For as long as I can remember, the intersections of my identity as a Black woman, a Muslim, and a Muslim woman have come with labels of caution. These labels were about how I would be regarded in the world and in most cases, it was negative. To many people, nothing about my physical appearance indicates that I have the right to live in the most complete and robust version of myself. Theres a belief that my identity isolates me and that, outside of America, others would not accept or respect me.

As a Black woman, I am seen a certain way: aggressive, loud or uneducated. As a Muslim woman, I am often perceived as oppressed, docile or the person youll find walking 10 paces behind a man. Combining the two would instinctually befuddle people because, to many people outside of the U.S., Black people are from Africa and Africa only.

My first relocation took place in 2015, exactly one month after Sandra Bland was killed. While I had never lived overseas before or even traveled much abroad, I felt that my safety in my own home was being jeopardized and I didnt have many alternatives left. So I purchased a one-way ticket to Cairo, Egypt. Even though I was aware that women, Muslims and people of color faced prejudice and marginalization on a global scale, I was steadfast in my belief that there must be a location on the planet where I could live without fear of suffering such dire repercussions for being who I am. And so I began what would become a search for my souls home.