But that was just it. I had to fit in wherever I went. Nobody else had to mould their ways to engage with my understanding of identity and belonging…
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One day my mother passed me a book. It was called ‘The Harafish’ and written by the Egyptian novelist Naguib Mahfouz (winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1988). I picked up the book and only put it down once I completed it....
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