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Look, my son, she is so beautiful, she has fair skin and green eyes and brown hair.”She’s English?’ I asked cheekily, holding the cheap photo print with trepidation. Which unfortunate victim had they found for me to marry in what backwater, unbeknownst that my heart was not for trading? Honour would quote Shakespeare to make a point; for me, it was always Rumi.’La hawla wala kuwwat… May God protect us from such misfortune… you think I have lost my senses that I would marry you to a white girl?’ My mum used the word gori as an insult and yet when she talked about Billo she said ‘Look how gori she is.’Oh, Mum, the irony.’Well, you seem pretty obsessed with green eyes and skin colour,’ I mumbled.’She is gorgeous.’ Mum went on ignoring me. ‘Think how beautiful your children, my grandchildren, will be? They will have cats’ eyes, just like Billo.’Honour has fair skin and green eyes too, and just think how beautiful your grandchildren will be if they’re mixed race, I thought.I didn’t say that to my mum, obviously.
