Meeting people from around the world truly made my exchange complete. I expected to have Australian friends, but I ended up leaving with best friends from Scandinavia. Learning about their culture, language and perspectives was unique. My biggest advice is to put yourself out there, introduce yourself and say yes to opportunities. You can be anywhere beautiful in the world, but what makes it amazing is the people you share it with. These friendships taught me what true friendship and respect are, and I will bring these lessons home to my own relationships.

Despite all the worries and expectations, exchange ended up being nothing like I thought, yet better than I could have imagined. Did I think I would spend so much time alone? No, but it was one of the best things to ever happen to me. Did I think I would leave with Scandinavian friends four years older than me? No, but I learned what respect and friendship should embody and cannot imagine exchange any other way. Did I think I would get stung by jellyfish and also get Dengue Fever? No, but I learned how to navigate hardship, and now I have a good story to tell.

It would not be an exchange reflection without mentioning the amazing travel. I feel privileged to have traveled to places like Bali, New Zealand, Japan, the Great Barrier Reef and more. When in doubt, simply say yes and you only regret the things you don’t do. Once it is over, you will be itching to do it all over again. So say yes to exchange, take the jump, it will forever change your life!

Four years later, I resolved that I was just going to be a shy and introverted person for the rest of my life. Upon arriving in Denmark for my exchange, I realized that it may be more difficult than I thought to make friends due to the fact that I had arrived too late and missed the entirety of Welcome Week. I went to some events and tried to talk to people, but nothing really stuck. The first two weeks of my exchange were incredibly lonely, and I began to regret my decision to go on exchange at all.

I almost gave up on trying to make friends when I remembered how I used to be before 2020. I knew there was an extrovert inside of me, someone who loved to talk to people and could form meaningful connections with others. I started pushing myself outside of my comfort zone, inviting people to hang out and making a concerted effort to spend time with people. I took a leap of faith in doing that, and the fear of rejection begged to creep its way into the back of my mind, but I wasn’t going to let that hold me back on what was supposed to be the most exciting five months of my life.

One fateful day, I randomly chose to sit in the back of class near other students instead of the much quieter and more sparsely populated front of class. During a group discussion, I found myself really enjoying my conversation with a girl in my group, so I mustered up my courage and asked if she wanted to hang out that weekend. She agreed, and that weekend, we went for a night out with some of her other friends. These relationships blossomed into some of the strongest friendships I had formed in years. I spent the next five months traveling and enjoying every minute of my exchange with them.

Now that I’m home, I feel like I’ve finally rediscovered the extrovert that was hiding inside of me for all these years. I feel so ready to take my rebuilt confidence and use it to form new connections and friendships.

During my time in France, I visited 18 cities and nearby villages, immersing myself in the rich culture and stunning landscapes of the south. Enrolled at a business school situated right across from the airport, I seized the opportunity to explore not only the beautiful region of southern France but also ventured into five other countries during my stay. I had the privilege of visiting Poland, Italy, Vatican City, Monaco and the Netherlands. Budget travel is so much more accessible within Europe, and I learned how much fun it is to stay in hostels and meet new people there! Each new country offered unique experiences, broadened my cultural perspectives and taught me resilience in unfamiliar environments.

One particular moment stands out vividly in my memory. During a solo trip to Italy, I found myself lost in the charming streets of Rome, with a dead phone battery… Instead of feeling overwhelmed and panicked, I embraced the adventure. I bought a map, asked local people for help and put myself in the shoes of my parents, who had visited Rome 30 years ago—also, without Google maps. This experience helped me discover hidden gems off the beaten path, learn to trust myself, take risks and find joy in the unexpected.

Returning to my apartment in Nice after each trip, I felt a growing sense of familiarity and belonging. The bustling streets, the vibrant markets and the stunning coastline of Nice, which initially felt foreign and intimidating, slowly transformed into a second home. The international community I became a part of played a crucial role in my sense of belonging. My favorite memories are of spending the day exploring nearby cities, having picnics on the beach and playing beach volleyball by the water. These connections enriched my experience, offering different perspectives and shared adventures that I will cherish forever.

One of the most rewarding aspects of this journey was maintaining a daily blog. Uploading photos and writing lengthy descriptions of my experiences helped me process and appreciate each moment. This blog became a digital diary, capturing the essence of my adventures and the lessons I learned along the way.

