I have lived in the US most of my life and until they hear my name, most people assume I'm white American but "home" is still Iran even though I haven't been back since my childhood. When I see videos of Tehran, it looks so different than what I remember, but the feeling is still "oh, that's home". When Israel (and US) were bombing Iran recently, the rage and despair I felt at my "home" being destroyed was so intense. I don't think I will ever live there again but it will always feel like my home in a way that no other country can ever feel.
Your writing is so beautiful and I found myself trying to put it in a genre as I was reading this. It defies being categorized for me. How would you describe your writing?
I felt this way about India... the last time I went was twenty years ago. It didn't feel like home. It feels even less so now, because of the upsurge of Hindu nationalism. And yet, I do feel that after my parents are gone, I will want to go back to the city of their birth.
What is it about motherhood that makes you want to commune with your ancestors?
I think all of a sudden, we want to understand all the links—we've made a new chain, but what about all the chains that came before, and how do we keep them linked, even if only precariously?
"Because we are here again, landed in Cairo a day ago, to heat radiating from the ground and honking horns and the brightness, the BRIGHTNESS, of Africa. This must be where the sun first rose. This must be home."
Absolutely love those three sentences and the way they live together. I can FEEL Cairo, feel Africa, in these words. May your journey be what you need it to be, Noha!
I remember seeing the sand in Mali for the first time, and something in me settling. I felt a tug and I just knew I was home. Mali is the land of my ancestors and I went for the first time right after the borders opened post-covid. Mali healed a longing for home in me, a longing that I didn't know I had until I experienced that feeling, and so yes, I know what you're describing
No, i've never been to Egypt, but i'd love to visit it one day. Although i was born in Shiraz, my parents and my grandparents were originally born in Sivand, a village near Shiraz. There they speak a different version of Persian, therefore, when my grandparents start speaking that language, i can't understand them. It's been 3 years since i was in that village, but it's a beautiful village with lots of big gardens (And that's where love for nature stems from).
Thank you for this, Noha. The stunning brightness, and these words stole my heart: “This must be where the sun first rose. This must be home.” Talk about an exhale. I hope your journey is all the things. Your description of watching your mother so closely for any signs of moving you back…. This was precious and so real. I could feel my own little girl self watching my mother for tiny signs of anything, too. How strange and wonderful it is, how our lives unfold and bring us new truths and revelations. How it is different now as an adult and a mother. I have been to Egypt. It was a wild trip and I’m still not sure what it meant to me. I learned there that there are bigger forces alive and at work in the world than I ever knew and way bigger than me. Very humbling. On a very different scale I can share that I used to travel a lot and every time I crossed the state line back into Texas, where I was born and raised, even though I didn’t live there anymore and didn’t want to, it still somehow felt different. Also like an exhale. Also like a welcome home. ❤️
I haven't been to Egypt, but I have been to Africa, and while I was there, I had the mysterious, settled sensation that'd returned to some kind of plein-air womb. No doubt some deep part of us knows its where we first emerged. Safe travels in the land of unfamiliar cheeses.
Is it motherhood? Or aging? I don’t know, but I feel it too. This year I got to put my feet on the ground of my ancestors and it was lovely. I saw how, in some ways, my family hung on to pieces of the culture. Where our desire for order and humility came from.
I have lived in the US most of my life and until they hear my name, most people assume I'm white American but "home" is still Iran even though I haven't been back since my childhood. When I see videos of Tehran, it looks so different than what I remember, but the feeling is still "oh, that's home". When Israel (and US) were bombing Iran recently, the rage and despair I felt at my "home" being destroyed was so intense. I don't think I will ever live there again but it will always feel like my home in a way that no other country can ever feel.
Your writing is so beautiful and I found myself trying to put it in a genre as I was reading this. It defies being categorized for me. How would you describe your writing?
I felt this way about India... the last time I went was twenty years ago. It didn't feel like home. It feels even less so now, because of the upsurge of Hindu nationalism. And yet, I do feel that after my parents are gone, I will want to go back to the city of their birth.
What is it about motherhood that makes you want to commune with your ancestors?
I think all of a sudden, we want to understand all the links—we've made a new chain, but what about all the chains that came before, and how do we keep them linked, even if only precariously?
"Because we are here again, landed in Cairo a day ago, to heat radiating from the ground and honking horns and the brightness, the BRIGHTNESS, of Africa. This must be where the sun first rose. This must be home."
Absolutely love those three sentences and the way they live together. I can FEEL Cairo, feel Africa, in these words. May your journey be what you need it to be, Noha!
Not yet, but planning on it. Looking forward to your thoughts.
I remember seeing the sand in Mali for the first time, and something in me settling. I felt a tug and I just knew I was home. Mali is the land of my ancestors and I went for the first time right after the borders opened post-covid. Mali healed a longing for home in me, a longing that I didn't know I had until I experienced that feeling, and so yes, I know what you're describing
You last lines, Noha, could not be more perfect: This must be where the sun first rose. This must be home. Safe and happy travels.
No, i've never been to Egypt, but i'd love to visit it one day. Although i was born in Shiraz, my parents and my grandparents were originally born in Sivand, a village near Shiraz. There they speak a different version of Persian, therefore, when my grandparents start speaking that language, i can't understand them. It's been 3 years since i was in that village, but it's a beautiful village with lots of big gardens (And that's where love for nature stems from).
Thank you for this, Noha. The stunning brightness, and these words stole my heart: “This must be where the sun first rose. This must be home.” Talk about an exhale. I hope your journey is all the things. Your description of watching your mother so closely for any signs of moving you back…. This was precious and so real. I could feel my own little girl self watching my mother for tiny signs of anything, too. How strange and wonderful it is, how our lives unfold and bring us new truths and revelations. How it is different now as an adult and a mother. I have been to Egypt. It was a wild trip and I’m still not sure what it meant to me. I learned there that there are bigger forces alive and at work in the world than I ever knew and way bigger than me. Very humbling. On a very different scale I can share that I used to travel a lot and every time I crossed the state line back into Texas, where I was born and raised, even though I didn’t live there anymore and didn’t want to, it still somehow felt different. Also like an exhale. Also like a welcome home. ❤️
Beautiful, Noha. Enjoy your time back in the wonder that is Egypt!
I haven't been to Egypt, but I have been to Africa, and while I was there, I had the mysterious, settled sensation that'd returned to some kind of plein-air womb. No doubt some deep part of us knows its where we first emerged. Safe travels in the land of unfamiliar cheeses.
Is it motherhood? Or aging? I don’t know, but I feel it too. This year I got to put my feet on the ground of my ancestors and it was lovely. I saw how, in some ways, my family hung on to pieces of the culture. Where our desire for order and humility came from.