On Love and Loss

Last summer, my mother succumbed to cancer after a fleeting battle. Beautiful and generous, she was beloved by all who knew her. After her sudden death, I felt an urgent need to memorialise her. The first few chapters of Refuge were born of that need. Before I knew it, my characters had turned into refugees fleeing the Middle East (a plot-twist inspired, no doubt, by the dreadful news I had been reading for over a year).

mockups-design.com

I had been asking myself unanswerable questions even before my mother’s death. What makes some people more resilient than others? Did I believe in forgiveness, even for the unforgivable? Where did refugees find the strength to start over, all whilst grappling with their unspeakable trauma?

The answers weren’t in the news or on social media. I found them in the poetry of Islamic mystics and in parts of the Koran. It all seemed to boil down to one unsensational word: love. Love for your God, love for your country, love for humans, love for animals, love for nature.

My protagonists share a profound love that buoys them through their misfortunes, the way my mother’s love buoyed me through mine.

It is quiet here, a Sufi poet writes. Away from the loud world, away from the fierce flashes, away from the angry shadows. It is quiet here, where the sun smiles, and the rain sings, and You and I dance.

Al-Wadood, the Loving, is one of the Ninety-Nine Names of God in Islam. I tried to let that colour my story, and hope my readers sense it in every word.

Refuge by Fatema Alarabi is available now from bookshops and here.