ARAB

Today, I want to be an Arab

But as I wake up and let the morning hours roll softly into my eyes, I realise that I am not

The knowledge the at the light doesn’t belong to the sky of Cairo, Sudan or Tangiers

That I will not smell the dust on the streets below my window

That I won’t hear neighbours cooking okra and rice and shouting at each other through open patios fills me with dread

I’ll go out again, like every day, in my clean European anorak and walk past manicured lawns and streets cleaned by our taxes

I’ll see people raising a hand for taxis, waiting their turn in the queue, saying please and thank you exactly when and how they should

It fills me with dread to know that I am no different

The nagging itch inside me tells me that if I want to fit in, I must do the same

I am not indigenous to any land, only accustomed to dancing between customs, navigating conversations like a thoughtless defence driving manoeuvre

It’s midnight and I am still not an Arab, but today I don’t want to be one

Lucky for me that I’m not

That I can jump in and out of this skin and leave it behind, hanging around a dinner table

Letting the coffee and wine inebriated guests pin on me all their preconceived ideas

And I thank them for existing, for making me want something and reject it at the same time

But it gets exhausting to wake up to a morning that’s not as yellow as it should be.

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