19 November 2023 FROM HERE by Luma Mufleh, Penguin Random House/Nancy Paulsen, May 2023, 320p., ISBN: 978-0-593-35445-2

“You’ll never know how much I really love you

You’ll never know how much I really care”

– Intro to “Do You Want to Know a Secret” by Lennon/McCartney (1963)

“There wasn’t a moment when I decided I would stay in the United States for good, just like there wasn’t a single instant that revealed the fact of my sexuality to me. There were the flashpoints: the bloody sheet, the honor killings, the police officer and his gun, the morality police and his switch. Slowly, I came to accept it. If I wanted to live, I couldn’t go back to Jordan.”

Luma Mufleh grew up in a wealthy, politically influential, extended family, in Amman, Jordan. The challenges and dangers of her coming of age as a gay young adult, in a culture which does not even have a word for “gay,” led to her traveling to the United States for college. As she approached graduation from Smith College, she did what she needed to do, in order to remain in the U.S. permanently. (This course of action got her disowned by her father.) 

The masterful FROM HERE, Luma’s memoir, immerses tween and tween readers in Luma’s childhood, adolescence, and college years. The author’s story is filled with eye-opening accounts of an oft-antiquated, male-centric religious-based culture, halfway around the world. Her early life was radically different in so many ways from what most of us in the U.S. experience.

Luma begins her story, ostensibly written for her eldest daughter, with an event chronologically beyond the scope of this memoir 

From the prologue:

“I asked Emily to marry me in Illinois, conspiring with her family to surprise her. Her sister scattered Ring Pops–I had always threatened to propose with one–like rose petals along the sidewalk that led to Emily’s favorite breakfast joint. It was a Midwestern April, bright and wet. The ground soaked through the knee of my pants; the sun burned my eyes as I looked up at her.

‘Did you say yes?’ I asked, practically panting, my face pressed against Emily’s shoulder.

‘Did you ask anything?’ she teased. I didn’t know if I had.

The restaurant was full of relatives and friends–when Emily saw them, she put her hands on her heart, her curls swung with wild laughter. We collected hugs and clinked glasses and revealed in the hours made, it seemed, just for us. Even her divorced parents set aside old resentments for the morning. Looking at them, I wondered how I could be so good at mending other people’s families, but never mine. Amid so much joy, that familiar loneliness found me; all I could see were empty chairs where my own family should have been.

Later, in the quiet of her mother’s guest bedroom, Emily wanted to know if I had told my parents about our engagement yet. ‘You always think worst-case scenario,’ she said. I didn’t know how to tell her that the scenarios I thought about were so much worse now that her feelings were at stake.

In the email to my parents the next day, I wrote, I know this is hard for you to hear, because this is not what you expected for your daughter. But I have never been happier, and I hope I can have your blessings.

Even though I also wrote, I haven’t told anyone else in the family–I want to share it with you first, it was my brother who called a few days later, after Emily and I had returned home to Atlanta.

‘How could you do this?’ he asked, and I wondered which part he thought was more audacious: that I had fallen in love or that I expected anybody to be happy for me. ‘Couldn’t you wait until after they died?’

‘Until they died? Seriously, Ali? That’s the best you’ve got?’ I raged at him. I smacked the steering wheel of my parked car, baking in the Georgia sun.

‘And she’s Jewish!’

‘Jews and Muslims have a lot in common. We don’t eat pig–’

‘This is not funny.’

‘It is a little funny,’ I taunted.

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘The same reason you did it. We’re in love, We’re going to have kids,’

‘Kids? Are you crazy? You can’t have kids.’

‘Why? Because she’s a woman? Or because she’s Jewish?’

‘Just don’t expect them to call you,’ he warned.

‘Kul kharah,’ I told him. Eat shit.’

We hung up on each other.”

Since making her home in America, Luma Mullieh has done good and notable work:

“In 2004, Luma Mufleh stumbled upon a group of boys playing soccer in the street after taking a wrong turn on her way home. The kids were refugees from several different countries, speaking different languages, but they bonded over the game. It inspired Mufleh to start and coach a team for young refugee boys to give them free access to organized soccer, but as time went on, Mufleh realized that the children she was working with needed much more support.

Based in Clarkston, Mufleh created the nonprofit Fugees Family in 2006 to continue supporting the boys via soccer and after-school tutoring. The next year, she opened Fugees Academy, a privately funded middle school for refugee boys. The academy expanded three years later to serve both boys and girls and teach children from grades six to 12. Soccer has remained a large, important part of Fugees Family and is a way the organization empowers the kids in transitioning effectively into life in the United States.”

– “Fugees Family founder Luma Mufleh on breaking barriers, discrimination, and what’s next for her refugee nonprofit” AtlantaMagazine.com (2018)

Once you read about Luma’s athletic prowess, and the eye-opening adventure Luma’s maternal grandmother took her on, when Luma was eight, you’ll thoroughly understand how Luma’s creation of Fugees Family was such a perfect quest for her to embark upon. 

Luma’s storytelling is clear, powerful, heartfelt, and beautiful. It keeps you reading, and makes it easy to follow the action. FROM HERE, a truly outstanding memoir, will make you feel like you’ve spent quality time with this remarkable woman from a distant part of the world that is currently in the daily headlines.

Richie Partington, MLIS

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