“Why didn’t you just leave America and come back to Pakistan? Back in a Muslim environment where it was easier and safer to be a Muslim?” A high school student in Pakistan asked me this question.
For the first time after hundreds of lectures in scores of cities, someone had the courage to ask me that. A teenage girl, no less. From the other end of the world, no less. I loved it.
Out of nowhere I had received an email from a woman, introducing herself as an archivist at the Citizens Archive of Pakistan. Citizens what? Her organization had a virtual program called Bookclub Across Borders that paired high school students in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Now that piqued my interest.
It gets better.
They had selected my memoir and she was asking permission to use one of my videos on their social media.
It gets better.
Bookclub Across Borders will be reading this book in 12 cities in Pakistan, and 12 cities in Afghanistan, pairing two cities from each country each month, over 12 months, she told me.
I asked how the students obtained the books. I presumed they would have gotten the digital version. Like, how would students in Afghanistan get access to the paperback version, right?
It gets even better.
“We bought the books and gave them to the students. Once the students in the first two cities have read the book, we will circulate the books for the students in the next two cities for the second month, and so on,” she said.
“Where did you get the books from?”
“A bookstore in Lahore.” Duh!
“And they are well-versed in English?” What a question! Of course they are. Why else would Citizens Archive go through all the trouble.
Intrigued, I offered to zoom with the bookclub members when they met next. A couple of emails later, they offered me a date and time: November 17 at 3:00 p.m. “I hope you are available,” she wrote.
Well, I was available, because 3:00 p.m. Pakistan time is 5:00 a.m. New York time. Of course I was available, available to be sleeping. I wrote back. The time difference had slipped their mind. I understand. How often does one schedule a meeting during school hours with someone 10 time zones away? But the students had a tight schedule, and this was too tempting to forego, so I went along with the early start. I set the alarm for 4:00 a.m., showered and changed, grabbed a cup of coffee, and was ready.
Starting on 5:00 am sharp, Aaliyah Tayyaibi, wearing a white jacket, her dark hair cropped short, introduced me to my screen-mates from Karachi and Kabul. They sat in a circle, masks on, Pakistani students in beige uniform, girls in shalwar qameez, boys in shirt and pants; Afghani girls in tunics and tights, boys in shirt and pants. Boys! I am used to bookclubs with mostly women. OMG! Teenage boys reading about my arranged marriage! Traffic jams in Karachi and bombings in Kabul had compelled the students to find alternate venues to assemble, and a few had to call in from home. Life goes on. Bombings and bookclubs. Wait, isn’t that an American looking face on the screen? Sarah Ziebell introduced herself. She is a diplomat at the U.S. Embassy in Pakistan, and as part of the Lincoln Center Partnership in Pakistan and Afghanistan, a co-sponsor for the bookclub. Tell you how small this world is: Sarah is a New Yorker, a former librarian at the NY Public Library. “Sarah,” I said, “I am one of the moderators of the Writers Circle at the NY Public Library.”
“I am going to ask a member from the Kabul group to ask the first question,” Aaliyah said.
A girl rose from the circle, took a seat at the camera, and asked, “Your book is about the power of women. If you had stayed in Pakistan, would you have accomplished as much as you did living in the U.S?”
I told her that women in Pakistan are moving mountains. Against many odds, what they have accomplished in all spheres of life is astounding. They are dominant in arts, journalism, law, media, and are emerging as leaders, movers and shakers. Compared to them, I have been moving pebbles.
“Karachi, over to you,” Aaliyah turned the floor to the Pakistani students.
“When you were dealing with Islamophobia and were trying to raise your children as Muslims in a non-Muslim environment, why didn’t you just leave America and come back to Pakistan. . . .?”
Why didn’t I? Why did so many of us choose to stay?
It all came back to me in an instant. The excitement of breaking new ground: building a Muslim community from scratch, starting a Sunday school, scrambling for teachers, teaching ourselves to be teachers, fundraising to build the first mosque, giving talks on Islam, writing about it in the local newspapers . . . . the thrill of being trailblazers. And it worked! The more it worked, the more energized we got. We had an open canvas and, oh boy! Did we get creative in picking the colors of the palate. We were on a roll, getting a kick out of it. (Actually, I didn’t tell her about the ‘kick’ part.) That excitement combined with the opportunity that America offered for us and for our children, is why we choose to stay.
A boy from Kabul asked, “Imagine if you had moved to the U.S. today, as a teenager—not four decades ago when you actually moved—how different would your experience have been, considering how much the U.S. has changed?”
Back and forth between Karachi and Pakistan, some asking about the craft of writing, others about leadership development. Great questions, but Aaliyah topped it when she closed by offering the students ‘a little food for thought.’ But not before I asked them to smile for my screen shots, and the masks promptly slid down.
“Sabeeha spoke about her struggles as a minority. We live in countries where we are majorities, but we have minorities. I would like all of us to reflect upon how Sabeeha got the leverage . . . to explore who she was within her faith; because she was in a system which respected her…where the environment was conducive to her growth. We have to build on that respect for minorities in our countries . . . and respect, honor and applaud each other regardless of our faith . . . because that is a big part of being a nation.”
At that point I reached out for my box of tissues.
It got better.
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