Family

On Orphans, Adoption, and Islam

This article responds to Yusra Gomaa’s piece on altM, Placing Muslim orphans into real homes. In 1961, Frantz Fanon wrote his seminal work The Wretched of the Earth. In the section of the book entitled “On National Culture”, he indicts the colonial system of both his native Martinique as well…

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Dying in America

We brought my father home from the hospital two weeks ago, so he could die in peace. I’m told once the death rattle comes it’s a matter of hours and possibly even a few days.

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Placing Muslim orphans into real homes

Bare, grey walls tinged with a hint of yellow inside this familiar Moroccan orphanage. Crib after crib lined up next to one another with no spaces in between. Toddlers, laying silently on their faded green polka-dot sheets, likely funded by a charitable relief program. One child, perhaps walking now, is…

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A paradox called “girl”

Do you know what this means?”, she said in a desperate tone. Her husband looked down with distraught eyes, as if to mourn. He knew the challenges that lay ahead. All his thoughts were now filled with dread. To bring up a girl child in this world, To protect her…

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American Muslim Children Struggle in School: Impact of the 2016 Election

This election cycle has been difficult to experience, even for adults.  Civil conversations and respect for diversity have been sidelined, and the loudest voices in politics and on television now are frighteningly extreme. Unsurprisingly the hateful rhetoric has filtered into American schools.  The Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) has just…

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My Son, My Bodhisattva

My son, Ibrahim, arrived small yet mighty in a Central Asian hospital one February morning, a miniature version of his Afghan father; brown skin, dark hair, a broad brow. On the inside, he carried my O- blood. I knew that this child was cut from the same cloth as my…

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Choosing a childfree present

This piece is a follow up to the essay, “Accidentally Childfree”.
“Do you want to be in your marriage?” She asked me, matter-of-factly.
For months I wrestled with this question, always too afraid to broach it during daylight hours. But here we were, in her bright little office, and her words flooded the room.
On that day, I did not have an answer for her.

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