As kind as sunshine: Why I write

Years ago, I had a conversation with my mother about the Middle East. With mingled pleasure
and pain, she told me about her childhood travels through the region. “The memories are
bittersweet,” she said.

She mentioned bustling bazaars, ancient ruins and diverse places of worship (“Synagogues,
churches, mosques and temples,” she said, her forefingers coming together, “side by side.”)
Above all, she lauded the people: “As kind as sunshine.” It was difficult to reconcile her
description with what I saw on the news, but I believed that such a utopia had once existed (and
could exist again).

Many months later, my mother passed away. She, too, had been as kind as sunshine, and widely
loved. I began writing Refuge out of nostalgia for her. I wrote about her white hands, immune to
the Middle Eastern sun. I wrote about her tomb, covered year-round with bougainvillea petals
(her favourite flower).

I set down precious memories – like the time I forgot about Costume Day in kindergarten and
proceeded to bawl my eyes out. My mother abandoned her nine-to-five job, rushed to the
nearest shopping mall, and came to my rescue with a glittering ball-gown and tiara. She was
wonderful like that.

Before I knew it, my characters had turned into refugees fleeing the Middle East for Ireland.
“Why Ireland?” my readers are probably wondering.

The truth is, I don’t know. I had been obsessed with Ireland for years: with its crystal loughs,
fascinating folklore and revolutionary history. “Irish people are known for their welcoming and
friendly nature,” I read in countless travelogues. Perhaps this resonated with me most. As kind as
sunshine . . . .

I devoted my lunch-break at work to TripAdvisor, amassing knowledge about Dublin. In the
evening, when I put pen to paper, the images of parks and museums flooded my mind. So I sent
my characters to St Stephen’s Green and Trinity College – unexpectedly drawing parallels
between these places and my characters’ emotional journey.

I did not expect the Koran, or the poetry of Islamic mystics, to inspire my work. I had been
immersed in Middle Eastern literature for months, searching for ancient wisdom. What did the
poets have to say about forgiveness and resilience? Would the answer be painfully predictable?
“You have within you more love than you could ever understand.”

So the answer was painfully predictable. Yet every day I witnessed the miraculous power of love
– of solidarity marches, refugee programmes and art that connected Mexico City to Gaza. No
wonder I wrote a love-story.

My protagonists share a profound love that buoys them through their misfortunes. In their
dilapidated flat in Dublin, they still find reasons to laugh. During a post-war blackout, they light a
candle and hold hands. Perhaps the mystics were right, after all. Rumi puts it best:

May these vows and this marriage be blessed.
May it be sweet milk, this marriage, like wine and halvah.
May this marriage offer fruit and shade like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter, our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion, a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name, an omen as welcomes the moon in a
clear blue sky.
I am out of words to describe how spirit mingles in this marriage.

The juxtaposition of East and West is probably what gives my novella its unique flavour. I spent
a total of six years in the UK, steeped in British culture, and the rest of my life I have lived in the
Middle East. My library is full of books by Jane Austen, P. G. Wodehouse, Mahmoud Darwish
and Ghada Al-Samman.

For a long time, I thought this was contradictory – that I could only truly belong to one world. I
wrote gritty Dickensian novels, and threw the embarrassing manuscripts away. I tried again,
composing sensuous poetry reminiscent of Hafiz. No: more embarrassing. I never set out to
combine two literary traditions in Refuge, but it happened anyway.

I sent the manuscript to publishers, hoping they would appreciate the fusion of two disparate
worlds. To my relief, they did.

I hope my other readers appreciate it as well.

Refuge by Fatema Alarabi is out now from Third Age Books, and is available from bookshops and
here.