail if you’d like to chat or have any questions about exploring veganism. So happy that my blog has been able to help you on your plant based journey.
Candice Jolander says
I realize this isn’t a very new post but I still felt the need to comment… that even though right now (or at the time of this post) you aren’t exactly sure where home is that this is something that you can and hopefully will find in the future. My husband is Egyptian and came to Canada to live with me. Quebec, the French province. It was difficult for him, frustrating and sometimes felt impossible to stay here for good in a place that simply wasn’t home. He had been in Egypt all his life prior to this and Egypt WAS his home but he had accepted to give it up for good.
Fast-forward a couple difficult years and his identity slowly changed. He’s proudly Egyptian but he now says that Canada is home. He has been here now for 9 years and for the past few years has said he could not imagine living in Egypt again. Canada became home. At one point, he felt disconnected and as though there was no real solution, but his life situation evolved and he went from a purely Egyptian man into a Canadian Egyptian, home in a French province when a few years earlier he didn’t even know the language!
I think that if you went to a country that has a more open immigration policy than Bahrain, that with time you could find your home there. And with time you’d make relationships that ground you there.
Mohamed Essam says
Hey, I just wanted to point out that you’re not alone in this journey, and we pretty much share the same experience except that I grew up in Kuwait not Bahrain. And what I’ve come to realize is that the world isn’t somebody’s property and cultures are man made so why bother? And why should I struggle to identify myself with a certain definition people themselves made up. But there’s one thing I know for sure, I’m a human being and a Muslim guy. That’s it. As long as I’m not hurting anyone directly or indirectly and as long as I’m happy and as long as my parents are pleased with what I’m doing, and as long as I’m following Islam and God’s words, then I don’t have to bother what others might think about me and why I’m not living my life according to their understanding of how you should live your life.
Sumi says
Beautifully and eloquently written. Bravo!
I share a similar story except my parents come from two different countries. Born in Abu Dhabi, moved to Italy, then back to UAE till highschool, then Mauritania, Sudan and now Morocco and being a teacher at American schools.since 2011.
I wish you all the best wherever you go,