The foreign language requirement is not a new concept to Wellesley students; students have been required to fulfill two years’ worth of a language for decades now, either through demonstrating fluency coming in, working on fluency in a language studied previously, or starting a new language altogether. However, while learning in a classroom is a common way to fulfill your requirements, Wellesley also offers opportunities for language-learning students to immerse themselves fully in their respective language-speaking cultures. 

Osman and Jaiyeola both felt an instant connection with the Arabic department and language when they began learning it last year. 

Osman took her first Middle Eastern Studies class last spring with Professor Marlow, which fueled her interest in getting more involved with Middle Eastern Studies and Arabic. While she speaks a specific dialect of Arabic at home, Osman says the opportunity to learn formal Arabic, or Fusha, was important to her. 

Jaiyeola took her first Arabic class her freshman fall, crediting Professor Aadnani as a huge help in figuring out her language requirements. She said he, along with the other professors in the Arabic department, work to make learning enjoyable and reduce the stress that comes with learning a new language. 

“I love the Arabic department … I think that they work really hard to make learning enjoyable…sometimes it’s challenging when it’s a really difficult language to learn, but while in class, I never feel like I’m struggling because I can always ask for help,” said Jaiyeola. 

They both love Arabic so much that they ended up working towards an informal minor in Arabic. That passion they have for Arabic propelled them to apply for the Wintersession program in Morocco through the MES 270 course. 

The program is designed to immerse students in Moroccan Arabic and Moroccan culture — from living with host families to visiting cities all over the country.

Undoubtedly, the program boosted their Arabic study as students stayed with host families who made them meals, took them around the area, and spoke to them in Arabic.  More than that, they gained an understanding of the beauty of Moroccan culture.

“We went to a lot of the different cities, and we got tours of them all. We learned a lot about the communities within not just the touristy stuff, but about what the people in these areas live like.” Osman said. 

Osman and Jaiyeola both mentioned how good their host families were. Jaiyeola pointed out how she continues to speak with her host mother, and had been texting with her the day before our conversation.

“I think that it’s very beautiful the way that the families interact with each other, but also working to like, make us feel included as well,” she said.

To Osman, eating dinner with the families every night made her feel at home as well as conversations and activities with her siblings. Both got to travel with families around the city and to malls and the beach; it made Osman and Jaiyeola feel like they were a part of the community. More than that, they said that people in Morocco were nothing but supportive of them learning Arabic. 

“Even shop sellers, if you could speak Arabic, they were extremely proud of you. And it’s like, I don’t even know you, but that’s very sweet. And sometimes they give you advice on how to get prices down when you’re talking to other sellers.” Jaiyeola said. 

Even though dialects of Arabic made it harder to communicate, they felt encouraged to try new words and phrases that they didn’t learn in class.

They left the Wintersession feeling not only more confident in their Arabic skills but also with a new understanding and appreciation of Moroccan culture. They recommend that Arabic students take the program and agree that the department is really experienced with keeping students safe while giving them new opportunities. 

Jaiyeola ended her interview with some advice for Wintersession abroad: “Maximize the amount of time that you have there, like, take advantage of everything. Just allow yourself to feel uncomfortable in the moment and then try something new. I think that anybody that goes would benefit from it a lot.” 

Osman agreed, and then offered perhaps the most important piece of advice: “Come with your bargaining skills ready.” Hopefully, Arabic students at the next Wintersession will take that to heart.

Image credit: Aayah Osman

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Phoebe Rebhorn and Hira Khan

So what do I do instead? This past semester, I’ve had to memorize poems and facts about writers’ lives that I forget within a week or so after the test. I’ve been going to two-hour lectures where the professor rattles off dates, publications and surface-level analyses. For instance, question: What does the river symbolize? Answer: Freedom.

The classrooms are large, and I’d estimate there are about 50-70 students in each class. Virtually every lecture is the same: the professor will talk almost nonstop, and the students will all have their laptops out to transcribe every single sentence onto a Word document. Only rarely does someone raise their hand, and when they do, it will only be to ask something along the lines of, “What year did you say Hernandez’s second son was born?”

I’ve never struggled so much academically. The language isn’t really a barrier — I can understand my professors perfectly — but I do not have it in me to memorize 80 poems, the dates they were written and the poets’ entire life stories.

