Eds. Note: Please welcome our newest columnist, London-based Nazia, who will be sharing her food column Your Sunny Side Up the third Thursday of every month! It was just a few short months ago we were dancing at her engagement party, stuffing our faces with these cupcakes, and later indulging in a midnight feast of pizza and cookie dough (what wedding diet?). Fast forward a few weeks and we’re walking her down the aisle dressed in white to start the next chapter of her... Read more
They ask me why I always wear black. And I answer “I am in mourning”. They ask me who am I mourning. I’m mourning my grandfather, I say. They found his bones 10 years after his head was cut off, Quran in hand. I’m mourning my uncle too; his remains still not found. I wonder how much he suffered. I’m mourning my grandmother, killed by the grenades that left her son handicapped. I’m mourning the thousands of Ahmeds, Aishas and... Read more
Please join us on Twitter for our first virtual book club featuring a Q&A with author Rafia Zakaria about her new memoir, “The Upstairs Wife”, on Thursday, February 26th at 11 am PDT/2 pm EDT. Get your copy today! Christian Science Monitor book review of “The Upstairs Wife” Read more
I was ten-years-old. The air was sticky and heavy, the kind of heat that makes everything move in slow motion. My cousin, who is two years older than me, was lounging on the living room sofa watching Saturday morning cartoons, and wearing boxer briefs – the image of Spider-Man splayed purposefully across the crotch. Granny brought him a cup of Ovaltine tea, which was always a bit too sweet. He glanced away from the television only long enough to take... Read more
I came across an essay called, “Joy,” from writer Zadie Smith. This was a timely find as I woke up to 2015 with this motto: chase joy! Smith starts the essay highlighting the differences between pleasure and joy, which I agree requires necessary distinction. She suggests that pleasure is comprised of small things. I’ve spent the past two years chasing various sorts of pleasures, some as banal as a good cup of coffee. Other pleasures I’ve sought are better suited... Read more
It wasn’t the first time I had heard a woman give the azaan. In our Ramadan prayers in small activist circles with radical and queer Muslims, my friend Naaz would call us to prayer, her soft voice resonating through our small apartments. Her words were confident but her voice unpracticed and raw. Where else could a woman be allowed to practice the call to prayer? It felt rebellious. But this time it was different. We were in the big hall of a vaulted... Read more
Deonna Kelli Sayed interviews writer Patricia Dunn, author of the YA novel, Rebels by Accident, in this episode of Love, Inshallah’s author interview podcast. [soundcloud url=”https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/187231186″ params=”auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true” width=”100%” height=”450″ iframe=”true” /] (Track listing: “Ala Warag il Ful” and “Drum Solo” by Zikrayat. Music in this podcast is found at Free Music Archive: Middle East.) Sixteen year old Egyptian-American Mariam just wants the normal teenage American high school experiences. After she is busted at a party with her best friend, Deanna... Read more
It was my first time meeting a new friend’s spouse. We’d just finished dinner at our place, and my friend and I were in the kitchen, washing dishes and packing up leftovers. Our husbands chatted at the table while our children played in the living room, happy one minute, squabbling the next. After they left, the warmth of their easy company had lingered, and so I couldn’t have been more surprised when the next day, she called me, apologizing. “I... Read more
Back when people called me Her Excellency, I routinely attended gatherings at the home of Bahrain’s First Lady. Cardamom-flavored coffee appeared in demitasse cups. The servers, always women dressed in traditional robes, poured the golden elixir from a gently sloped carafe called a dullah. The women returned at regular intervals with refills until you shook the cup to signify that you wanted no more. My marriage felt like a fragile container that held the riches of the world, and one... Read more
I remember being three, face deep in a mango, my mosquito legs poking out from the shade of a palm tree, the Caribbean sun hot and deliberate. One of my Aunties came around the corner, and, with her heavy hand, began beating my legs back into the shade, yelling in her creamy patois (that always sounded more like singing), “You are going to get too dark!” It was the first time that I ever looked at my skin and realized... Read more
Love, InshAllah
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