MENA and me

I knew I was someone who asked a lot of questions when even my driving instructor called me out for it.

Like a lot of young people, I found the world a cryptic place. So I'd question everything. I dwelled on the past and what-could-have-beens. And when it wasn't about death, my spiraling usually was caused by anxieties around belonging. My British and Egyptian identities seemed like they couldn't fully co-exist. I was in some sort of purgatory.

I wasn't seen as a true local when I went back home - my clothes, my imperfect vocabulary and my air of contentedness all gave it away. In England, I would re-adopt the culture, but I still wasn't "fully assimilated". Kids asked why I had an American accent, my mum's hijab drew looks and our neighbours gifted us a bottle of wine not thinking we'd immediately bin it.

Multiculturalism in the early 2000s, especially in predominantly-White areas like Bath, wasn't as we know it today. Migrant Arabs were one of the last ethnic groups to form communities in the UK and their integration wasn't helped by international and domestic politics. But my family managed to forge a micro-community. Whether it was at college, the car boot sale or the makeshift Mosque, we created pockets that held onto Arab customs and values.

As a young boy with light skin, I almost had to lead this secret life of being an Egyptian. I even remember having the epiphany that I must have infinite identities. Coming from a culture that emphasised the collective, it seemed weird that I was fixated on the 'I', but the hunt for a personal identity persisted.

I wondered how different I would have been had my parents not decided to emigrate. I regretted decisions that weren't my own and I was nostalgic for a life that never existed.

Societies tend to look to nostalgic feelings when current times aren't great. But for me it was more. I also didn't want to let go of the past.

My memories of Egypt before England were, and still are, rooted in my relationships with friends and family, especially my paternal Grandma. This collage is a tribute to her and to the memories that remain with me from the past. Before England, before adulthood.

Over the last few months, I've been lucky to have the chance and space to delve into ideas of identity, migration and SWANA culture as part of the 'Portraits of Brent' project. Through multiple workshops, we shared memories, experiences and connections to London. The

outputs from the project are displayed in Willesden Library this March through to April.