I decided early on that I wasn’t going to torture myself memorizing things for hours a day. The students here have superhuman memories, probably because they’ve been learning that way since elementary school, but my brain just doesn’t work like that. So since I’m not writing essays, and I’m not making thousands of flashcards either, I have a lot of time on my hands that at first I did not know what to do with.

Over the past few months, I’ve loosened up quite a bit, and I think that’s a good thing. I went to a bar for the first time, and travelled by plane without my parents for the first time. I picked up the guitar and took a photography class, just because. I’ve watched Netflix for seven hours straight, read tons of books in Spanish and been out with friends until 12 a.m. — at Wellesley, I’d normally be asleep by 9:30 p.m.

All of that is okay, because I didn’t come to Spain for any academic reasons. I mainly just wanted to become more fluent in Spanish, and I’ve definitely done that. Staying with a host family has helped my speaking skills enormously. I live with a mom, a dad, five cats, two dogs and two tortoises. I have learned words that I can’t believe I didn’t know before, like “cuenco” (bowl), “chulo” (cool) and “vaso sanguíneo” (blood vessel) — words that have never come up in my Spanish classes at Wellesley. I have also learned how to baby-talk to animals in Spanish, and how to text in Spanish.

And Córdoba is beautiful, especially the old portion of the city, with its narrow cobblestone streets and flowers spilling out of every balcony. With only about a month left here, I am trying to soak it all in as much as possible. Life in general here is slower, and much more relaxed; going back to the United States, where everyone is always work-obsessed and rushed, is going to be a shock for me.

But there are many things I miss from home. I really, really miss writing essays, even though at the end of every semester at Wellesley I always tell my friends that I’ll never write another essay again in my entire life. I miss Dunkin Donuts, waffles, my dog, Lake Waban and that time in early spring when it’s still a little snowy but a few flowers are starting to poke out of the ground.

If anything, I have acquired a new appreciation for Wellesley after seeing what classes are like at the Universidad de Córdoba. It’s been a fun semester, but I am ready to fly home.

Unlike some of my peers, it wasn’t a deliberate choice of mine to attend Wellesley for its historically women’s college status — that was simply an aspect of the institution akin to the charms of the lake — I chose to come to Wellesley because it seemed to be the best fit for me academically. After moving to London, I came to realize that being surrounded by the many capable, intelligent and insightful people at Wellesley was a privilege. Suddenly, I was thrust into an environment in which I was the only woman of color present in a 20-person classroom (depending on if the only other woman of color came to class). The classroom discussions especially made this evident and I quickly grew frustrated beyond measure. With the lack of diversity of course came an increase in ignorance. I found myself defending things that shouldn’t need defending in 2019, and pushing back against issues of racism, sexism and every other -ism that have plagued societies for millennia. As adamant as I had been to leave for a full year, I was shocked, and frankly a bit horrified, to realize that I missed Wellesley. To explain and rile against every distasteful classroom interaction in London I’ve had would go beyond the means of this entire newspaper, so instead I would like to provide three pieces of advice for dealing with ignorance in the classroom that I hope will prove useful to anybody preparing for their own time abroad.

First, hold your ground. I’ve learned that many significant issues are still treated like a joke to many people, but if you’ve got the floor, make sure they hear you when you tell them how their behavior is damaging to the people around them.

Second, educate and listen. Though this may be a generalization, I’ve come to see that the many instances of ignorance I’ve encountered in London don’t necessarily come from a malicious place — it’s a case of “they didn’t know any better.” The excuse only stretches so far, but antagonizing the ignorance only allows it to steep deeper into a person.

Finally, take care of yourself first. Educating others cannot happen at the sake of your own welfare, and it isn’t your job to erase ignorance when you see it. Reach out to your class teacher — it is partly theirs.

All this isn’t to say that Wellesley is immune to ignorance and discrimination of its own. Wellesley students can hold just as many prejudices and harmful biases as any student, even ones across the pond. This advice is relevant at home, too. But it’s safe to say that it’s not fair that we must act as teachers as well as students. So if you’ve still got a little bit of patience and fight left, maybe my advice will help guide you in steering your classmates to foster a much more inclusive environment.

