Across Cultures and Continents: A Migrant GP’s Journey to New Zealand with Victoria Rey
Victoria Rey has lived across countries, cultures and continents. Born in southern France to a French father and Mexican mother, she spent her childhood moving between Nigeria, Kenya, Belgium and Madagascar before returning to Belgium to study medicine. In December 2025, she crossed the world once more—this time arriving in Auckland with two suitcases to begin a new chapter as a GP.
New Zealand had lived in Victoria's imagination long before she arrived. She first encountered the country through rugby and the haka, which she watched with her father; in the years that followed, New Zealand continued to appear through films, books, sporting events, and the stories of people who had travelled here. It remained a distant possibility until Victoria discovered that New Zealand actively recruited doctors from overseas.
What had once felt like a faraway dream became a real opportunity.
Growing up between cultures
Movement has always been part of Victoria's life. Soon after she was born, her parents moved to Nigeria, where she learned to walk, eat and swim. The family later lived in Kenya, Belgium and Madagascar, often surrounded by French- and Spanish-speaking expatriate communities.
Victoria remembers many beautiful parts of that childhood: large gardens, animals, safaris and friendships formed across borders. Yet she also describes expatriate life in Africa as a kind of "golden cage." It offered comfort and extraordinary experiences, but it could also keep international families distant from local communities and everyday life in the countries around them.
Moving so often also meant learning to live without one fixed definition of home. Victoria identifies with the experience of a third-culture child—someone shaped by several cultures while never belonging entirely to only one. Her family answered by creating home through one another.
Wherever Victoria, her parents and her sister were together, that became their small home. Familiarity came through shared habits, memories, and the experience of being understood by people who had travelled the same road.
This mobile childhood also created a remarkable international network. Friends moved from one country to another, and connections reappeared in unexpected places. Victoria learned that life can seem random, yet people whose paths separate may one day meet again somewhere else in the world.
The home beneath the cherry tree
Among all the places Victoria has lived, the one that carries the deepest emotion is her grandparents' home in France.
Although she and her sister saw their grandparents only a few times each year, the house offered continuity amid constant movement. Victoria remembers the garden, the mountains and a cherry tree heavy with fruit around her June birthday. She and her sister would climb its branches to gather cherries, then make food with their grandmother.
Her grandparents were born in 1930, but age never stopped them from creating adventures with their grandchildren. They took the girls hiking, fishing, shell collecting and gathering mushrooms and fruit. Her grandfather tended an enormous vegetable garden, while her grandmother prepared meals that brought everyone back around the table.
Her grandfather worked as an engineer on dams along France's Rhône River, and his career also involved frequent travel. Retirement did not make either grandparent less adventurous. They travelled throughout Europe and visited Victoria's family in every country where they lived. Distance existed, but it never became an obstacle to closeness.
Both grandparents died during the COVID period, making separation and grief especially difficult. Victoria still feels their presence in ordinary moments. When she prepares for a hike or packs food for a journey, she remembers what they taught her. Their legacy lives not only in major achievements, but in habits, meals, landscapes, and ways of moving through the world.
Becoming a doctor
Victoria cannot remember a time when she did not want to become a doctor. Her mother recalls that, even as a child, Victoria wanted to cure and help people. As she grew older, that instinct developed into curiosity about how the body works and why people experience illness, pain and physical change.
The path required around ten years of study and training in Belgium. Her first year at university was, in her words, a disaster. The transition forced her to understand how she learned and to take responsibility for her own study. She recovered, completed the following years successfully and became proud of what she had achieved—but the process demanded sacrifice. For several years, holidays were replaced by exam preparation.
That culture of constant achievement can build endurance, but Victoria also recognises its cost. When people become accustomed to pushing towards the next grade, qualification or professional milestone, they may begin to question whether they truly belong. Imposter syndrome, exhaustion and the habit of putting personal needs aside can follow them into their careers.
Medical professionals are often expected to continue working through grief, family difficulties and their own health concerns while caring for others. The responsibility is real, but so is their humanity. Victoria believes that breaks, boundaries and mental-health support are essential—not only for doctors and nurses, but for everyone.
As she puts it, a doctor expected to be available every moment is no longer treated as a person, but as a machine.
Medicine begins with the person.
Victoria once considered surgery or radiology because she thought those fields might involve less interaction with people. Eventually, she discovered something important about herself: she actually liked people. General practice allowed her to combine medical knowledge with conversation, curiosity and human connection.
For Victoria, medicine is not simply about identifying a disease and prescribing a treatment. Every patient understands health and illness through their own culture, relationships, responsibilities and priorities. One person may be most concerned about their own diagnosis; another may care more about remaining present for their family.
The GP's role is therefore not only to provide information, but to ask what matters to the person sitting in front of them. Treatment may involve reassurance, difficult news, realistic boundaries or a decision made together. There is rarely one simple answer that can be separated from the patient's life.
This is particularly meaningful in South Auckland, where Victoria works with people from many cultural and linguistic backgrounds. Speaking French, Spanish, and English helps her connect across some of those differences, while the community's diversity continues to challenge her to listen and learn.
Technology, information and trust
The relationship between patients and doctors is also changing as more people arrive at appointments with information from Google or ChatGPT. Victoria does not dismiss this. She enjoys sitting with patients, exploring what they have found and explaining where the information is accurate, incomplete or misleading.
Online tools can help people form better questions, but they cannot see the whole person or conduct a complete medical assessment. Victoria's message is practical: be curious and do your research, but check online advice with a healthcare professional—especially before eating, injecting or putting anything into your body.
Healthcare professionals also use digital tools and research databases. The important skill is not simply accessing information, but evaluating it, comparing sources and understanding how—or whether—it applies to an individual.
Beginning again in Aotearoa
Moving to New Zealand has required Victoria to learn a new healthcare system, navigate ACC and understand the relationship between public and private services. Her colleagues have helped her find her way, reminding her that migration is not only an individual act of courage but also a process supported by others.
Outside work, Auckland has brought its own surprises: difficult public transport, an unexpected variety of international food and the challenge of finding the right French pastry base. More meaningfully, New Zealand has reconnected her with something familiar. Looking into Auckland's night sky, Victoria can recognise constellations she remembers from Madagascar, including the Southern Cross.
For someone whose life has crossed so many borders, even the stars can become a form of continuity.
Victoria is conscious that many migrants arrive with qualifications they cannot immediately use. She feels grateful that her Belgian medical training allowed her to continue practising her profession in New Zealand, and she does not take that privilege lightly. Her response is to do the work well and remain open to learning.
Asked what she would say to her ten-year-old self—the quiet child who was afraid to speak—Victoria's answer is simple: "Talk. Just talk. You can do it."
It is a fitting conclusion to a life shaped by movement and connection. Victoria's story is not only about becoming a doctor or migrating to New Zealand. It is about finding the confidence to enter unfamiliar places, carrying home through the people we love, and remembering that every person—patient or professional—has a life beyond what you see at first glance.
