This was the beach a short distance from my apartment, where I would go to watch the sunset and swim. The Mediterranean Sea was beautiful and warm, even at night. You could also find people hanging out on the beach with family and friends at all hours of the night.
This is the view from a rooftop restaurant where I would eat with my friends. The Gothic Quarter in Barcelona was my favorite part of the city because of the narrow cobblestone streets and cathedrals on every corner. Samsung’s choice of advertisement placement was also very interesting.
My friend and I enjoy the view from a popular hill in the city. This was the perfect spot for picnics and sunsets where you could see the whole city of Barcelona.
This is a “Castell,” or human tower, in a town near Barcelona. This is a Catalan tradition in which different teams compete or simply perform their different towers. People of all ages participate in this tradition, even young children who are the ones who climb to the very top.
My Experience
Ever since I was young, I knew that I wanted to study abroad while in college. I always thought it would be an amazing opportunity to live in a foreign country and experience a new culture. I made the decision to apply for a Spanish language program in Barcelona, Spain, for the summer of 2022, despite having no way to pay for the trip. I was too excited about living out my dream of studying abroad, and I did not think much about the price. When I got accepted into the program, I was ecstatic. However, the realization of not being able to afford the trip cast a shadow on my enthusiasm. Determined to go on this trip, I began applying for any study abroad scholarship I could find. During this time, I stumbled upon an email promoting the Benjamin A. Gilman International Scholarship, and I hesitantly sent in my application. It was clear that the Gilman Scholarship was competitive, and I did not have much expectation of receiving it. After weeks of rejection letters from different scholarship committees, I began to lose hope, and my dream of studying abroad seemed to be slipping away. One afternoon, I felt exceptionally hopeless about the whole situation when I saw an email pop up from the Gilman organization. I held my breath as I logged into my account to see the status. An instant wave of relief and joy ran through me. I immediately called my mother and excitedly told her I had been awarded the Gilman scholarship, which covered nearly all of my study abroad trip! I will never forget the feeling of that day. I am forever grateful to the Benjamin A. Gilman International Scholarship Program and its dedication to students who want to study abroad but do not have the financial resources. This award has inspired me to share with every student that traveling and learning are possible for everyone, no matter what your bank account looks like. Thanks to the support of the Gilman organization and their faith in me, I was able to have the best experience of my life in Spain!
Of course, I was nervous as I packed for my five weeks abroad, even more so as I boarded the plane. Doubts and fears rushed through me. Will I hate it there? Will I be alone? Will I even meet anyone? I was not very confident in my Spanish, and I was extremely afraid of living in a foreign country without my friends or family. I had heard of other people studying abroad, but you often only hear the good parts. I had no idea if other students felt the same way as me. However, the second I met the other people in my program, my nerves began to subside. Having a group of only ten other students there, we all instantly became best friends. Despite our extreme differences and being from all over the United States, we all loved being together because we knew that everyone was out of their comfort zone. My friends and I explored the city together, tried new foods, traveled to different towns, and stumbled through our Spanish together. I had never felt so close to a group of people so quickly, but we bonded so much because everything we did, we did together.
There were ups and downs of attending a school where none of my professors spoke English or the culture shock of an urban city in Europe. Yet, I fell in love with Barcelona. I loved their transportation system, how safe the city was, the cobblestone alleys, and endless tapas bars. I tried the best food of my life and swam in the warm Mediterranean Sea almost every day. I even became friends with my professors and classmates, which added to the difficulty of saying goodbye to Barcelona. Even though I came to Spain reassuring myself that it was only five weeks, I left Barcelona devastated that I couldn’t stay for the rest of the year. I made amazing relationships and memories in such a short amount of time, and I am so grateful for this opportunity. I want to encourage anyone and everyone to step outside of their comfort zone, even if it is scary sometimes. For me, this whole experience was possible because of the Benjamin A. Gilman International Scholarship. Therefore, I want to share with others about this resource and show students that this incredible trip can become a reality for them too.
About the Author
Kristan Krull is a senior at SDSU majoring in Psychology with a minor in Spanish. She is from San Luis Obispo, California, and loves to hike, swim, and travel. Kristan plans to graduate in December 2022 and begin graduate school in Fall 2023 to pursue a career as a Therapist.
How was your study abroad experience? My friends and relatives have continuously asked me this after my 4-month expedition to Morocco to study Arabic and migration in the region. This is a loaded question, and I have, in many instances, struggled to answer it precisely. My study abroad experience was filled with every emotion under the sun: extreme joy, shock, frustration, anger, gratitude, anxiety, and love, to name a few.
