The black non-national: one international student’s perspective on life in Edinburgh
by Sienna, from the U.S.A., studying Clinical Psychology, 3rd year
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage[;] his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.
– excerpt from Caged Bird (1983) by Maya Angelou
I had limited expectations when I departed the US for the second time to further my education. My first experience in England—lasting one year—felt like a combined whirlwind and whiplash of UK cultural immersion. From cuisine to colloquialisms, I left the country nearly as bewildered as when I arrived. The high-ranking uni I attended historically boasts a tradition of prestigious academics, and the city in which it is located hosts a fascinating mashup of intimidating structures and inspiriting locals. Veiled in a sometimes suffocating air of “posh-ness”, it was safe to assume this 365 day experience was neither typical nor translatable to other UK educational institutions. Therefore, when I was accepted to the esteemed University of Edinburgh, I did not know what to expect in terms of academics and social life. Granted, Scotland is a different country, Edinburgh hosts warm, lively ceilidhs instead of college-based formal dinners, and PhD work is more demanding than that of a taught MSc. However, besides the obvious, I was oblivious to what “life in Edinburgh” meant upon arrival in 2019.
As one Scottish local frankly divulged, “The farther north you go [in the UK], the less diverse it gets”. As a black woman from the States, I am unfortunately familiar with being socially, and at times morally, situated as an “other”. Legally situated as a foreigner in the UK for the second time, I was comfortable with being identified by my American accent and mannerisms. I assumed I would be just another “other” among a ton of other “others” at a capitol city’s university. During the first few months of living in Edinburgh, I was indeed just another nondescript uni student walking around the city. That was until we moved farther away from the city, towards the northern residential areas of Edinburgh.
A married PGR candidate, I never utilised student accommodation. From the beginning, though I am a full-time student, we have lived at least one mile away from uni. In many cases, it is safe to assume that different residential areas have different pulses despite altogether forming one, cohesive Edinburgh. However, we were wholly unprepared for the critical difference in attitudes removed from the bustling, colourful streets of the city centre. Upon moving to an area rife with people of all ages, we quickly noticed a dearth of people of colour (POC). Similar to my neighbourhood in the States, I did not immediately feel uncomfortable in our new place simply because of a lesser POC presence. Then we encountered our neighbours. An older, white couple, our new neighbours initially seemed only slightly interested in us. As an interracial couple accustomed to various race-based microaggressions, as well as unabashed prejudice and discrimination from our time in the States, we knew to delicately navigate any type of interaction with our new neighbours. Limiting conversations and constantly tip-toeing around any potentially controversial topic, we barely interacted with the people around us. From taking our trash and recycling out before 9pm to whispering on the balcony as to not disturb those above, below, and beside us, we took the living situation we opted-in to in stride. There was no violence, only tension—quiet, ever-present tension. We were unsure if the unspoken tension was because we were students in an area rife with families or if because the amount of melanin in my skin is a bit more than the neighbourhood preferred.
Considering we never hosted parties and, instead, spent all either day typing away on the computer, reading until eye strain, or lost in thought “future tripping” when professional pressure got a bit difficult to handle, we assumed our PGR student status would be a non-issue. That was until I observed our older neighbours observing me as I sipped tea from my favourite mug. Through the window facing our partitioned, yet essentially shared balcony, I witnessed them staring at me point-blank as I stood in the kitchen listening to the white noise of our TV. Perhaps they are deciding whether or not to confront us with a grievance, I thought as I tried to not overtly react to them starring me down in my own flat. Is the TV too loud? No. Is there trash on our balcony? No. While I was internally agonising as to the why behind watching me and the how to sort the matter, the couple retreated inside and concluded their departure with a slam of their balcony door. That’s odd, I thought, But whatever, I guess.
Not long after this instance, the (at the time) novel coronavirus COVID-19 caused the country to lockdown. As a result, in-person social interactions paused, and people began discussing what “new normal” would come from such a seemingly abrupt interruption to our lives. While my husband and I were gradually becoming more and more accustomed to staying inside all day, every day, our neighbours’ interest in us increased. Perhaps the motivation was boredom. Perhaps the motivation was innocent interest. Regardless of their still-unknown-reasoning, the increase in obvious and inappropriate peering into our windows at all times of day made us extremely uncomfortable. As a trauma survivor who lives with PTSD, their behaviours significantly impacted existing and burgeoning feelings of unease. It got to the point where the feelings of being threatened, being unsafe, being unable to live freely inside my own flat. It appears the colour of my skin is a bit too much for some to handle…Being considered suspicious just because of the amount of melanin in my skin is a difficult pill to swallow. I am full. And tired. So…
We moved-out.
The free bird thinks of another breeze[,] and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees[,] and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn[,] and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams[;] his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream[.] His wings are clipped and his feet are tied[,] so he opens his throat to sing.
– excerpt from Caged Bird (1983) by Maya Angelou
After reporting the threatening behaviours of our neighbours to our letting agent, we were instructed to contact the police or a third-party reporting centre. As a black woman from the States, I have entrenched hesitation regarding contacting and trusting authorities. Perhaps not many university students know this, but the Advice Place, run by Edinburgh University Students’ Association (EUSA) located in Bristo Square, functions as a third-party reporting centre. Through third-party reporting, you have the option of staying anonymous when reporting an issue to relevant authorities. EUSA staff is trained to support all students encountering various types of situations. Though the university provides signposting to various, critical support resources, I was too afraid to utilise university support in my situation. If my experience can help anyone, I hope it encourages others to not hesitate and utilise available help resources and communicate with support systems. Neither the city of Edinburgh nor the renowned University of Edinburgh are the problem, and my experience is by no means typical.
Despite the chaos, my academic experience at the University of Edinburgh has exceeded my expectations. I have been challenged. I have been published. I have been cited multiple times. I have survived annual reviews. I have received mental health support from university Counselling Services. I have learned to navigate imposter syndrome (with sincere thanks to the many resources provided by the Institute for Academic Development). I have danced at ceilidhs. I have led awareness groups. I continue to grow, despite it all. I feel safe now…
Nevertheless, I proudly call Edinburgh my home. I may not have utilised the rife resources the uni offers, but I remain a PhD candidate at a leading UK academic institution. I remain happy. I remain safe.
Nevertheless, I persisted.
And I am no longer afraid to sing in my flat.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still[,] and his tune is heard on the distant hill[…] for the caged bird sings of freedom.
– excerpt from Caged Bird (1983) by Maya Angelou