As I reflect on those four months, I am grateful for the opportunity to have lived, learned and grown in such beautiful and diverse parts of the world. My semester in Nice, France, was more than an academic exchange; it was a journey of growth, self-discovery and cultural immersion. I was able to visit with friends who had moved to Maastricht years ago, spend a week with my grandparents, who I had not seen in a very long time and learn to navigate life’s challenges on my own for the first time.

Though running was a helpful emotional crutch and hobby that I carried with me throughout my time in Amsterdam, I learned that an open mind is truly the most important tool you can have in times of change. Being willing to try new things led to me being able to experience other people’s hobbies, cultures and personalities. Some of my friends and I developed a habit of visiting museums. Over my term abroad, I visited over 12 different museums across the Netherlands and Western Europe. The hobby of visiting museums helped me to learn and appreciate the city I was living in and the places that I was fortunate enough to visit. Plus, I learned that I actually love museums and find them fascinating. I guess visiting all those national museums on field trips growing up in Ottawa paid off!

I also tried many different cafes and restaurants around Amsterdam with my friends, making the most of trying the local cuisine. From my opinion, stamppot is delicious, but a bit of an acquired taste, bitterballen and stroopwafels can’t be beat! I also tried restaurants with international foods. Thanks to this hobby I developed with others, I was able to sample foods I’ve never tried before, and go to places that I may have been otherwise too nervous to go to alone.

Being alone in a new place can be scary, and it can be easy to retreat into what is familiar as a way to self-soothe. While this may be comforting, it can also be very limiting. I think that we as people are at our fullest potential when we are outside of our comfort zone. Being on exchange forced me to reckon with this fact, and learn to balance my tried and true interests with new ones. This has led me to return home with not only stories of fun running adventures amongst new scenery and new friends, but also a ton of incredible memories and anecdotes as a museum explorer and a global eater! Making time for the old and the new was absolutely critical not only for enhancing my exchange experience and my appreciation for Amsterdam and the Netherlands, but for my growth as a person, and I am so incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to do it all.

If you’re a prospective exchange student and you stumble upon this, I can’t imagine this is terribly helpful at making you any less anxious. And that’s alright. As I’m writing this, I’m on week 12 of my time abroad and it’s still extremely daunting. However, as scary as it may seem, spending a semester or two abroad is an unbelievable opportunity for self-growth and personal discovery. A major part of doing an experience like this is letting yourself be pushed out of your comfort zone. Obviously, this looks different for everyone. For me, I was suddenly required to be more independent and outgoing in a country that isn’t really big on English. Something that was mundane at home, like going out to eat or grocery shopping, was suddenly much more difficult to just go out and do.

On top of that, there was the added intimidating factor of meeting and spending time with an entirely new group of people, as well as navigating the nuances of solo travelling. While some things are easier now than they were 12 weeks ago, a lot of things are still just as scary. However, the thing I try to keep at the forefront of my mind, and what I recommend to any prospective exchange students, is to not let the anxiety of doing something keep you from doing it; allow yourself the flexibility to be uncomfortable.

Obviously, this is corny and sounds like a bad self-help book, yet I feel like a little reminder is helpful in providing a much-needed push. Studying abroad is a unique chance to push yourself out of your comfort zone and allow yourself to grow as a person through opportunities you wouldn’t necessarily find or consider doing at home. If you’re considering an exchange, and you’re hung up on some of the more daunting aspects of it, do it anyway. Scared, anxious, or downright terrified if need be. You won’t regret it!

The first few weeks in Marseille were a whirlwind. The language barrier was significant, as the local accent was challenging to understand and English was not widely spoken. Navigating daily life, from ordering food to using public transportation, required a steep learning curve. However, these initial struggles were the first steps towards developing resilience and adaptability.

Building Connections

One of the most rewarding aspects of my time in Marseille was the friendships I formed. At Aix-Marseille University, I met students from all over the world, each with their own unique stories and perspectives. These connections enriched my experience, providing a support network that made the challenges of living abroad more manageable. We explored the city together, from the historic Vieux Port to the lively nightlife in La Plaine, creating memories that will last a lifetime.