Feeling homesick is longing for the sense of familiarity and belonging that comes with “home.” It’s wishing for the comfort of recognizing community faces and colloquial phrases.

If I can find those comforts in a new place, I am not plagued with wishing for the old one. And I have. Wellesley has become, more than any other place, my home.

This year, I am away from home.

My spring semester at the University of Córdoba in Andalusia, Spain, counting toward my Spanish major, has just begun. Last semester, I studied at the University of St Andrews in Fife, Scotland, for my English major There are, of course, large cultural differences in both countries that I bring up when vague acquaintances in the States ask me “What’s it like over there?”

But the small things make up “home.” And the change in the small things is what makes me homesick.

One night in Scotland, about mid-semester, my St Andrews Big – given to me by the university’s abroad office – invited me and a handful of her other UK friends to her house strictly because she had a great excess of various chips and dips that needed to be eaten up.

When the dips had been finished off and we were left munching on the crumbs of chips, someone pulled out a set of cards for Codenames, a word-association game. During the game, each team is given clues as to which words in the set they should choose.

My team’s clue was “Teeth: 3.” We chose the words “dentist” and “paste” unanimously. For the third word to fit the clue, my team wanted to select “crown.” I, however, was leaning toward “braces.” I suffered through orthodontics for five years. I thought, if anyone knew the correlation between braces and teeth, it would be me.

But the team outvoted me, selected “crown,” and won the round. “Why,” I asked, “was it not ‘braces’?” They looked at me in disbelief, a few laughing. A girl mimed pulling at suspenders with her thumbs and asked, “Braces? For teeth?”

Just a few days ago, I finished off the box of cornflakes at breakfast. My Spanish host mom asked me what kind of cereal I would like her to buy since the cornflakes were just what she had in the house when I arrived.

I perked up and said, “Honey Nut Cheerios!” She looked at me, puzzled. “Cheerios?” I asked, making the shape of a Cheerio with my hand. I mean, come on, they’re Cheerios! Everyone knows what Cheerios are! So I described them to my host mom.

The next day, I found in the pantry a different type of puffed-grain cereal with honey. As grateful as I was, I accompanied a friend to the grocery store to see for myself if Cheerios even exist in this part of the universe. They appear not to. I was baffled. (They’re Cheerios! I thought again.) Admittedly, though, I would be hard pressed to find Spain’s five-liter jugs of olive oil in a grocery store the United States.

Study Abroad Orientations gave me an overview of the food and the weather and the academic systems in the countries I am visiting this year. Studying abroad, on the other hand, has allowed me to discover the small details that make these countries “home” for their people.

In the back of my mind, I am aware that not everyone in the world thinks, eats or speaks like I do. Further back in my mind, I am aware that some of my opinions, cuisine and words make absolutely no sense to others.

Yet, I have always been so focused on ensuring my own comfort in my surroundings, that I doubt I have ever really been aware of someone else’s discomfort toward a phrase or custom familiar to myself. My time abroad has helped me to realize that I need to be conscious when referring to Cheerios, or using simple words like “braces,” and assuming that I am understood simply because they are, to me, mundane aspects of life.

They are, assuredly, parts of my concept of “home.” But that does not mean they are “home” to a person who has yet to encounter them.

Wellesley is my home. The homesickness I feel this year is a longing for a bubble in which I am familiar with the slang, the off-brand names of well-loved cereals, the ghosts in the radiators and the reliably rock-hard mattresses.

However, I now understand that not all of the details of the bubble that I love make the bubble feel like home for new students. When I return, I will make an effort to share the details with those who are struggling to make Wellesley their home. That could be as simple as defining acronyms (BHE, SHE, MHE, TCO, TZE, BOW, et. al.) and explaining ice cream flavors (Graham Central Station does not exactly sound like ice cream).

  Curing my homesickness while abroad is my job. Curing the homesickness of other siblings in our home can be a job we all share.

The first week was mired with the frenzy that comes with figuring out a new apartment. I was struck, for the first time in a very long time, with a crushing loneliness I’m still trying to alleviate. That’s the puzzle of adventure-seeking: striking that balance between enjoying the revels of doing and trying not to become engulfed by the not doing.

So in the most “Eat, Pray, Love” mood I’ll ever get in my entire life, I decided to take a trip alone.

