Issue link: https://maltatoday.uberflip.com/i/1091272
14 maltatoday | SUNDAY • 10 MARCH 2019 NEWS 'But where are you really from?' I grew up in Iklin; playing passju and noli with neigh- bours back in the 90s, when children were at liberty to play safely in the village' side streets. Some of my fondest childhood memo- ries include my parents taking me to village activities. Every lejla sajfija, flower and clean-up Iklin event, we were there. My parents had purchased a small patch of land in the Lija suburb of Iklin in the mid-80s, when the neigh- bourhood was merely a rural area. They constructed the very first few streets and built up a terraced house that my two brothers and I would eventually call 'home'. So, 'Ikliniza' is my reply to any Maltese who asks, 'Where are you from?' Around my early teens I real- ised I was, bizarrely, the oldest Ikliniza I knew. All my friends residing in the village oddly identified with the neighbour- ing villages. I learnt that we Maltese tend to identify with the parish where our christen- ing is celebrated. But before the parish of Iklin was formed, Sun- day Mass was hosted in a small garage, just a few streets away from my home and so residents baptised their new-borns in ad- jacent villages, and they accord- ingly identified as coming from there. I was never baptised. Since my childhood memories and roots are deeply founded in Iklin, I never once doubted Iklin as my village, home and regional identity. Even now, despite hav- ing left my parents' nest, Iklin is where I am from. 'I am Maltese, but…' It took quite some time be- fore I (accidentally) learned that within the village, my family was known as – 'tal-Libjan' – of the Libyan. The descriptive term forthrightly referenced to all members of the family by my father's nationality. In the 70s, my mother – from Birkirkara – joined Libyan Arab Airlines based in Tripoli, Libya, as an air hostess. She met my dad through some mutual Mal- tese friends. Their interfaith relationship withstood the dis- tance, time and existing hurdles and a decade after their first meeting they celebrated a Mus- lim and civil marriage in Malta and proudly acquired land in Iklin, where they agreed to live and raise their children as Mus- lim. This meant that my brothers were both circumcised, my parents never cooked pork, and alcohol – even cigarettes for that matter – was in princi- ple prohibited at home. It meant that in Ramadan, we fasted from sunrise to sunset, while at Christmas and Easter we ate like there was no tomor- row at organised family dinners. We celebrated and grieved be- sides our Christian families and friends in church weddings and funerals. And we travelled to Libya during summer school recess to visit our Libyan rela- tives and participate in their festivities. Identifying as 'Muslim' also meant that we were exempted from sitting for 'Religion' exams in school; I nevertheless always participated in class, eagerly learned about Christianity and joined my classmates in the oc- casional school Masses. And on Saturday afternoons, we regularly went to the mosque to learn about Islam and socialise with other Maltese Muslims. Despite my mothers' con- version to Islam prior to mar- riage, my parents cultivated a discourse of shared values and monotheistic affinity. My brothers and I were taught that there are more similarities IBTISAM SADEGH ref lects on belonging and identity as a Maltese Muslim, 'halfies' and 'oxymoron' identities