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“I met my husband at Bankstown Poetry Slam. I remember he was wearing a yellow hoodie jumper and he looked like the typical Arab guy that I would not go for. But he sent me a really nice message saying how he really liked my poem. I spoke to him and realised that he was everything that I was looking for in a guy. 

When my Dad met him he said ‘you know he’s a really good guy, but I don’t think it’s gonna work out’. I was really hurt because I was ready to spend my life with this guy and I said to my parents ‘you’ve trusted me enough to travel abroad on my own, to go on student exchange, but when it came to choosing a life partner they couldn’t trust me’. 

When I got home that night my Mum said ‘are you sure this is the person you want’ and I said ‘yeah’ and she said he came to talk to us and ‘he made me cry’ and I said ‘why’ and she said ‘because he just poured his heart out and your Dad and I were just looking at each other like this guy’s the real deal’. 

A week later my parents were at his family’s home to get to know them. And then we did our Katb El Kitab, our traditional marriage ceremony, and then had a big engagement party and we got married about a year later. Now, there's a baby on the way. It's very nerve wracking and I really hope that everything that my parents instilled in me we can pass down and I get worried I don't know how to teach that to my child but I know that somehow it will just happen.”

Widyan Fares is a journalist, PhD candidate and online fashion icon. Widyan came to Australia as a refugee in 1995 after her parents fled war-torn Iraq.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“My dad was studying in Kuala Lumpur and he would go visit mum, in the revolving restaurant where she worked, and he would move tables, so that he could keep talking to her.  Sometimes she would work in the bowling alley and he would play bowling every day.

My Grandfather, was in the British navy, he was around white people all the time, and he’d always told my mum that white people smelt really bad. So, my mum, out of curiosity, while my dad was bowling, sort of snuck up kind of close to see what this white person smelled like. And he didn’t smell so bad, so, that was okay. He ended up being kicked out of Malaysia, and he went through Pakistan and into the Middle East. He’d been writing letters to my Mum the whole time while he was travelling, but didn’t have a return address. Eventually when he went to Lebanon, he got a bulk package, with all the letters that she’d been writing every day since he left. And he showed the friend that he was with over there, and he goes, ‘if you don’t go back there and marry this woman, I will’. They’ve been together for 46 years. They’ve got three boys, all called Abdul, who all went to art school. And our sister, who’s the oldest one, went to boxing gym.  My Dad’s got this huge, white beard. My Mum, a little, brown lady. It’s really, cute.   And they bicker constantly, on at each other about different things, but they’ll still hold hands when they cross the road.. They still call each other ‘sayang’ which means darling in Bahasa. It’s really beautiful.”

Abdul Abdullah works across video, painting, photography, installation and performance, Abdul explores the politicised identities and Muslim stereotypes through his highly regarded provocative work.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“When I was younger, I wanted to belong. And now I find belonging quite overrated. And I think what I found in my husband was someone who is very similar in that way. I think, a lesser man would have just said, ‘this is just too hard. Sorry. You know, I don't want to be working with this whole religious, cultural construct that you have going on'. 

So when my husband came along, it was almost like 'you know I'm Muslim, right? You can't possibly fathom what this is going to involve'. And obviously, he just didn't care. Like, if we can get a man on the moon, I think we can make this work. And that's literally what he said to me. And I just thought, 'you poor fool'. 

My mum's fear was, ‘any shred of Arab-ness in my daughter is going to go if she marries this man’. But I don't see it that way at all, I think it's in you… or it's not in you. 

When you talk about multicultural Australia, that was my wedding. Because on the one hand you had Arab couples and families, and then you had his very, very Anglo Australian family from Queensland. 

And the funniest moment was… His grandmother was talking to a young man, who had a very long beard. And she said to him 'which mosque are you from?'. And it turns out that he was actually her grand-daughter’s husband – he’s a hipster. 

Chris was much more than a non-Arab, non-Muslim. He was a sign that I had changed incredibly, to feel comfortable with someone who did not have any attachments to culture and religion the way I did. That was huge for me.”

