How the Great Outdoors Connects Me to My Heritage
My grandmother’s stories helped me connect to my ancestry when I was younger. To me, Pakistan was a liminal space that existed in my imagination. I’ve never been there, but the stories of my grandmother (or Ami as we say in Urdu) let me touch the flowing Chenab River in Rabwah and run on the lush, soft soil of Karachi.
Years ago, Ami would take me on daily walks on a forested trail near our home. She told me about her childhood days on the low, rolling hills of the Indus plains of Pakistan. Green fields and stretches of arid agricultural land would mark the landscape in her backyard. She remembered her family gathering at the riverbank for a picnic with fresh mangoes and homemade snacks. Her brothers and sister would run barefoot through the fields with her, playing traditional children’s games like Pakram Pakrai—a version of tag.
Growing up as a Pakistani woman in the Western world, nature wasn’t always a focal point of my cultural experience. Festivals, food and language were more often how I connected to my roots. But Ami’s stories have a way of crawling into my mind every time I lace up my hiking boots or zip up a rain jacket. Nature has become my homeland, my Pakistan, for this reason.
Every step I take on a mountain trail or every trek through a forest is more than just an adventure to me. It’s about memory, spirituality, personal connection. Coming home. It’s the quiet solitude of the forests’ open expanse that has offered me a resonant understanding of my heritage.
When I hiked Vancouver’s Grouse Grind, I reflected on the Pashtun tribes of northern Pakistan—a group of nomadic people who navigate rugged mountains as part of their daily lives. The mountains are not just obstacles to overcome for them, but a part of their identity and soul. The forests and trails of BC help me imagine the lush, fertile lands of the Indus plains where my ancestors farmed and the rivers that sustained life for millennia. The agricultural heritage of my family illustrates the intimate relationship between people and the Earth, a kinship beyond recreation.
My mother tells me that in South Asian culture, nature heals. When I get sick, she takes me on a walk in our neighbourhood, encouraging me to breathe in the fresh air, feel my feet move on the ground and let the natural world hug me. She uses freshly picked mint, cumin seeds and herbal spices to brew natural teas. She offers me freshly squeezed carrot, orange and apple juice when I get a cold, and hot ginger tea when I have a sore throat. Whether it rains or snows, she makes sure I spend a few minutes outdoors every day because our culture knows how healthy and healing it is.
The land also holds a spiritual significance that’s often interwoven with our way of life. The teachings of my faith, Islam, emphasize the importance of the environment. Islamic teachings remind us that the Earth is a trust given to us, and it is our responsibility to protect it. This perspective resonates with the legacies of my ancestors, who understood land to be a source of sustenance and spirituality. My outdoor adventures, then, become a way of fulfilling that responsibility—not just by appreciating nature’s beauty, but by caring for it.
Sustainability is not just a part of my South Asian heritage but is ingrained in it. Many South Asian parents and grandparents immigrated to the West with little to their names, so sustainability was always interwoven into the fabric of the values that I was taught growing up. Every hole in my jeans was sewn up with a needle and some thread. All meals were eaten fully, stored as leftovers in our fridge, or shared with neighbours. Old scarves were made into pyjamas when they were no longer needed. Plastic containers always found a way back into our cabinets, filled with miscellaneous household items.
In mainstream media, outdoor adventure is often dominated by images of the rugged white male adventurer, the kind who conquers mountains and braves the wilderness. While inspiring for some, this portrayal leaves out a vast array of perspectives and experiences, sidelining the rich, cultural connections many other communities like mine have with the natural world. Every culture has its own history and relationship with nature.
Growing up, I didn’t see many adventurers who looked like me or shared my cultural background in outdoor media. But I’ve discovered that my relationship with nature, influenced by my South Asian roots, is just as valid, if not more enriching because it ties me back to generations of people who lived in harmony with the land. Now, when I hike through forests or climb mountains, I feel like I’m walking in the footsteps of my ancestors—honouring their legacy.
Nature belongs to all of us and exploring those deeper cultural roots can make our adventures more meaningful, allowing us to reclaim space in an environment that often feels exclusive. By seeking out and celebrating these connections, we can reshape the narrative of who belongs in the outdoors.
