We Have Always Been Here
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- 3,99 €
Descrição da editora
Triumphant and uplifting - a queer Muslim memoir about forgiveness and freedom.
'Revolutionary' Mona Eltahawy * 'Exquisite, powerful and urgent' Stacey May Fowles * 'I fell in love with this book' Shani Mootoo
A memoir of hope, faith and love, Samra Habib's story starts with growing up as part of a threatened minority sect in Pakistan, and follows their arrival in Canada as a refugee, before escaping an arranged marriage at sixteen. When they realized they were queer, it was yet another way they felt like an outsider.
So begins a journey that takes them to the far reaches of the globe to uncover a truth that was within them all along. It shows how Muslims can embrace queer sexuality, and families can embrace change. A triumphant story of forgiveness and freedom, We Have Always Been Here is a rallying cry for anyone who has ever felt alone and a testament to the power of fearlessly inhabiting one's truest self.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Seeking a foundation rooted in home, family, and faith, journalist and photographer Habib explores her identity in a sincere debut that's articulate in its depiction of the immigrant experience but thin as a memoir of sexual awakening. As a five-year-old Ahmadi Muslim in Lahore, Pakistan, surrounded by "women who didn't have the blueprint for claiming their lives," Habib witnessed her pious mother buckle under the belief that "Allah hates the loud laughter of women!" When political upheavals escalated persecution of Ahmadi Muslims, the family fled to Toronto in 1991. There, 10-year-old Habib felt "transported to a different planet" with "boys and girls mingling freely." At 16, she endured an arranged marriage to an older cousin, later annulled after she attempted suicide; a second marriage at 19 offered escape from her family. By her mid-20s, a mentor opened a "window into a queer world." She divorced her husband and began traveling the world and taking sexual partners who shaped her "experience of how race and desire intersect." She writes candidly about her experiences: she joined a queer-friendly mosque, started a project photographing queer Muslims, and eventually came out to her parents. Habib's narrative is brave and unique, yet her most affecting descriptions speak less to sexual freedom and more to immigrant Pakistani culture. This sometimes falls short of its promise.
