Ode to Karachi: Story of a First-Generation American Muslim Identity

Thursday June 10^th, 2010

Alhamdulillah, Thank God. I’m back to Karachi, my second home. It feels fantastic. It’s as if the streets of the city remember my name. I remember the directions to major bazaars and restaurants, feel the humidity on my skin as if it’s any other day and blend in with most of the people here in my noticeable Muslim attire. I am home, Karachi. I’m back for another portion of my year, and, yes, I missed you too!

But you know what ruined my mood? It was and it always is when I remember I’m not fully Pakistani. I am ‘the granddaughter visiting from America’; I am ‘the girl who resembles one of us but comes from a distant land’ to the people here. At least I am to those who know. I will always have the label of ‘American’ on me. I actually love being American. But constant reminders of that fact as if it were posted on my forehead disallow me to enjoy fully being Pakistani. I mean, the kumbaya, politically correct version of this rant would be that I love both my identities and they both allow me to grow, which is true. But sometimes don’t you ever wish you could just be a normal citizen? With one identity?

It’s not like I don’t feel this way in America. I do, in fact. Constant reminders of this fact are reality in my prim and proper suburban, middle-sized town. Sometimes I do dream of being that little blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl running through the downtown with a sandwich in one hand and baseball-playing dad’s hand in my other. I sometimes want to really have those American roots, be impressed with my forefathers who fought in the Civil War to end slavery, think of my family tree as scattered yet really noble.

It’s cool though…I think I can make this work.

July 2010:

I just got back from a road trip across Pakistan. Spontaneous and unplanned, the trip was a venture into different provinces of Pakistan with my family– Balochistan with its mineral reserves and hospitable people, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa with its beautiful mountains and bumpy roads, Punjab, the heartland of Pakistan’s agriculture, and back to Sindh where the trip began in Karachi. The people we met, hotels we had to stay in, food we ate, bathrooms we had to use (a whole other story :/) became my teachers during that week. But one of the biggest teachers was my experience coming back into Karachi. As we drove back into the city late at night, feelings of comfort, familiarity and surprisingly, home, overcame me. Though I can perpetually enumerate my dislikings of Karachi’s traffic, pollution, corruption, poverty, and much more, I felt like I had returned to a place I belonged in. One huge reason for this feeling is probably because we visit family here quite regularly. But regardless, I feel the city’s energy, lights, action, and , most of all, its potential inspire me to keep studying, working, and making du’a that I can partake in its upliftment.

August 8, 2010

I leave for California today. It was a memorable trip and super productive, Alhamdulillah. All praise is due to Allah that He has allowed us to meet relatives, remember our heritage and connect with different puzzle pieces of ourselves which in turn make up the Ummah. I feel a sense of disillusionment and shock that several of those areas I (or rather, our car) happily traversed across in our week’s road trip in July are facing the most detrimental floods in Pakistan’s history. I wish I could do more. I plan. I yearn. I turn to Allah, the Source of all Help.

But I thank Him that he’s shown me that I am more powerful than I thought. The tongue I have wears both languages. The eyes I see with are adorned with the light of both countries. The heart I feel with yearns for both countries. I am strong because He has made me realize the strength that lies within all of us which is the strength to strive for His sake. My striving will involve educating myself and diagnosing issues that face the American Muslim community, Pakistani citizens in Pakistan and abroad, members of  Ummah and members of humanity at large. My task, along with the task at hand for millions of first-generation Western born Muslims – the sons and daughters of hopeful and often very successful immigrants – is to bridge the divides between the Ummah, to reverse Brain Drain and contribute to our nations, to create understanding between Muslims and non-Muslims in the countries we grew up in, and most of all, reconnecting with Allah swt.

The hardest part is regaining our humility. Knowing our roots. Not calling others ‘fobs’ because we really know it hurts in a place that really pains. Opening our eyes to the injustices of ourselves and others. Feeling we are one. The Prophet Muhammad (salallahu alayhi wassalam-peace and blessings be upon him) has famously said: “The believers in their affection, compassion and love for one another are like one single body. If  a part of it suffers from pain, the whole body body will suffer in pain.” (Sahih Muslim)  Let’s ask ourselves, do we feel this pain? Are we afraid to step out of our comfortable lives to lead more responsible, educated lives towards those who are hurting? Let’s begin now. Let’s open our eyes and open our hearts. Let’s turn to page one and start with humbling ourselves in front of Allah swt and realize His Earth is vast, all people come from Him and return to Him and if we would like to eventually make a difference, sure start small and local, but realize, you have an entire humanity that can be impacted with even the smallest of your intentions and actions insha’Allah. Let’s let humility turn us towards Allah which turns us towards humanity which turns us towards activism and higher purposes than we ever knew we had.

 Print This Post

(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

 Loading ...