Embracing the Local Culture

Marseille’s cultural diversity was both fascinating and overwhelming. I immersed myself in the local lifestyle, attending traditional festivals, trying regional dishes like bouillabaisse and visiting cultural landmarks such as the Notre-Dame de la Garde basilica. Each new experience broadened my understanding of the world and deepened my appreciation for different cultures.

Traveling Across Europe

One of the highlights of my exchange was the opportunity to travel across Europe. From the romantic streets of Paris to the historic ruins of Rome, each trip was an adventure that expanded my horizons. Traveling taught me to be resourceful and adaptable, as I navigated different languages, currencies and customs. These journeys were not just about experiencing new places but about learning to embrace the unknown and grow from each experience.

Reflecting on Personal Growth

Looking back, my time in Marseille was a period of profound personal growth. I became more independent, confident and open-minded. The challenges I faced taught me to be adaptable and resilient, skills that will serve me well in all future endeavors. I learned to embrace change and not as a threat but as an opportunity for growth.

The Ongoing Journey

As my exchange came to an end, I realized that this was not the conclusion of my journey but rather the beginning. The lessons I learned and the growth I experienced in Marseille have set the foundation for a lifetime of learning and adapting. My time in France taught me that change, while often uncomfortable, is the catalyst for growth. By embracing new experiences and adapting to unfamiliar situations, we open ourselves up to incredible opportunities for personal development.

My first home is Nigeria, a juxtaposed hub of wealth and poverty yet amassed with ingenious citizens and colourful cultures. I think to the day I left my homeland; my mother whisking my sister and myself to meet my father in a land that will offer us optimal opportunity; because their homeland could no longer suffice. Of course, my nine-year-old self did not care about those boring things. I was just excited for the adventures that awaited me.

Before the sun rose, dim and early, we were off on four wheels, a car driven by a church member demonstrating utmost Christ-like fellowship. Usually, we moved on two wheels called the okadas, what you might know as motor bikes. This was the main means of transport in the city of Badagry Lagos, a land mainly occupied by Yorubas, a major tribe in Nigeria. “It’s never too early for Lagos traffic,” our driver announced. The intricate architecture of the road, the criss-cross complexion of the bridges over the Lagos lagoon mirrors the complexity of my people for whom I have so much love. I love their persistence to attain the better, their hardworking nature which never competes with their love for family and community.

Upon landing, we were greeted by my father whom we hadn’t seen for one year. “Migrant” became my new label, and the length of time I was going to be in Jamaica? I knew not.  My “fatherland.” It unveils to me a different side of the world. When I left my motherland, I did not know that I also left behind my innocent view of the world. The same ebony brown that caresses my body caresses theirs, the same gravity defying, cotton-like crown on my head was on theirs. A very confusing feat for a nine-year-old child. “Somehow determined I was different even though I looked like them,” as I explained my confusion to my pillow most times.

 In this gorgeous land, I met my most difficult life events and aberrant explorations. From dishonest acts to extreme sadness, rebellious paths to losing a sense of myself and simply absorbing the events around me, to sexual indulgences, I found new parts of myself. Whenever I think about the eight years I spent in my fatherland, I am reminded of the gems I found there like the tantalizing jerk chicken recipe. More importantly, I am reminded that my greatest asset is my authentic self even if I lose a sense of my identity; a quiet, introspective search is sure to guide me back home.     

Now 17 years of age, I stepped into the chilling arms of my third home, can you guess it? It was cold and stunning Canada. I was not too excited to leave my second home, I had gotten comfortable with my fatherland, and sadness filled my heart again as I left. My expectations were different this time because, when you’ve lived two lives, you tread cautiously with your third. Here I did not feel fully accepted. My difference was more vivid, glaring. My brown melanated skin starkly contrasted the white or lighter skins throughout the population. Most astounding, however, was the subtle yet piercing racist acts perpetuated through the sheep clothing of advice or guidance. So here I am, in a new world, yet the same old sense of difference still exists.