For some time, I was upset that my experience was not the all-consuming happiness and joy I had always heard when people referred to their study abroad semesters. But, what I had heard, and what many hear, is unrealistic. If an international experience is going to be truly valuable, you must be open to the positive and negative experiences you may have in order to benefit fully from the lessons it can teach you.
Marrakech, Morocco
When I traveled to Morocco in February of 2022, I was filled with anticipation, anxiety, and excitement for what my next four months would entail, all the people I would meet, and the lessons I would learn.
I started my journey in Rabat, the capital of Morocco. On my very first night there, I learned an important characteristic of Moroccans, one that I would continuously be reminded of throughout my time in Morocco. I was first introduced to the genuine, incomparable kindness of Moroccans when I was walking down the street and locked eyes with a Moroccan who shouted from a distance, “You speak English, you are welcome in Morocco!” This interaction was preceded by the hotel front desk worker giving out flowers to my friends and me on our first night after we casually commented they were pretty. I was unaware that these interactions would become common in my daily life while living in Rabat.
A huge component of my program in Morocco was the homestay aspect. I was most excited about this part of the program and had imagined how I would meet my new family for months before arriving. However, the nerves and all of the “what if’s” circling in my head took precedence over the excitement. What if they didn’t like me? What if we couldn’t communicate because of the language barrier? What if I felt uncomfortable with them?
I had three sisters, a mother, and a father in my new family. My sisters were all around my age, but only one spoke English fluently. My mother spoke some French and Spanish, and everyone else only spoke Arabic. I remember feeling angry at my academic directors for putting me with a family where only one person spoke English.
What would I do if my sister, who knew English, wasn’t there? How would I communicate with the rest of my family?
I thought it would be impossible. But, it taught me an important lesson, one that I was not aware I would learn at all. Communication is so much more than language. It is touch, it is eye contact, it is a feeling you get when being around someone. Although I learned a good deal of Arabic, and it aided me in communicating with my family, I primarily communicated with them non-verbally.
This was a lesson I probably would not have learned if I had studied in Europe. In Morocco, I was literally forced to learn this lesson in order to communicate with the people I had grown closest with, my host family.
I remember being able to look at my host sister and know exactly what she was thinking. She would constantly use physical touch to communicate her love to me, and I would do the same in return. There was something extremely special about these relationships with my family, something I can not even find the words for, but am eternally grateful I had the opportunity to experience.
Another lesson I learned, and one of utmost importance in getting the most out of my homestay experience, was the value of vulnerability. I learned that there is an unwavering vulnerability a person must have when immersing themselves wholeheartedly into a new culture completely unlike their own. In order to truly get to know a different way of life and the people in it, you have to let go of everything you think you know about yourself and the world and open up. It sounds a bit cliche, but it is so important if you really want to get the most out of your experience. Try EVERYTHING, even the food that makes your spine curl, ask questions, even if you think they are stupid, and most importantly, be present.
There were many aspects of my overall experience in Morocco that did not go according to plan, but meeting my host family and the relationship I had with them exceeded my expectations by leaps and bounds.
Photo of the author with her host mom and two host sisters
It was in Rabat where I became aware, first-hand, of the difference in the treatment of women in Morocco compared to the United States. I had been told that catcalling would be something I would have to become accustomed to, and that it was just a part of life where I was choosing to study abroad. However, I was not fully prepared for what I would experience.
When I left my home in Rabat, I left the shelter and protection that came along with it. In the street, I became an object, an object that was constantly being watched and objectified by most men I walked by. Although I was never physically threatened, I was slowly beaten down by words and began to believe, a little more each day, that my worth was determined by the comments men shouted at me.
It sounds backward, right? I consider myself confident with who I am and at peace with my inner self. But somehow, after hearing comments about my appearance shouted by every man and their son on the street, I slowly began to believe that I was, like they had been saying, just my appearance.
Going to Morocco, I never really believed this was something I would have to deal with. I expected my journey to be largely positive and uplifting, filled with memories of joy and excitement rather than exhaustion and frustration. But, because of this, I dealt with extreme anxiety that I had never experienced before.
The true lesson I learned from this had nothing to do with me or how I dealt with this anxiety but everything to do with Morocco itself and the gender norms present in this country.
The feeling of anxiety I got when walking down the street, being sexualized by men who I had never met before, was a norm in this country. My host sisters had grown up not knowing anything different. I speak from a privileged, white perspective and know that this street harassment is multiplied tenfold in severity for Black women. Black women in Morocco are subject to harsh harassment. They are often assumed to be sex workers just because of the color of their skin. As a white woman in Morocco, I did not experience anywhere near the same amount of harassment. Nevertheless, it is the norm.
