Third Culture Kids are Changing the World
Once a beacon of European dreams, Paris revealed its intricate layers of challenges, casting shadows over every encounter. Right now, it was me against a security guard, who accused me multiple times of shoplifting.
“Ouvrez vos sacs” he repeated, while opening my bags one by one in mere suspicion that I was a thief. “Ouvre ton sac à main” he added while opening my purse next. I don’t know what took over me and if it was sass or simply a brainless action but the words came out of my mouth: “thank you so much for racially profiling me” with my sister adding on with “do you wanna check our pockets too”?
I guess that’s what it felt like being an outsider in France. He probably didn’t think I would argue back; I simply seemed like a brown person from a third world country. Little did he know that I am a third culture kid.
Third culture kids, also known as TCK’s, was a term coined by Dr. Ruth Hill Useem in the 1950s used to explain the styles of life shared and experienced by people who are in the process of moving through societies or simply “children who accompany their parents into another society”. Interaction International estimates that there are 230 million TCK’s all around the world, 85% of them bilingual and moving from the early ages of 5 until late 22.
As for me, I was born in the year 1999, in the heart of Niger, Niamey’s cerulean skies. In a world colored by diplomacy, I was a baby amongst a realm where borders became blurred, and every passport stamp whispered a new chapter.
As a child, memories of Niger are but fragments captured in faded photographs — a grand house with a pool, my parents amidst locals, and me exploring a sunlit garden. The echoes of that time resonate in tactile recollections, like the touch of my tiny hands on my mother’s green dress.
Life in Niamey was a mosaic of languages, a symphony of cultures. My father’s fluent French, cultivated during his 1996 language course in Vichy, seamlessly intertwined with the rhythms of West Africa. My mother would recount stories of a singular grocery store in the entire capital, underscoring the scarcity that defined our days.
In the chapters of my life, it took patience to unveil the realization that I never saw faces like mine on billboards and at the grand stage of presidential elections. However, as I journeyed through time, a mosaic of multicultural children, from Obama to Uma: famous third culture kids were there to make an impact.
It started when my family found ourselves back in Islamabad, Pakistan where my younger sister took her first breath at PIMS hospital. Only a few months later, our journey led us to New York City in 2002. My father joined the Pakistan mission, and my sister faced the challenges of a delicate heart condition requiring surgery.
I recall fragments from those days — the towering presence of NYU, the weight of hospital bills, and the resilience of a little girl battling illness. The photographs tell stories of Roosevelt Island, the East River casting reflections on our intertwined hands, and the azure expanse of a park where we embarked on Roosevelt Island day rides and shared island picnics. It was a time when I, a spirited child, tumbled off monkey bars, breaking bones and, on one occasion, even a nose. So many milestones etched against the backdrop of Roosevelt Island — the place where I grew up, just across the river from the bustling heart of Manhattan.
Yet, our arrival in New York City bore witness to a turbulent time — the year after 9/11. I vividly remember my mother’s descriptions of the looks exchanged in elevators, the palpable sense of being an outcast, of feeling targeted simply because of our skin tone. In those moments, we were not the faces often seen on big screens or in prominent political positions, a reality that would take many years to shift.
It was in 2009, during my fifth-grade year, that I witnessed a transformative moment. A person of color ascended to a high political position, Barack Obama was inaugurated as the first African American president of the United States. The first time we saw a third culture kid on the high political grounds of a western democracy.
“The election broke barriers and shattered preconceived notions about who could hold the highest office in the country. It was a moment that transcended politics, resonating with the broader context of the struggle for civil rights and equality. As someone who values diversity and inclusivity, Obama’s election represented a powerful step forward for the nation” says Sara Chahwan, Lebanese-German student at the American University of Paris.
Just like that, that momentous moment was left with me going back and forth between America and Islamabad. Describing the nuances of being the child of a diplomat is a delicate task. It involves embodying patriotism, proudly representing your country, wearing cultural clothing, and maintaining fluency in your native language. However, the complexity lies in navigating these responsibilities while grappling with a sense of identity loss, a detachment from the concept of being 100% Pakistani. Returning home became a culture shock, a profound encounter with the contrasts between worlds, and an introspective journey into the intricate layers of self-discovery.
I remember back in 2016 while I was in Pakistan, Sadiq Malik became the first Muslim and Pakistani mayor of London. Another footprint in seeing someone like me somewhere so big. That helped. It was like the unique identity variation meant something.
From curriculum to curriculum, American to British, and back again — an oscillation between educational systems that mirrored the shifting landscapes of my upbringing. Struggling to find the right balance between being too American in Pakistan and too Pakistani in America, the challenges extended beyond language.
Despite excelling in the Urdu exams, a fellow classmate’s doubt lingered, asking, “Do you even know how to speak Urdu, Nawal?” It was a testament to the constant negotiation of identity, a dance between worlds that shaped my formative years. These assumptions made me question who I was, from an early age.
The nomadic rhythm of our diplomatic life persisted as we returned to the States, only to find ourselves in Pakistan again. It was an overlapping cycle of back and forth moves. Then, a new chapter unfolded with a posting to Thailand — an ambassadorial milestone for my father. “S̄wạs̄dī Bangkok,” a greeting in a new language, a new culture, marking the beginning of another chapter in a life defined by fluid borders and cultural intersections.
Life in Thailand added on to that identity confusion. Immersed around not just a new culture, but also religions, I implemented different habits in my daily life. Moments from my imagination, I remember wearing traditional Pakistani shalwar kameez to a foreign school event at the American school of Bangkok and later remember wearing the traditional Thai dress at a Festival during my college years. It really had me feeling that it was that simple or could be. We all could really understand each other.
It was in 2021, when we moved back to Pakistan again. In 2022, I wound up in Paris on my dad’s second ambassador posting. Now, a student headed for her master’s degree. The first question asked in every class would be: “where are you from”. Everyone would remain confused towards my accent and awareness about America, and at times unable to understand the places I’d described that I have lived. It was here where I met more third culture kids at the American University of Paris. The university embraced a rich culture of students coming from all different parts of the world as well as various states in the U.S.
Sara, 25 is a global communications third culture kid who speaks four languages: German, French, English, and Arabic. The experience has “ undeniably shaped my journey of self-discovery, and the impact on my identity is profound. The exposure to different cultures has enriched my life, fostering adaptability, open-mindedness, and a global perspective”. She’s also been able to navigate diverse social landscapes, developing a set of social skills that have proven invaluable. Moving to Paris further englightens her journey forward as a global nomad for anywhere she desires to go as all third culture kids strive to do the same.
Today, we see Rishi Sunak, a British-Indian as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Kamala Harris, also ethnically Indian as Vice President to the United States. My screens are full of Oscar winning stars and biographies made off of third culture icons, such as Freddie Mccurry. Third culture kids are shaping the future of generations and allow all students to grasp the idea that a singular identity does not have to be the norm. I always look back at my old photographs, looking back at each moment I felt like someone else, hoping that someday I might be up on a billboard somewhere. I hope it’s for a good cause.
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