“Dartmouth was the first time …” I used this statement a lot in my first year. Dartmouth was the first time I shared my pronouns, simply because my language, Karakalpak, had one pronoun for she, he and it. Dartmouth was the first time I took classes fully in English. Dartmouth was the first time I learned how to use Canvas. I know it’s become cliche to say that I’ve learned so much in a year, but I mean it. I’ve learned to embrace being opinionated at a liberal arts school, whose values are quite different from those in my culture in Uzbekistan.
As I did hundreds of times during New Student Orientation last year, I’ll introduce myself and my background. I am ethnically Karakalpak and from the autonomous republic of Karakalpakstan. My home is situated within Uzbekistan, a post-Soviet country with some of the world’s most beautiful architecture and famously delicious cuisine. I grew up in a rural area — surrounded by sheep and cows — where people spoke several Central Asian languages. It takes about two days to travel between my town and Dartmouth.
After a year in the U.S. — the longest I had spent away from home — I had mixed feelings about returning home for summer. I was still the same person physically; my height hadn’t changed much, and I’d gained maybe a kilogram or two. But internally, I was no longer confident about how well I could fit into my own culture.
People back home have a very limited idea of America, a country they’ve seen only through the media. Indeed, I was the first in my autonomous republic to attend Dartmouth. The prestige of an Ivy League university doesn’t seem to matter back home. Where I come from, Dartmouth is just some distant, unknown American college that happens to pay for my higher education. I used to grow frustrated that my people don’t really get what it means to go to Dartmouth — the academic expectations, the ideological and cultural diversity and the challenges. But now, it feels somewhat comforting that they don’t get it, because I’m not glorified by them. I’m just a girl from Shumanay, and that’s all they know.
My biggest concern around returning home was once again facing the societal expectations of my hometown. At Dartmouth, I learned how to raise my voice, not only as a student but also as a woman. I wasn’t simply observing what a teacher lectured; I was an active agent arriving at conclusions myself. Here at Dartmouth, I feel that my voice is considered a new helpful perspective, a far cry from my culture’s ‘men should speak first’.
As soon as I landed in Tashkent, the harsh, 45 degrees Celsius air hit me. That’s Uzbekistan, I whispered to myself. After another plane to Nukus, the capital of Karakalpakstan, I took a taxi to Shumanay, the town where I spent my first 18 years and made my childhood memories.
I couldn’t understand why I was hesitant to be back. I definitely missed my family and the sense of place. What had changed, though, was my perspective of the place. I had assigned the labels of conformity and patriarchy to my hometown. While it was the place I was nurtured, I had come to dislike how they largely value women for fertility and household contribution.
Upon my return, I learned that two of my female classmates had gotten married at the age of 18. It’s not an uncommon occurrence in Uzbekistan. While some girls make the choice to marry early, others are forced to obey societal expectations and told that it’s better to be married off early. I could very well have been one of those girls. If I had gone to a local college, I might have already gotten married. Perhaps I’d be expecting a child by now. Dartmouth changed my fate.
It was a strange feeling to face my family after a year. So much felt unfamiliar. I spent a week processing everything that had changed: a gas stove had been moved slightly to the corner of the kitchen and one of our neighbors had moved away. I was overwhelmed by all the information thrown at me. I dubbed it “reverse culture shock” — familiar things were suddenly unfamiliar. For a moment, it felt like my experience at Dartmouth was but a dream.
I reflected on the autonomy we have as Dartmouth students. We can fill our days with classes, extracurriculars and social events. I thought about Google Calendar, in particular. Organizing one’s life with Google Calendar is an American phenomenon. When I returned to Uzbekistan, I didn’t have a calendar mapping out my schedule and filled to the brim with activities. I was dealing with “women’s responsibilities,” washing dishes, cooking and trying to please everyone so they would not think America had changed me.
I don’t want people to think all society is patriarchal in Uzbekistan. I know that whenever I make comparisons between the U.S. and Uzbekistan, I should remember how long it took for the U.S. to get where it is. While America gained independence in the 18th century, Uzbekistan only became independent in 1991. It’s only been 34 years since we let go of the communist ideologies. Uzbekistan only recently stopped practicing forced cotton labor. Feminism is still a foreign concept. Uzbekistan has far to go.
I know that simply by being from Uzbekistan at Dartmouth, I carry the weight of representing my country well. I want people to shed any preexisting notions that they might have picked up while watching “Borat.” Uzbekistan is trying to find its voice in the international arena. Despite its flaws, I still love it. I’m the first to walk across the Green in a green adrass dress or a red Uzbek scarf. Perhaps that is what interculturalism is all about: We exchange illusions. I give you my version of Uzbekistan, and you offer me your version of the American dream.
