Listen to an interview with local poet Nahid Khan.

Where are you from?
they ask me,
by way of introduction,
instead of,
Hello, I'm so-and-so,
and very glad to meet you.

Where are you from?
they ask me.
Total strangers in public places.
New acquaintances in private gatherings.
I wonder why.

Is it my brown skin they see,
that tells them
I must have come from afar?

Or is it my choice of dress,
worn to worship the One?
It covers my body,
Not me.
But is that all they see?
Is it merely that which tells them
I must have come from afar?

Is it my name--
not Amy or Debbie or Linda or Kristen--
but Nahid,
that tells them
I must have come from afar?

Where are you from?
they ask me.
They want answers.
They think they're being friendly.
I feel like I'm being interrogated.

Where were you born?
some ask.
London, I tell them.
They are awed,
although it's not what they expected.

Where is your family?
others ask.
Toronto, I tell them.
They are impressed,
although it's not what they expected.

What are you originally?
asked the college student at Purdue,
an island rising out of a sea of Indiana cornfields.
so on that occasion, I said Indian.
She looked me up and down,
perplexed at my hijab-clad form;
then asked,
What tribe?

Where were you, before you came to Minnesota?
I'm asked.
Washington state I answer
to looks of disappointment.
It's not the direction they expected.
and not far enough to be of interest.

What is your background?
people ask.
Sometimes I tell them,
My parents are from Pakistan.
They say,
You must be homesick.
I've never been to Pakistan or India,
but I long for a place to call home.

Is your family all right?
they ask me,
referring to whatever Muslim country
is in today's news.
They want to know if I'm affected
and what I think
and what I might do.
I wonder if they see me as the enemy.

Where are you from?
ask Americans:
white and black;
European Americans and African
Americans, native Americans, Hispanic
Americans and Asian Americans.
Hyphenated Americans all.
They don't think I'm one of them.
No, I couldn't be American,
not a brown-skinned hijab-clad Muslim
woman
named Nahid.

Where are you from?
they ask me.
People from the land of my parents:
the Indian sub-continent.
They can't tell for sure.
My signals confuse them.
No Urdu accent comes out of my mouth.
No shalwar kameez covers my body.
No modest demeanor,
the way a woman should be.
I'm a brown-skinned woman who might
be Indian or Pakistani,
and they just want to know
if I'm one of them.
I always thought so,
but now I wonder.

Where are you from?
Arabs ask me.
A hijab-clad Muslim woman must be a
fellow Arab.
My signals confuse them.
No Arabic accent,
but they see I take an interest in them
and feel for their concerns,
and they jut want to know
if I'm one of them.
I'm not, but yet I am.

Where are you from?
Iranians ask me.
When they hear my name they say,
It's Persian, you know.
As if I didn't.
A hijab-clad Muslim woman named Nahid
must be Persian.
The signals confuse them.
I don't have their accent
but I love their food.
They just want to know
if I'm one of them.
I'm not, but yet I am.

Where are you from?
Somalis ask me.
At a mosque,
in a grocery store,
as I exit a parking ramp
or pass through the airport.
A hijab-clad woman must be a fellow Muslim
and they are glad to greet me:
As-salaam alaykum!
Peace be unto you!
They can see I'm not Somali
but being Muslim's more important.
They just want to know
if I'm one of them:
a fellow Muslim from a Muslim land;
a stranger like them in this land.
Maybe I am.

Where are you from?
they ask me.
A one-word answer is all they want.
But I cannot be captured within one word.

Where are you from?
they ask me.
Where to begin to answer them?
Should I even try?

Where are you from?
they ask me.
Do they really want to hear the story of my life?
Do I really want to tell it,
to a stranger.
I'll tell it to a friend.

Are you a friend,
or is it idle curiosity
that drives you to ask your questions?

After you've heard my story,
will you walk away
and forget you ever knew me?

Where are you from?
they ask me.
Is that more important,
I wonder,
than who I am?