I chose to visit Rye in the early afternoon of one of my first weekends in England. It’s near the southeast coast, with a castle, an old inn, a fantastical landmark — Mermaid Street — and a house formerly occupied by Henry James, a famous writer, who lived in the Lamb House for nearly 20 years. It was a spontaneous trip. I had bought the train tickets just about 45 minutes before departure, on a bus ride back from an early morning boxing class.

After a brief interlude of the industrial grey of London’s outskirts, I was sitting alone on a train passing much too quickly through literal greener pastures. There were sheep lounging in the high early afternoon sun. Occasionally, a small brook would traverse the fields, and a pair of swans would lazily float atop it. I saw a sly fox slinking through the tall grass. It was threateningly saccharine. I would’ve let my cynicism overcome the initial giddiness if my friends were there, cracking a joke in a low, sarcastic voice to break the discomfort of a serene moment. But my friends were nowhere near me, so I silently snapped picture after picture of blurry sheep and tiny farmhouses.

I arrived in Rye with a crumpled list of spots TripAdvisor recommended, looking for The Tiny Bookstore. It was closed, so I wandered through the streets with storefronts as old as the Mermaid Inn — which had been rebuilt in 1420. I found a secondhand and antique book shop. The store was straight out of a movie, meticulously arranged by someone who loved it very much. There were aged books mixed with new editions, inconspicuous picture frames displayed unknown faces and a vintage glass case sheltered the most random trinkets.

I was in the back when the shop’s owner, an elderly woman whose red and black outfit made her look like a ladybug, put down the scissors she was using to dissect that week’s news and held up the latest clipping. Aoife (Ee-fa) laughed her way through a story about two teenage girls who’d ended up spray-tanning themselves beyond oblivion. We laughed, and when she picked up on my American accent, we talked, in one of the best conversations I’ve ever had, about everything from Putin’s annexation of Crimea to old Rye gossip, from our names to the long-forgotten existence of a shop in Boston solely devoted to left-handed items. I stood in that shop for over an hour, engrossed in a conversation with a woman I’d met entirely by chance. It was totally lost on us that we had met just an hour earlier, so much so that when a couple walked in, our conversation petered out like two girls caught gossiping.

I headed to Camber Sands, a stretch of beach a short bus ride away, at the end of the day, just in time for the sunset. Tip: always plan your solo trips around the sunset. I stretched my feet on the smooth rocks and wallowed in the nostalgia of Cape Cod beaches and an afternoon spent on the shore of the Salton Sea. There were four happy dogs and six old friends shouting their memories, a handful of teenagers swapping crude jokes, a kindergartner and her father talking about important people in science. Behind me a beginner simulated the motions of hang-gliding with his instructor. I just enjoyed being near the water again. I was alone, perhaps on one of the best days of my life yet, but I was so, so far from being lonely.

There’s a certain grief that comes with moving away. You learn to live with a five- to eight-hour time difference between you and the inner circle that’s now been stretched unbearably wide. You learn how to ask strangers to take your photos. Mostly, you learn that living alone isn’t the same as being lonely, and sometimes it’s the quietest days that make the year all worth it.

I was both excited and terrified during my flight to Dublin. On one hand, I was thrilled to be spending the next few months in the country I had loved since I visited for the first time after my high school graduation, but I was also scared to leave behind the security blanket I had built for myself back home. My favorite things at Wellesley, like the small class sizes, close-knit community and historic buildings, could not be found at UCD, which is home to 32,900 students. I became just another face in the crowd trying to get to class.

At first, it felt impossible to adjust. I hated going to class with 200 other students and attempting to copy down notes in the 50-minute time frame, which never seemed long enough. I had to do a lot of work outside of class, and it was much harder to meet with professors if I had questions or needed help than it was at Wellesley. Additionally, there were few possibilities to participate in class, which made for a less interactive experience. I even had a class where no participation grade existed. All my syllabi listed were two big assignments for the semester, which meant that a large portion of my grade was riding on each test day and paper.

I felt completely isolated from my peers, with whom I never had the opportunity to engage with during our class times. I thankfully became good friends with my roommates and others who lived around me, but I struggled to feel like a part of this massive university, especially when it came to the Irish students. I would meet them in class, but most students commute and therefore wouldn’t spend a lot of time on campus outside of class.

