Being Arab can mean a number of things: speaking Arabic, holding an Arab passport, getting riled up about regional politics, dreamily swaying to Fairuz in the morning and perhaps even loving hummus — although from what I hear that’s quickly becoming a staple spread in U.S. American sandwiches. An intensely international community on an island in a Middle Eastern country, NYU Abu Dhabi is a place where issues of Arab identity acquire a new level of complexity.

What happens to students’ Arab identities upon arriving at NYUAD is largely dependent on the contexts from which they come. I was born and raised in Dubai to Syrian parents who never let me forget the Syrian part of my identity. My Fusha Arabic is decent, although not as fluent as my Levantine dialect. I’m familiar with tabbouleh, the endless drone of Al Jazeera in the background, the music and the strict parents. But even though my classmates were predominantly Arab, Western pop culture saturated Dubai and the large percentage of expatriates in the UAE meant that English — and memes in English — quickly became my default language. My grandmother was shocked at this occurrence when she first arrived from Syria:

“This is an Arab country, but no one speaks Arabic,” she lamented.

But if speaking Arabic was a requirement for Arab identification, not only would some Advanced Arabic students give us a run for our money, but it would also imply a hierarchy of Arab-ness with the most eloquent of us on top.

Senior Yasmin Al-Modwadhi was raised in Denmark but has always identified as Arab, as her father did. She started learning Arabic at NYUAD.

“[Studying Arabic] is what I was most excited about [when] coming to NYUAD,” said Al-Modwadhi.

Nonetheless, Al-Modwadhi still has many questions about what speaking Arabic means for the Arab identity.

“Does that mean that Arab identity is fluid? That if one day I master the language then I’m all of a sudden entitled to call myself Arab?” commented Al-Modwadhi.

For Al-Modwadhi, politics are also intertwined with her identification as Arab.

“I reflect back and it was almost like I was in solidarity with all these struggles that we’d speak about, or that my father was frustrated about … I think that’s really shaped how I initially saw myself as an Arab,” said Al-Modwadhi.

Religion is an equally important factor. I don’t feel any less Arab for not being Muslim, but there is an undeniable relationship between Islam and the Arabic language, with Arabic words and phrases frequently finding their way into non-Arab Muslims’ speech.

Arabic Heritage and Language, a course offered by the Arabic Department to students with native knowledge of the language, takes into account such factors of the Arab identity. While mastering Arabic language is the focus of the course, this is supplemented by lessons on history and culture tailored to the students’ interests. According to Professor Nasser Isleem, who is teaching Arabic Heritage and Language in fall 2016, there are several reasons why students wish to take the course.

“Every student in the class has an interest and focus from the language aspect … some students are interested in literature, some students want to speak fluent Fusha for journalism or politics, some students are interested from a religious perspective,” said Isleem.

One of Isleem’s priorities as an Arabic professor is to immerse students in a language that isn’t the most widely-spoken language in the UAE. It’s very telling that all three students currently enrolled in Arabic Heritage and Language have grown up in the UAE, for it shows that knowledge of Arabic does not always facilitate one’s exploration of one’s heritage and culture.

“I don’t feel like people are trying to put me down for not speaking the language [perfectly],” said Al-Modwadhi. “We still share this affection for the food, culture, music and all these things. It was so enriching for me to come here and have these connections with other people from this region and for me to understand the diversity that exists in the Arab world.”