How could something so culturally entrenched in a society ever be changed? Would my host sisters grow up and have daughters who were subject to this same kind of treatment?
I had learned about gender norms in multiple classes before coming to Morocco. I learned about countries signing agreements like the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) (which Morocco signed) and, in theory, how to diffuse more democratic, gender-equal norms in countries that are currently patriarchal. But what does this actually mean in the context of my experience in Morocco?
Although I still don’t have an answer to this question, it taught me an important lesson that I would learn in the context of studying migration as well. I, along with other Westerners, can not go into a country like Morocco and simply change these norms. Although many Westerners and western organizations may like to think they can, this is not how it works. The ability to change norms is done by community building, organizing, and true change coming from the people themselves. I learned that Westerners hold no secret ideas, weapons, or skill sets that make them any more valuable in helping women gain rights around the world. This experience gave me a glimpse of my positionality as a white, educated woman from the United States criticizing the treatment of women in a country that is not my own.
Where does that leave me? I struggled for a bit with how to process this new lesson I had learned, one that at first caused me massive anxiety. But, it helped me gain a new perspective, reshaped my views on gender norms, and gave me a new appreciation for my ability to speak up for myself in the United States. It has given me a newfound motivation to use my voice in the US whenever necessary, as my host sisters, in many situations, aren’t able to use theirs when faced with harassment and catcalling.
This lesson has given me a perspective on global human rights issues, one that, before I came to Morocco, was privileged and in essence, perpetuating white saviorism ideals. I would soon realize I was perpetuating these ideals in my rhetoric when studying migration too.
After 6 weeks spent in Rabat, I had the opportunity to do research or to partake in an internship of my choice, using the vast connections and resources SIT (my program provider) had throughout the country. I chose to intern at Diocese Delegation Migration (DDM), an organization funded in part by the Catholic Church that provides basic services to migrants, specifically Sub-Saharan migrants. The organization is located in the strategic position of Tangier. Tangier, right across the Strait of Gibraltar from Spain, is a large crossing point for migrants, as you can reach Spain on a speedboat from the Tangier shoreline in around 12 minutes. This is an extremely dangerous route but, in many cases, the only option that migrants have in hopes of securing a safe, meaningful life for themselves and their families.
Interning at the DMM in Tangier, playing with the kids while their mothers are in vocational training
I had the opportunity to work with Moroccan staff at DDM, as well as staff members from all over Sub-Saharan Africa. I taught English to the staff after the workday was over and assisted staff in providing services to migrants during the day.
I learned more about the world and migration at DDM in four and a half weeks than I had learned in my entire college career.
At DDM, I became aware of how Moroccans view themselves in terms of their positionality on the continent of Africa and the world. They view themselves not as Africans but as Arabs. They dissociate entirely from the continent of Africa and consider it a foreign land. My host sister once asked me if I had thought all Moroccans would be Black, like the rest of Africa. And Moroccan guest lecturers, professors, and others I conversed with constantly referred to migrants as “Africans” coming to Morocco.
I was deeply confused by this at first. How could you dissociate so much from your own continent? But then I realized that this is not dissimilar to the way Americans see their Southern counterparts. Latin Americans are not treated with a sense of comradery and community by citizens of the U.S. because we are all living on the same continent, but instead are villainized, dehumanized, and made out to be different from us, “Americans.”
This sentiment is deeply ingrained in the rhetoric surrounding migration in Morocco and informs the way migrants from all over Sub-Saharan Africa are treated.
Although I was not able to speak with many migrants coming in for services at DDM because of the language barrier (most of them spoke French along with their native language), I was able to converse with Nigerian migrants, who spoke English, and some Cameroonian migrants as well.
These migrants would often tell me about the discrimination they faced as a Black person in Morocco, and some went as far as to say that they wished they could return to their home country because it was too difficult for them to handle.
Specifically, one man from Nigeria made a lasting impression on me. I accompanied him and his son to a doctor’s appointment, and he opened up to me about his life and how horribly he had been treated in Morocco. He experienced this treatment not only as a Black man but also as an English speaker who does not know any French or Arabic (almost all Moroccans speak French, as it is a former French colony).
I was used to English being a colonizer’s language and a language of power. But, in this context, it was just the opposite. English excluded him from fully integrating with other migrants from Sub-Saharan Africa and made it difficult for him to receive services in Morocco.
He told me that he had not had a conversation with anyone (outside of his family) in 4 weeks before speaking to me because no one around him spoke English.
