Where Are You From?

This is a question I get asked a lot. It’s a simple question—at least, it should be. If you’re asking about my residential college, then I’m from McMurtry. No, I probably don’t know that person you’re thinking of. If you’re asking where I live, well, I don’t live on campus. But if you mean where I’m really from, the answer is South Africa.

I grew up in South Africa in a Turkish-Afrikaans household. My father is Turkish, and my mother is Afrikaans. Afrikaans people are the descendants of European settlers, mostly of Dutch origin, who arrived in South Africa centuries ago. But I don’t identify with being Dutch or culturally Dutch—my ancestors moved to South Africa 400 years ago, and that connection feels distant. Similarly, I don’t strongly identify with my Afrikaans culture. I never learned to speak Afrikaans fluently, and I didn’t grow up with many Afrikaans friends.

Instead, I feel a stronger connection to my Turkish side. I have Turkish friends, and I even lived in Turkey for a year during sixth grade (2015-2016). That experience gave me a sense of cultural familiarity that I didn’t always feel with my Afrikaans background. Yet, even my Turkish identity isn’t something I fully embody. I speak Turkish. I understand the culture, but I didn’t grow up in it. I’m somewhere in between—a mix of cultures, but not fully rooted in any one of them.

When I was 15, I moved to the U.S. by myself to be an international student in high school. Now, I’m an international college student, and I’ve spent most of my teenage years and all of my young adult life in the U.S., which means that my identity is even more complicated.  Living here has made me feel detached from my South African roots in some ways. My accent has shifted, sometimes enough that South Africans tell me I don’t sound South African anymore. I struggle to keep up with local slang,and I don’t always relate to conversations about daily life there.  I still believe South Africa is the most beautiful country in the world, but I don’t always feel like I fully belong to its culture anymore.

At the same time, I don’t fully belong in the U.S. either. I’ve built a life here, but I’m still an international student.I still need a visa to stay here. I still have to explain my background. I exist in this liminal space, floating between identities, countries, and cultures.

But despite all of this, when given a choice, I will always choose to identify as South African. Even with its dark past that connects me to it, it is my home country, where my family lives. There is a deep sense of belonging that comes with knowing that my roots, my childhood, and the people I love most are there. Even as I struggle with my shifting sense of identity, South Africa remains my anchor, the place that shaped me into who I am.

So when people ask me, “Where are you from?” I have to pause. Do you want the easy answer, or do you want the full story? Most people don’t expect the latter. But for me, the question isn’t just about geography—it’s about identity, about belonging, about the complexity of being from multiple places and yet not fully being from anywhere.

With all that, I am South African. I love rugby—a passion that truly deepened after my grandfather, the biggest Sharks rugby team supporter, passed away. I’m also big on “braai”  (The South African word for BBQ) culture, something that brings people together in a uniquely South African way. The smell of wood fire, the gathering of friends and family, the shared joy of good food. South Africa, with all its complexities, is my home, and no matter where I go, it will always be a core part of who I am.