I remember hitting a wall after three weeks, feeling the “honeymoon phase” — as a friend from home put it so well — end. Things were hard. School was manageable, but I felt homesick and found myself constantly comparing the experience to Wellesley. This felt completely overwhelming, and I was struggling with ideas about how to feel more at home here.

Thankfully, I decided to find ways to enjoy where I was. I had joined three clubs at UCD in the beginning of the semester, and I started going to their events. Whether it was the “battle of the bands” put on by the UCD music society or a Tuesday night film shown in the cinema by the film society, I started to fill up my calendar with social events where I was able to meet both Irish and international students. I signed up for trips with the school where I made incredible friends, and I planned trips with my roommates to different countries; my favorites included Italy and Hungary. Through participating in these activities, I found a place for myself in a large university.

In some ways, UCD even started to remind me of Wellesley. Once I found my niche, I found people who shared the same dreams as I did and who challenged me to become better every day. These people reminded me of the compassionate and dedicated Wellesley students I know and love, and I was so excited to have a group of people who reminded me of home.

It’s common to hear about how study abroad changed people, but I believe that it’s the full truth. Not only has my confidence increased, but I have also learned so much about myself through this experience. I have an appreciation for Wellesley that I truly do not believe that I would have gained without leaving it.

As I start to pack my bags and reminisce on my time here in Dublin, I try to remember both the good and the bad. I remember the friends I made, the live music we danced to in the pubs at night and the sunny (and rainy) visits to the Cliffs of Moher on the west coast. More importantly, I remember the hard times, the big classes and the feeling that I would never belong. I am thankful even for these times. I learned so much about myself through them, and these are lessons I am beyond excited to take back to Wellesley for my senior year.

I hail from Duxbury, Massachusetts, a suburban community very similar to the town of Wellesley and only 45 minutes south of Wellesley College. I lived at home all my life, went to my local public high school and didn’t have to travel far to go to college. With that level of proximity, I probably saw my mom twice a week while studying at Wellesley. I am a student athlete on the field hockey team, so we can excuse my mom’s frequent visits as a desire to see her daughter play the sport she loves, but she and I both know that I would be seeing her just as often, if not more often, if I were not on a sports team. I am the only girl in my family, so my mom and I have always been allies, confidants and best friends. I would not change a thing about our relationship.

Leaving the comfort of the small bubble between my home and Wellesley was something I looked forward to when I went abroad, however, it was something I was also very nervous about. It was pretty much the same way I felt about going skydiving. I was nervous and excited before I left the ground, and as soon as I was up in the plane, I knew there was no turning back. With butterflies in my stomach, I made the leap into Aussie, in more than one way. I’ve always been very independent, but I never really had the chance to stand on my own and grow through that independence while I was in Massachusetts.

Now, I’m in a huge city on the other side of the world, marching to the beat of my own drum. Sure, I had some independence at Wellesley, but if I ever needed anything my mom would definitely be there. Now that I am here, I have to wait for the time zones to align for an appropriate time to call, and I only talk to my mom about issues after they have already been handled so that she doesn’t have to worry about me from thousands of thousands miles away.

I got away from home last summer when I lived at MIT, but I still saw my family every weekend when I went with my friends to Cape Cod. The separation from my family that I am currently experiencing has probably been the most jarring, but also the most necessary, aspect of my experience on the other side of the world. I can’t go home to spend a night in my own bed or for a home-cooked meal, I can’t meet my parents out for dinner on a random Wednesday night and I can barely make an unplanned phone call to them due to the drastic time difference. I miss my family, as most students who go abroad do, but I needed this separation. I am not texting my mom every single time I have a question about cooking or what I should say to a doctor. I am finding myself and further developing my personal accountability.

I suppose you could call this culture shock, in its own niche way, but I am going to call it growing up. If I had it my way, I would be able to call my family at the drop of a hat, but life, particularly life on the other side of the world, doesn’t always abide by what you want. This has proven to truly be the best thing in the world for me. I have been close to my family for my entire college experience and am finally experiencing life almost completely independently. Who knew it would take traveling to another hemisphere for me to fully encounter that?