He told me about the shame he feels, waking up every morning and begging on the street for money. This is his only source of income to provide for his family. But, he said, it was worth it to be in Morocco because, “If I make it to Europe someday, I have fulfilled my job for my children.”
This sentiment was shared among a large number of migrants I interacted with. After going through unimaginable hardships in their home countries, and making the journey to Morocco, the promise of what Europe can provide for them is their only hope.
I learned so much from speaking with migrants at DDM and am so thankful for the relationships I was able to build with them.
At DDM, a majority of the staff are migrants themselves. There were staff members from the Congo, Senegal, Madagascar, and Cameroon. While teaching the staff members English, I grew extremely close with them and was able to learn about their background and their cultures as if I was visiting these countries myself. I was able to attend a Senegalese religious celebration and eat Senegalese food, and my coworker from the Congo showed me videos of traditional Congolese dancing.
These conversations and relationships opened up my eyes to the diversity of cultures there are on the African continent.
Overall, the most important and impactful lesson I learned in Morocco was about my privilege and positionality as a white American studying migration.
I grew to understand the power of the American passport. I had no idea the privilege I held with just a tiny, navy-blue booklet. Americans virtually have the power and discretion to travel anywhere in the world, whenever they please, for however long they wish to.
This is something that can not be said about most other countries. My DDM coworker from Sub-Saharan Africa has been living in Morocco for over 15 years. He has never left the African continent and has been applying for a tourist visa to visit Spain (just 9 miles away) for years. He told me he worries he will die never having left the continent of Africa. He dreams of being able to travel around the world and experience new cultures but is currently unable to do so just because of the country he was born in.
He is by no means less than me or any other American with the power to travel freely. But, in the eyes of the law, he most certainly is.
How can this be, and how had I gone my entire life, even while studying international human rights, without considering this?
What gave me the right to intern at DDM without knowing the primary language of communication (French) and never having to know or confront any of the struggles these people are facing every day? I slowly realized I will never be in the same position as the people requesting services at DDM because of the immense privilege I hold. Even learning about all these different cultures and having the opportunity to write about them, is a privileged act in and of itself.
Before I studied in Morocco, my plan within my program was to come back to the US and tell the stories of the migrants who are often silenced and victimized. But what I realized is: that these are not my stories to tell.
Stories of migration should be told by those experiencing and living it. My role is not to tell the stories but to help amplify migrants’ voices and implement change in whatever way I can, using the direction of migrants themselves.
Before my experience at DDM, my aspirations in the context of migration were rooted in white saviorism and American exceptionalism. I thought, somehow, I was in a superior position to these migrants and could help them without ever going through, firsthand, the daily struggles they face. As a Westerner, I thought I held special power to go to Morocco and “help.”
I was taught these messages through the media I have been consuming since I was a child. I learned that Americans and the western world are more developed and, therefore, better equipped to help those in need, which clearly is not factual.
Being in Morocco taught me that I was perpetuating these beliefs in my thought processes and in my aspirations to “help.”
Morocco taught me a lot of things, but this was by far the most important lesson I learned. A lesson that will guide me and impact all avenues of my life going forward.
(Thank you to everyone at DDM, the SIT staff, and the SDSU Global education office for giving me the opportunity to have such a transformational experience. I will carry the memories and lessons I learned in Morocco with me for the rest of my life.)
When am I going to be free? What is freedom anyway? When am I, Jared Rowlen, going to be free from everything that holds me down, holds me back, holds me from doing the things I should be doing? I’m twenty now. Old enough to call myself a man, old enough for others to look and see the flesh and bones of a young adult. But when I look inside, what do I see but a young, ignorant fool hoping to achieve the impossible. I want to be free from this ignorance. I want to feel like I am the man I hope to be. The confines of my self-doubt and the intense external pressure of family, friends, and life often seem too great to surmount. But deep down, I know, somehow, I can and will be free.
In five days, I will depart for the country of South Africa for a year. A place that I know nothing about. However, I know that it is a place where the comforts of western society crumble. In 5 days, all this will be gone. All of this will be gone. My entire life will fade into the backdrop as my plane takes off from the ground. Family, friends, and the daily comforts of the west will slide away as I take on a new challenging adventure thousands of miles away. Sadness and a bittersweet taste have lingered on my tongue for some time now, as every time I see a face or location that has meant anything to me, it ends in goodbye. But today, that is not how I feel. Today something else has taken the melancholy place in my heart.