There is something, however, that this new world offers that I did not experience in my  motherland or fatherland, and that is the opportunity to recreate myself. I see now too that I can find others like me — people who might not always fit in. Together, we can find a way to fit with each other. This realization helps me become more comfortable in my own skin. One night, I chant to myself: “I take you, Yambakam Nyangani, to be my soulfully wedded husband, to revel and to hold, void of restrictions, free from the chains of segmentation, to never stop being an anomaly, to accept that I am motherland, I am fatherland and I am the new world, all wrapped into one. All these homes are within me until I depart from this world to join my ancestors. It is a holy matrimony with myself.

About “Motherland, Fatherland and New World”

“Motherland, Fatherland and New World” was written as part of the Write and Tell Your Story workshop series during International Education Week (IEW). This story also won third place in the IEW Writing Contest.

Yambakam is a first-year Science (Life Sciences) student at McMaster.

Stories for a global community

Throughout IEW, students shared how recent experiences enhanced their global perspective and contributed to their intercultural skills. Experiences included:

• Remote or virtual experiences
• Experiences abroad (studying, working, volunteering, researching, etc.)
• International student experiences
• Out-of-province experiences
• Participation through clubs and organizations with an international or global perspective

The day went by tossing caps and clicking pictures. And at the end, I said goodbye to my friends and boarded a train. Trains in India have berths, which are kind of beds stacked upon each other where the passengers can sleep above the seats. Mine was the top-most one. I did not care to look around. I climbed up, arranged my bags and settled in. I was not going home but to a city in southern India to attend an interview for a PhD position. This is how the past eight months had been. Travelling to different universities every other week for interviews. And things were not going well. This interview was the last opening for that academic year, and I had 48 hours of journey ahead of me to reach my destination.

 My friends would tell me that I should try doing my PhD abroad. Like every group of friends has that one strange person, my strange friend can read palms. “It’s in your destiny that you go abroad,” she kept saying. It’s not that I did not want to — who would not? But I was not sure if I could afford to study abroad. Even if I could, what about my family? How could I leave them? I would think about it and dismiss the suggestion.

Back to the journey, 18 hours had passed with me in my berth preparing for my interview, I decided to take a break. I got down, stretched a bit and took a seat. I was surrounded by middle aged men and an older man. They all seemed puzzled by the sudden appearance of a girl in their midst. 

“So, you were in your berth the whole time?” one of them asked.

“I’m preparing for an interview,” I said.

And the questioning began, “Where are you from? What do you do? What are you planning to do next?”

Finally, all their interest subsided, and I turned towards the window.

“You said you are coming from your convocation, you must have your degree with you, right? Can I see it?” someone from behind me asked.

I turned back and saw; it was the old man talking to me. He was a Sikh and quite old, but not weak or feeble. The silver white beard, the turban and the glasses sitting on his nose made me feel something spiritual radiating from him. I was surprised, for he wanted to see my degree. I was not sure, but I showed it to him.

He looked at it carefully and said, “This is gold, use it well.” That made me feel hopeful about my future. He told me he was 70 years old and spoke about all his family, children, and grandchildren. “I used to work in Canada, and I came back to India when I retired,” he said. “You should apply to study in Canada. You will definitely make it,” he suggested. And this time, it did not sound ridiculous. I felt like I was being bestowed with this wisdom by a grandparent.

Our conversation went on for almost three hours, we had dinner together and I went up to my berth to sleep. Later, I woke in the middle of the night and the man was gone, and this was the only time I ever felt badly for not saying goodbye to a stranger. Everything he told me was playing in my mind for the rest of my journey.

Fast forward, a month later, I got the position I interviewed for. But now this idea of going to Canada was firmly planted in my mind. Little did I know, six months from then, my life would change for the better. McMaster University was the only university I applied to, and I got through! It was not easy, but now I believe it was meant to be. We might think we have a plan in mind, but there is a higher power that helps us on our path. We just need to be open to its direction. People ask me all the time, “why did you choose to come to Canada? And my answer is, “An old man on a train in India.”

About “The Journey”

“The Journey” was written as part of the Write and Tell Your Story workshop series during International Education Week (IEW).

Vidhya is a PhD student in the Medical Sciences Graduate Program at McMaster University.

