Migration

“And where do you come from?” Hmm, what should I say now!? I could say Worms, the ancient German town where I was born and enjoy the unsatisfied look on the hairdresser’s face, or I could say Syria, which is what she’s really asking about; most people aren’t interested in where I was born and grew up.

When you leave your home or familiar environment – either voluntarily or by force, through migration or displacement – you are likely to feel alien in your new environment. People migrate for different reasons and feel alienated in different ways, by the physical space – the location itself – or by the new language that now surrounds them.

There are those who came to Egypt alongside foreign occupiers or as invaders, and those who came to escape war or poor conditions in their own countries, seeking asylum elsewhere. This is not to mention those people living in Egypt because of work, study or marriage to Egyptians, all of which reasons might lead us to assume that there has been an increase in acceptance and integration of the other, and not the reverse.

I was the eighth. My father, an African, came from the city of Masina in Chad and my mother was a Palestinian "white" mother from Jericho in the Jordan Valley. I grew up as the mulatto ("muwallad") kid in the African neighbourhood. This is how the first generation of African immigrants to Jerusalem were known.

"Do not spend more than three days in a city. On the first day, you can claim not to know the language in order to be alone with your thoughts. On the second day, you can ask local people for directions. On the third day, you can show tourists the way to the mosque... But on the fourth day, you have no choice but to leave."

“Where is your bint from?” is not an unusual question in Lebanon. Bint is a loaded term that refers to thousands of African and Asian workers arriving in Lebanon every year.