This morning as I said goodbye to my brother at the airport, I drove home thinking about the time we spent together. The memories of youth flooded my memory as tears began to swell in my eyes. Like a coward, I ran from these emotions. I grabbed my phone and looked for solace in music, a habit I implore often. However, when I hit shuffle, a song, Free Bird, by Lynyrd Skynyrd came on. As the song played, all the sadness inside swelled, but then quickly, to my surprise, faded away. Replacing it was a feeling of love. I remembered listening to this song with my mother, as she told me it was this very song that was played at her high school graduation. Her words stuck with me and gave new meaning to the song. For the longest time, this song resembled a finish line, the anthem of when I would finally break through the clouds and chains that confine me. The moment when I leave the chaos to enter the much greener, grassier plains of self-worth and success. But that changed.
I suppose my mother felt that same feeling I did when she heard the song all those years ago. Finally, she was the free bird and was posed to score high and leave all the problems and inadequacies on the ground below her. But, as life has it, it has a way of grounding you. Divorce, tight money, and the daily stresses of life can clip even the strongest bird’s wings. However, against the odds, she faced down the obstacles that plagued her and charged forward, moving to provide a life for her two sons so they too could have the opportunity to fly. But in doing so, she lifted off the ground again, catching a second wind off the backs of her two creations. She flies again.
Now she sees me off, that in five days, I too will be gone. It brings me back, back to where I began in this piece. I am looking for salvation in Africa but will not find it there forever. Nothing is good forever, but what I do hope to find is something pure, something that transcends my inadequacies in manhood, abilities, and career. I look forward to the opportunity to love. To meet different people but connect solely on the one thing that makes any person unite: love for one another. In love, one can soar forever. They can fly high above the challenges of life. Love for your fellow man or woman is the only true finish line. Love and human connection, when I fail at it, I am at my lowest. However, when I succeed at it, I truly become that free bird. Like my mother, who loved me so dearly, she put her life on hold to see me fly. Now I head to Africa to test my wings, but with my mother’s grace in my heart, I know I will find the connection I desperately desire. Thank you for reading, may love tread in your heart every day.
Oregon countryside, near my father’s farm, where the desire for something different was born
It’s been two months since I arrived in San Diego, and almost everything is settled. There are still a bunch of fresh and interesting activities that I’ve never tried before in Taiwan, which always reminds me to explore, experience, and cherish more here in the following 80 days.
I enroll in Global Sustainable Tourism Management (RTM 470) in SDSU this semester. The focus of this course, sustainability, is different from my major, business, and I have never engaged in this kind of topic before. Therefore, it’s a perfect opportunity for me to learn about tourism and sustainability in the course. Last week we went on a field trip to Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California, Mexico for four days to visit some wineries and hotels and to interview the locals about their opinions of the tourism in Valle de Guadalupe.
It’s been just over a month since I arrived in my newly-beloved Spain! From the earliest of my travel days leaving San Diego and flying 5,000 miles across the globe, to the unknown extent of my allusions with what this experience would bring me has definitely come around full-circle. The period of angst revolving around the uncertainty of any solo abroad experience is a usual and normal one. For me, this was soon met with a sincere feeling of comfort and ease as I’ve grown to love this beautiful city.
As I smash out my last blog entry, I sit in the comfort of my own home once more. In fact, it’s already been two weeks since I’ve left Australian soil.
I bid goodbye to its hot Christmas in the summer and welcome back a California winter. I know, I know — “winter” as friends from the Midwest, east coast and Europe would then toss back to me.
Sadly, my time abroad is coming towards its end. The semester has gone by incredibly fast and has been absolutely amazing. These past few weeks have been a good time for some reflection and I have decided to dedicate this post to advice for prospective exchange students — especially those planning on studying in Europe.
As I write this post, I’m sitting in a café in Verona and reflecting on the past four months of my life. I hate to sound cliché — as I know I do often — but I am a different person than I was when I first step foot on Italian soil. My perspective of the world is different than it once was. My perspective of myself is different than it was not too long ago.
This, of course, is easy to say. But how have I changed? And why do I think that studying abroad was so crucial to my personal development?
I just took my last final of the semester this morning and while it lifted some weight off of my shoulders, it also feels very bittersweet. A part of me is ready to head home and see my family, but I’m also not ready to leave quite yet. My time here in Scotland has taught me a lot and brought along some great friends and memories.
Greetings —or szia — and welcome to my last blog entry from Hungary.
WOW. It is now starting to hit me that I just studied abroad for a full semester. As I sit here contemplating what to write about, I recall all the great memories I have had here in Pécs, Hungary and abroad.
The global experience, as told by SDSU students 