Nosheen Abbas shares memories of being stereotyped and struggling to erase misconceptions.
My family is scattered across the world and I am missing out on school. For the mean time I’ll have to go to high school in Chicago where I’m living with my aunt. On my first day of high school I realize that it’s exactly the way it is in movies. They are so neatly categorized – The group of cheerleaders, the jocks, the Goths, the hippies and the bohemians. You can tell which kids are popular and which ones aren’t. I’ve been there a few days and its definitely harder making friend here since you have different set of kids in each class. As the bell rings for the next period, all the kids are morphed in to one clogging the halls with everyone on their way to their respective classes.
A friendly and intelligent looking girl strikes up a conversation with me on the way.
‘Hey, where are you from?’ she asks.
‘I’m from Pakistan,” I reply.
She pauses for a second, then exclaims, ‘Wow! Your English is so good’.
Her friend hears in on our conversation and joins in to what becomes a collective awe of my existence.
I start explaining, ‘Actually, a lot of people can speak English really well in Pakistan… even those who aren’t educated are able to communicate in English.”
I want to tell her we have cafés, we have places to shop, we have really good schools, we play sports, and we have a lot of talent….
The bell rings and we’ve split up- somehow I never saw her again.
Our class of A-levels in Romania had a total of six students and so it was a pretty cozy classroom. Whenever we found out that a new student was joining us, the rest of the day was consumed by predictions. We were like a secret society by default.
A girl from Lebanon joined a week after I had. As the ‘new kid’ in class she tried to act standoffish, but then couldn’t help identifying herself with me. She constantly tried to find parallels in our culture, our thinking and our lifestyle: the ‘strict parents’, the conservative thinking. She became more at ease knowing there was someone who understood her life’s context and hence she starts sitting next to me in class.
One day as Nancy and I were deep in conversation, Sam, a Chinese boy in our class interrupts to ask in all innocence
‘So how do you guys commute in your country?’ he asks
Nancy and I look at each other half amused and half just shocked.
‘We travel on camels - it’s a hard life - we have lanterns in place of electricity but they just keep on going out - so it’s a bit of a pain,’ I say straight faced, until Nancy cant help it and bursts out in guffaws.
I was visiting a good friend in Bedford where she was doing her A-levels. I went along with her to her school one day and she gave me a disclaimer about the Pakistanis there: ‘They dress like they are in the 80’s... the fashion hasn’t changed for Pakistanis who moved here a long time ago - and its hilarious because they wear gottay walay kaprey to school!’
While my friend was in class I was hanging out around the school. She’s assigned a few of her friends to ‘look after’ me. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and the girl who I was talking to was wearing something out of an old Indian movie.
‘Are you from Pakistan?’ she asked me.
‘Yep – I’ve been living there for a good chunk of my life,’ I said.
‘Are you serious? That’s…that’s somehow really surprising to me….do you wear jeans in Pakistan?’ she asked.
‘Yeah I do. There are some places you cant… or better still… you just shouldn’t,’ I replied.
‘And you speak English pretty well….where did you learn English?’ she retorted.
‘In school…in Pakistan’
She looked bewildered. She didn’t know what to say…then she laughed to herself, and in a heavy Punjabi accent says ‘Khaana hai the shakar sheewian nehi the shur hi kharna hai.’
My village is in Chakwal – I’m visiting it soon after I’ve moved back from Australia. I’m wearing a huge chaddar that limits my arm movements. My relatives in the village start laughing when they see me.
‘Why are you all wrapped up?’ they ask me amused.
‘Well... I thought …you know in the village... people would be conservative.’
‘Don’t be silly!’ Scolds my cousin as she pulls my chaddar slightly.
Walking in the village, people really aren’t as strictly conservative as I assumed.
I see a couple holding hands. I’m a little surprised….what do you know- this probably would have been looked upon oddly in a city like Islamabad!