Emigration is not for wimps

These past 18 years as an expat have been an incredibly interesting journey. As a sociologist, I’ve found the process and pitfalls of fitting-in as a ‘foreigner’ fascinating for all its fits and starts.

The adage ‘it’s not what you know but who you know’ holds true everywhere in the world, however in (post) colonial societies/cultures like South Africa (Australia, NZ, and even Canada and the USA), ‘stewardship’ (Pete sent me/recommended you) is even more prevalent. So you obviously leave a lot more than just your family support network behind.

As a newcomer, you also need to find an 'in' to a world where interpersonal (business) relationships have been built-up over generations and centuries. The days when you'll be granted credit, credibility, or deference based on your father's reputation are over.

Local village

One of the most fundamental differences is that if you move from anywhere in South Africa to Western Europe, you are invariably moving from a relatively sparsely populated area to a very densely populated one. Here, the concept of ‘the local village/neighbourhood’ is generally much smaller and more localised – I grew up in (what is for all social purposes) a little fishing village called Cape Town.

Cheese market, Alkmaar

You’ll also know what I mean if you grew up in the mining village of Johannesburg or the agricultural station of Bloemfontein: In South Africa, the ‘circle’ of everyone-knows-everyone-else is geographically much larger, so we tend to feel ‘at home’ in a larger area. In Europe, that ‘circle’ is miniaturised.

We often take it for granted that in our home town, we’re on first-name terms with the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker, and that the checkout lady at the supermarket went to school with our sister and is married to (or – if scuttlebutt is to be believed – sleeping with) one of our buddies in the rugby club.

'Kaasmeisje', Alkmaar

Network

It’s taken me about eight years of living in the same town to build-up anything even similar to that kind of ‘network’, so if it’s any consolation to those ‘fresh off the boat’, with a little effort from your side, it doesn't come naturally but it does get easier.

Nowadays, after nearly a decade in the same place, my optician and I have our cars serviced at the same garage, I’ll encounter the local butcher and his family at the beach on Sunday, my GP and I buy free-range eggs still warm from under the hens at the same farmer, and I know that the daughter of the owner of the snack bar is an assistant at the pharmacy. Gezellig!* You need to get a sense of ‘village’ before you can feel ‘at home’.

The reality of today is the prevailing (hardened) mood across society – and across the spectrum of Dutch politics – towards immigration. However with the exception of the populist right, who are openly xenophobic (Minder! Minder!Minder!), the vast majority of Dutch people are hospitable to immigrants, provided they show willingness to assimilate (inburgeren) into Dutch society. For that to happen – over and above any legal requirements for inburgering – you really need to learn Dutch.

It takes a while to fit-in

With Afrikaans you have a (no more than very slight) head start, once you get past the awkward stage of learning not to say things like ‘verskoon my asseblief’ – Dutch connotations have changed slightly since Van Riebeeck and his vrijburgers landed at the Cape in 1652, so the Dutchman of 2018 might be less forgiving, pass you a roll of toilet paper, and tell you to wipe your own arse.

Just think what would happen if you went to London today and tried speaking Shakespearean English to the hotel receptionist (who probably speaks Estonian anyway but that’s a different story)?

For English-speakers, it’s not as easy. The Dutch love to show-off their ability in English, so if they detect even a slight hint of an ‘English’ accent when you try to speak Dutch, they will go over into English.

Learning Dutch

English (or really a hybrid form of Anglo-American) is also the lingua franca in the Dutch corporate world, where e.g. I've encountered plenty of UK and US expats who have lived and worked in the Netherlands for decades but can (mystifyingly) still hardly speak Dutch.

I solved this by asking Dutch-speakers: ‘Ik wil graag Nederlands leren. Wilt u alstublieft doorgaan in het Nederlands?’ Then they were (without exception) very helpful and accommodating towards an immigrant who was considered to be ‘making an effort’. That became less necessary over time once my Dutch gradually became better than the average Dutch person’s English, but it took patience and a bit of perseverance before that invisible threshold was reached.

Dorpstraat

Of course, there are formal lessons available, as these days non-EU immigrants have to pass a Dutch exam, however like any language the best place to learn it is in Dorpstraat; getting to know the butcher, baker, and herring seller. Your town’s weekly market is a great place to start, and you’ll have learned a lot of new (not necessarily printable) words by the time you’ve covered all the stalls...

In my own case, I already had EU citizenship and was fortunate to be naturalised before the draconian Rita Verdonk regime, but already back then, een alledaagse gesprek in het Nederlands kunnen voeren was an obvious and completely understandable prerequisite.

Doe maar gewoon

Language and culture are also inextricably intertwined, so as you learn Dutch you’ll begin understand the necessity to doe maar gewoon in a country where 17.5 million people (with three times as many opinions (meningen) and twice as many bicycles) have for centuries constantly, resolutely, and successfully fought-off the sea for a patch of Rhine Delta mud about the size of – but not quite as dry as – the Kruger Park...

And then, one day, you’ll open your front door at 1 am, see some young girls cycling home from a party without a care in the world, retrieve the keys you’d left dangling in your car door all afternoon, breathe a sigh of satisfaction, and say gezellig*.

Now once you can say gezellig with conviction, then you know you’ve ‘gone native’… and your neighbours might even start to tolerate your braai smoke in winter... once they bring over their hamburgers, kipsate, and rundervinken to join you (lekker samen gourmetten), you've truly 'arrived'!

*Gezellig approximately means ‘congenial’ or ‘cosy’, however its cultural loading makes it untranslatable.

Text and pictures © Andrew Bergman 2018 – – originally published in Facebook group South Africans in the Netherlands!! Independent copyrights apply to video inserts.