Finding Roots Through Language
At The British School in the Netherlands (BSN), English serves as a common thread that stitches together a tapestry of diverse cultures and backgrounds. Yet beneath this linguistic convenience lies a deeper, more complex reality: one in which language is not just how we communicate, but also how we see ourselves. For many students, languages can be a path to further personal growth or to confusion and disconnection. The voices of Lara, Eliza and Noa, former and fellow BSN students, reveal the emotional intricacies of growing up in English-dominant environments.
By Maya Ngoukam
Lara, whose first language was Afrikaans, confesses that she “really only functions in life in English”. Her words carry a quiet ache as this early immersion has distanced her from her South African roots. When introduced to her relatives as “the one who speaks English,” the gap between her and her heritage feels as wide as ever. “It takes a toll on my confidence,” she explains, “especially thinking about being South African and feeling proud of that.” Her experience reveals how deeply language is intertwined with cultural pride and the sense of belonging.
Eliza’s experience echoes this sentiment. Although she speaks Romanian with her grandparents, she felt her connection to the language, and by extension her heritage, was fading. That is, until friendship became a lifeline. “Since connecting with [Sara] and having the opportunity to practice [Romanian], I’ve reconnected with [my] culture,” she explains. Language, in Eliza’s case, is a bridge back to the warmth of family, belonging and tradition, a reminder that identity can be healed through the reconnection with our linguistic roots.
Noa describes her identity as more fluid, shaped by a multitude of countries and a lifetime immersed in the British international school system. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to 100% connect to any culture,” she admits, a statement that carries both a muted liberation and subtle grief. Her sense of self isn’t anchored by a single nationality but stitched together by lived experiences and cultural fragments. Though French is her first language, she confesses, “I feel like I’m able to express myself a lot better and a lot more strongly in English”. This linguistic ambiguity affects how ‘Belgian’ she feels and where she believes ‘home’ to be. Her identity isn’t singular; it’s not rooted in one language or place, but is instead patched together from the memories of the many countries she’s lived in.
Despite the dominance of English, the Dutch context of our schooling adds yet another layer to this hybrid experience. Students like Lara and Eliza describe their connection to Dutch culture through sports teams and national celebrations like Koningsdag and Sinterklaas. Lara’s time playing hockey at Klein Zwitserland and Forescate gave her access to Dutch culture outside the classroom, one where language was lived, not taught. These experiences create cultural ties, even for those who aren’t fluent in Dutch, offering them a small sense of belonging within the wider Dutch community.
Together, these stories paint a vivid portrait of hybridity. They reflect the complexities of growing up in international environments, where individuals grapple with multiple languages and cultures.
So, the challenge is clear: how can we fully embrace the depth and diversity of our identities? How can the languages we carry help preserve who we are and where we've come from?