Stories for a global community

Throughout IEW, students shared how recent experiences enhanced their global perspective and contributed to their intercultural skills. Experiences included:

• Remote or virtual experiences
• Experiences abroad (studying, working, volunteering, researching, etc.)
• International student experiences
• Out-of-province experiences
• Participation through clubs and organizations with an international or global perspective

Changi Airport is basically a mall. It’s filled with luxury goods, exclusive lounges, a movie theatre, fine dining and the largest indoor waterfall in the world. My very first impression of Singapore was consumerism, and it was overwhelming. I had come to work in the non-profit sector, yet I was greeted by capitalism instead.

At the Humanitarian Organization for Migration Economics (HOME), I worked as a casework intern helping migrant workers win salary, abuse, and exploitation claims against their employers. The bulk of my day-to-day activities involved dealing with the Ministry of Manpower (It is actually called that! I felt like I was in 1984.) or the courts. In the most efficient country in the world, I saw bureaucracy being used as a weapon to deter migrant workers from pursuing claims against their employers. I worked at the non-domestic helpdesk, which means that my clients were those who work outside of a household — typically, men from Bangladesh, China, or India who work in construction. Classified as modern-day slaves, these workers are treated as sub-humans in Singapore without sufficient pay, shelter, or rights. Nonetheless, migrant workers still flock to Singapore for the chance to earn money to send back as remittances to their families back home.

I felt incredibly guilty doing the work that I did while leading the life I led. I was supporting migrant workers fight their exploiters and an unjust system to attain a better quality of life, but I would eat at the restaurants and use the transit system they had suffered to build. I constantly saw migrant workers trying to sleep under the bright lights of the fanciest hotels that they had built because their own provided dormitories were so poorly maintained. People would walk around them without batting an eye. Singaporeans were unable to see the atrocities of their government right under their noses. It was jarring to see the disrespect for the people to whose backs Singapore’s greatness could be credited.

After a few weeks living there, once I had made local friends, I remember being at dinner talking about migrant workers’ rights and the work I was doing. I was shocked to hear the tones of apathy and ignorance in their voices.

“There’s no way they don’t make enough to survive. People in my country don’t do that.”

 “The Ministry of Manpower will support them with anything.”

“It’s not my fault that they got into this mess.”

They blamed migrant workers for their own problems, rather than an unjust and racist system. They had very minimal knowledge about the people building their skyscrapers, cooking their food, and cleaning their houses. I realized that I had an obligation to educate my friends on the reality of their home and worked to instill a sense of empathy and awareness in them for the people in the background. It was at this moment that I realized that it was the Singaporean government that had ensured its citizens didn’t know that it relied on slavery to create the hyper-optimized and modern city it portrayed to the rest of the world.

When I eventually had to leave, I felt content with the work I had done for the clients I advocated for. I still have fond memories of joking with them, sharing meals in the HOME office, and hearing their stories. I also felt satisfied knowing that I had done my best to spread awareness and knowledge about the human rights abuses Singapore conducted to those I met. However, I didn’t realize that the one person I forgot to educate was myself. We in Canada are no different than the Singaporeans who had no idea what was going on right in front of them. The only difference is, instead of building skyscrapers, the migrant workers in Canada are working on farms. Perhaps it’s because they are living much further out of cities, but I realized that my knowledge about temporary migrant workers in Canada was extremely limited.

So, I started to educate myself. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that, just like Singapore, we abuse, exploit, and capitalize on the very hands that give us allow us to live without thinking twice about their well-being. Now, I talk about Singapore and Canada when I meet people who may not understand their privilege, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

About “We Are Not So Different You & I”

“We Are Not So Different You & I” was written as part of the Write and Tell Your Story workshop series during International Education Week (IEW). This story also won second place in the IEW Writing Contest.

Faris is an Arts and Science student in the middle of his third year at McMaster.

Stories for a global community

Throughout IEW, students shared how recent experiences enhanced their global perspective and contributed to their intercultural skills. Experiences included:

• Remote or virtual experiences
• Experiences abroad (studying, working, volunteering, researching, etc.)
• International student experiences
• Out-of-province experiences
• Participation through clubs and organizations with an international or global perspective

“Sorry,” the driver peeks up at me, figuring I’m not from here and not used to the dust. His apologetic tone catches me by surprise — he says it as if he is comforting an old friend who has lost something dear.

“It’s okay,” I smile at him, “I need to wake up anyways… but wow, thank you.” Even after four months of living in Kampala working an internship — I’m still not used to that kind of empathy.

