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Expat kids are in a world of their own

Late this month, my son will be among thousands of British teenagers who are starting university. His arrival at Exeter would not justify a mention, except that James is fairly unusual. In his 18 years, he has spent only a few weeks in Britain. Born in New York, he has lived mostly in France and Belgium so he sounds like Inspecteur Clouseau. I am taking him across the Channel for his first visit to a pub. He is worried about the food but he has heard that les petites anglaises are fun.

James is excited and anxious about making contact with a nearby home country that he hardly knows. We never planned it like this, but a chain of postings outside Britain has meant that the children have grown up in a slight no-man’s land. They see themselves as Franco-American Britons with a part-Iranian family.

For kids, the territory of the long-term expatriate is an odd place, even in the age of Facebook and Google. They have the privilege of enjoying a wider world but also the drawback of not really belonging anywhere. British families traditionally avoided this by packing off their young to Blighty. After a miserable time at my Scottish boarding school, I preferred to keep my pair at home. In Paris, they have gone to the Ecole active Bilingue, which offers extended English and has many non-French pupils, but remains resolutely Gallic. That means that it produces good citoyens de la République, with a fine grasp of theory and facts but a little short on the creative side or sports skills. The children’s mates include Britons, Americans and Irish, but French is their language and style. That reminds me to tell James that it is acceptable to smile at strangers and that he does not need to shake hands with his fellow students every morning.

Washington and New York put a similar national stamp on their expatriate kids, making them feel American. My London-born daughter from my first marriage spent a couple of primary years at school in Cold War Moscow. After spending her secondary years at the United Nations school in Manhattan, she became a real American and settled in Boston with her Californian husband.

The expat kids’ world is more international — and odd — in the capitals of the developing world and in that great offshore centre, Brussels. The heart of Euroland is like an aircraft carrier with a multinational crew that happens to be moored in a lake called Belgium.
The children of the fonctionnaires, lobbyists and business people mainly go to international schools. With its anguish over its identity, Belgium does not make much of a mark. The Euro-kids may have met a Belgian or two, but their world is the offshore caste with which they share more than they do with contemporaries from their home nations. When the little Lithuanians, Portuguese and Swedes play together, they do it in English. Not surprisingly, many head for jobs in the EU organs, think-tanks and law firms. They marry fellow souls and bring up their own Euro-families.

The rootless sense of expat kids should not be exaggerated. Emigrants everywhere experience much the same. But there is a difference because they and their children usually aim to blend into the new country. The expatriate world has a temporary feel because you expect to move on or return to base.

Life on the long-term road has obvious pros and cons for the parents too. A stint in Dubai or a turn in the Beijing office can be a useful phase on the career ladder. Things change if you get a taste for the nomad life and stay on in one of the specialities such as business, diplomacy, teaching or journalism. Moving countries can strain marriages, especially now that both spouses often have equal careers. By choosing the field, you enjoy freedom but forgo the usual promotional path.

You become an all-round outsider. You do not feel rootless like the children, but those at home come to see you as a bit foreign. Thanks to phones and the internet, you are never out of touch, but pop stars and TV personalities still rise and fall before you remember their names.

Then there is language. You have to be careful to keep up with the argot — say modern things such as “edgy”, “bear with me” and “texting” — and avoid slang that gives you away as someone who left when Yes Minister was new.

Colleagues may suspect you of going native, but you remain a permanent foreigner in the place you live. This can be annoying in France because the media haul you in when they want a foreign view or a cheeky jab at Nicolas Sarkozy. As Times correspondent you are assumed to be an expert on the Royal Family and Westminster and, if they could, they would have you turn up with an umbrella.

That symbol of rosbifitude brings me back to English training for my son. We are on to cricket. It is tough understanding the pastime if you are a boy schooled in Descartes.

Author: Charles Bremner
Source: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article6817568.ece
Publication date: 9 september 2009

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