Between two seas: raising children who dream in Greek and pray in Arabic
A mother in Thessaloniki reflects on identity, language and the questions her son asks on the walk home from school.
My son asked me last week whether he was Greek or Algerian. He is seven. I told him the truth, which is that he gets to be both, and that he will spend his life deciding what that means.
Raising children in the diaspora is a constant negotiation. We want them to belong fully where they live, without losing the language and memory of where we came from. Some days it feels like we are succeeding. Other days it feels like Arabic is slipping away one word at a time.
What has helped us
Weekend Arabic classes. Video calls with grandparents. Cooking together. Summers in Algeria when we can afford them. And, more than anything, finding other families going through the same thing.
“Belonging is not a single place. For our children, it might be the sea between two places.”
I do not know exactly who my son will become. But on the walk home along the seafront, when he switches between Greek and Darija mid-sentence without noticing, I feel hopeful.