The sky is a brownish-red sunset on my right, kissing a promising night’s blackness on my left. The road is lined with single-storey money exchange shops, with their glass windows exposing their wealth. In Kampala, only nice shops have glass windows. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass and notice that my skin tone matches the colour of the dirt here. These shops had been built to serve “Mzungus” — meaning “foreigners” in Swahili, an East-African dialect, or better yet, “moneybags,” as my Ugandan co-worker used to jokingly translate the word. The sneezes have pumped air into my head, and I feel like a balloon — lightheaded, floating. I absently drift down the dirt road until I reach the end.

“My friend!” A man calls out to me gently, curiously — bringing my levitating head back to earth. He’s sitting to my right on a wooden stool that’s so short that his knees reach his chest. I step towards him. He’s wearing a deep blue suit resembling an old English police officer’s uniform, with a cap shadowing his forehead — the outfit of a shop security guard. His skin catches my eye. Smooth, deep, flawless. Not uncommon in this place, but his is particularly immaculate. “Are you searching for something?” he asks, noticing my aimless wandering.

 “I’m looking for the best money exchange shop on this street?” I gesture to the shops I’d passed.

“Ahh, just in time then! Lucky for you, my good sir, my pocket happens to have the greatest exchange rate in the whole city today!” he says with enough confidence to make me chuckle.

“Hmm, okay, well, what’s the rate?” I respond with a grin.

“Only 5 U.S. dollars —” he pauses, “— for all my knowledge of this place, Mzungu.” He looks me up and down. “You could use it.” He smiles and then laughs in the kind of way that shakes his shoulders, and I can’t help but join him. He slaps the seat beside him for me to sit, in a charming way that carries me like a snake to a snake charmer.

Before I know it, I’m sitting on the stool next to his as he leaps off his chair and begins speaking theatrically to his attentive audience of one.

With a slow spin and a lick of his lips, he embodies the delicious mango trees he would climb as a young boy to reach the freshest mangos — a duck and a quick jump to his right for the hide and seek games played with all the neighbourhood children, weaving through the lively food markets you’ll find in every neighbourhood — a slow rub of his belly for the lively feasts enjoyed with the whole neighbourhood every evening — and as he takes a breath and slides back into his seat — an arm around my shoulder for the human compassion he’s always felt deep in his community for the person beneath his skin. He touches my arm.

“What I wouldn’t give to have your skin — brown, light, beautiful,” he whispers, softly gazing at me.

The contrast of his darker hand on my arm strikes me suddenly, and I’m transported through 22 years of brown skin contrasting white clothes, white friends — a white thought: “I wonder what life would be like, if only” — growing up with backwards caps and snapbacks to mask facts of what-I-wouldn’t-gives. I look into his eyes and, as his stare falls on my skin like a fixed spotlight, I recognize the familiar gaze of “I wonder what life would be like, if only.” My mind still loose from the sneezes disconnects completely, and I’m yanked through my four months here: endless stores with whitening skin products on their front display, the constant respect from strangers — the special treatment I’ve subconsciously come to expect. My heartbeat thickens with realization. I look down, ashamed of the privilege I have. I flood with anger at this man for his self-deceit — for everyone’s deceit: the toxic fumes of coloured perceptions I thought only hovered in Western spaces have blown across the world. No wonder I sneeze so much. His stories pulse with the communal warmth and affection of his upbringing; the love and compassion that is so desperately lacking in mine is the foundation of his — I’m jealous. My brown skin has never made me feel beautiful where I come from, and yet he envies me. What a nonsensical game we’re all playing — as if it mattered — yet as if we could possibly pretend that it didn’t. He squeezes my arm.

“Here,” he brings his hand out to me — holding a brown handkerchief.

My nose is running.

About “Sneeze”

“Sneeze” was written as part of the Write and Tell Your Story workshop series during International Education Week (IEW). This story also won first place in the IEW Writing Contest.

Stories for a global community

Throughout IEW, students shared how recent experiences enhanced their global perspective and contributed to their intercultural skills. Experiences included:

• Remote or virtual experiences
• Experiences abroad (studying, working, volunteering, researching, etc.)
• International student experiences
• Out-of-province experiences
• Participation through clubs and organizations with an international or global perspective