Far and Away

I have been studying abroad for a long time -- a decade, to be exact -- and for all of those 10 years, people have repeatedly asked variations of the question “Do you plan to go back home?” As both personal and professional commitments abroad and in my country of citizenship become more intertwined, that question has become increasingly difficult for me to answer. In fact, it’s become a trigger.

As I have been reflecting on my time as an international student, first in South Africa and now here in the United States, I have looked back, somewhat critically, if not with more than a little disillusionment. Dehumanizing visa application processes and the frustrations of navigating the convoluted international student bureaucracy have always made me feel as if my presence in my adopted countries was not because of government institutions but in spite of them.

Even more, the longer I live and study abroad, the more aware I am of the anxieties that studying abroad induces in international students from poor countries -- anxieties born of the tensions of existing between two places across the globe. Those anxieties have only been further heightened by the maze of considerations as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic that have made travel back to one’s country of origin much more complicated.

In the present circumstances, even when faced with the horror of a losing a loved while tens of thousands of miles away from family and friends, we cannot just pack our bags and leave our country of study. And even when gripped with fear at the state of a world that is falling apart around us politically and socially, we cannot simply run to our community -- from which we can draw comfort and strength, share financial resources, or acquire mental health support.

As international students, we have to think about the implications of leaving our country of study to go back to our country of origin and possibly be locked out indefinitely. What would that mean for our livelihood and our future, and the future of those people who depend on our success? We must think about the cost of flights and, nowadays, the costs of COVID tests and quarantines, too. We must also consider the risk of catching the Delta variant or another variant -- or worse, bringing it home to our often-unvaccinated loved ones.

In the 2020 academic year, some colleges and universities expected a drop of 30 percent of continuing international students, which -- in addition to a projected losses of new international students of up to 88 percent -- would contribute to significant revenue losses for those institutions. In January 2021, an executive order announced by the U.S. government restricted travel for returning students coming the Schengen Area, the United Kingdom (excluding overseas territories outside Europe), the Republic of Ireland, the Federative Republic of Brazil and the Republic of South Africa.

Fortunately, this order has recently been updated to allow students and academics on the F-1 or J-1 visas to enter the U.S. under the National Interest Exception. But up till then, those of us students who would have liked to go home to these countries to support our families have had to think about whether, when and how we could come back to the United States during this academic year, given that many colleges and universities are now conducting their classes in person.

Global travel is complicated at the best of times, but right now, our choices as international students about where and with whom we can be while the world goes through the greatest global catastrophe of our time are constrained by circumstances in constant flux: travel restrictions, study visa regulations, university policies, academic program rules and cost, to name but a few. We are locked in a cage of indecision because of the many moving parts involved with travel home in the current times. It is a crippling kind of mental torture, endured silently because few people around us understand the problems or have the capacity to assist.

The international student experience is often paradoxical in that it offers so many opportunities in some ways yet robs us of other experiences that are the source of our humanity. We get to see the world, become educated and often have access to a standard of living much higher than what many of us would have in our home countries. But at the same time, we miss many significant events in life that give it meaning: weddings, birthdays and, increasingly now with COVID-19, deaths. That chips away at our sense of belonging to the world, and as local students around us can leave campuses easily to support their loved ones in need, we are forced to remain alone. And to be alone at such a time as this is like floating on a raft -- we are even more uprooted from what is familiar than we already would have been and literally lost at sea. It is not simply loneliness. It is the worst kind, where you are surrounded by others who have very little capacity to empathize.

It is important for noninternational fellow students, faculty members and administrators to consider the many challenges international students face that they may not be aware of. As we continue to weather the ups and downs of this pandemic, international students need universities to continue lobbying immigration departments to be flexible with visa requirements allowing international travel and/or hybrid study. They also need international student offices to be highly responsive to student queries and to increase services that will provide mental health and emotional support targeted to international students still on campus.

Home should be a right. Everyone should have a place where they can seek refuge when the world rejects them or seek comfort while the world is at its breaking point. But going home, I have come to learn, is a privilege that many students like myself don’t possess.

And so, as my 10-year anniversary as an international student passes, and when people ask, “When will you go back home?” I always take a little breath before I respond, preparing myself to explain this complex dilemma to a person who, while well-meaning, cannot fathom the trauma that that question invites. “When will I go home?” I quietly think to myself before responding that the truth is, I don’t know.