Amal Awad is a Sydney-based writer and journalist. Amal’s fourth and latest book, Beyond Veiled Clichés, is a non-fiction look at being an Arab woman in the Middle East and Australia.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“I was born in Iran to Iraqi parents. My mum who is half Kurdish was forced to flee Iraq when Saddam Hussein took power. My father, on the other hand, was picked up by his uncle for spreading words against the dictator and he was tortured for 40 days and then he escaped prison just before they put him on an electric chair. My mum and dad met in the refugee camps in Abadan. From what dad has told me, it took him a nanosecond to decide. So up until his passing, they were still in love. Madly. 

It’s funny because mum and dad never even referred to each other by their maiden names… or hardly, except in moments when dad was being cheeky. Mum would call Dad Abu-Osamah, which means Osamah’s Dad. Dad used her name much more than she used his. He had nicknames for her like Haloom and Halowa [nicknames relating to sweets]. 

I’m a bit of a romantic tragic at heart. So I thought if I’m going to tell stories…love would be a central theme. Whether it’s romantic as in Ali’s Wedding, or the love between a father and son. Love takes many shapes and forms, it really is what keeps us going. What allows us to overcome all types of adversities. And God knows regardless of where you’re born you’re going to have a tough time in this world, and love... it’s the sugar in the tea. Dad told me before he passed, we were sitting and talking about marriage and love and he said ‘You know son. I wish I told your mum that I love her.’ And I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he said, ‘You know in our culture, it’s very difficult to express love.’ And then he said, ‘But I’m sure she knows’.”

Osamah Sami is an award-winning writer, actor and author of Iraqi heritage. Osamah is the co-writer and lead actor of Ali’s Wedding, a true story based on his unbelievable life.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“There were two things that struck me as being a bad idea when I started to fall in love with the man who is now my husband. The first was that he was not a Muslim. And the second was that he was my boss. He was an Irish catholic boy from Bendigo and one day he said ‘what would someone like me have to do to be with someone like you’ and I told him ‘honestly, not a lot really. You just have to stop drinking, get circumcised, become a Muslim, and marry me – that’s all’. 

So my wedding, everything was set, and we forgot about the mahr. The mahr is kind of like the dowry, but it’s not given by the bride, it’s given to the bride by the groom and it can be anything. I explained this to my then fiancé, and he said “well, is there anything you need right now?”, ‘I need a Bluetooth adaptor’. During the marriage ceremony in a Nikah you are asked what the mahr is. So my father had to say ‘I accept your offer of marriage to my daughter with this mahr of a Bluetooth ….’ and brother Bilal said ‘sister, you’re killing me, you’re killing me’, and he was just laughing and laughing. Love’s not easy. It’s a constant challenge, it’s not all – god, I’m quoting Maroon 5 – it’s not all rainbows and butterflies, it’s something you have to work out. In my darkest hours I say to my husband ‘you are Muslim now – there is a way around it, wife number two, you can marry someone who doesn’t struggle with infertility like I do’ and he said, ‘well, I’m in it for the long haul, if we don’t get kids then it’s just you and me growing old’.”

Dr Nasya Bahfen was born to Indonesian-Yemeni parents and raised in Australia. Nasya is a sports journalist, senior lecturer, AFL community ambassador and former ABC newsreader.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“My wife was my sister’s friend. I saw her a couple of times and I felt that there was really something very special about her. There is a strong character, open mindedness. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to be married or not because I didn’t want to be in a relationship while the war was going on. We had a long talk on the boulevard along the Euphrates river. I told her if the war finished and I was still alive, I would be very happy to come back and ask for her hand. 

In the war, I sat in a communication unit in the office. I was responsible for updating the communication maps, the codes. I was moved from one unit to another unit. I saw friends who lost their lives, people in front of me got killed. One of the nights I couldn’t sleep, I wrote her a letter. I remember one phrase I said, the phrase in Arabic is something like - In this time, where men are spilling blood and sweating from hard work, I write to you.

For two months I read it every day. At some point, I started to read it like it was a text written by someone else, not by myself. There was some kind of joy in putting your feelings on paper and reading it again and again. 

Then when I had my leave, I took it and then I gave it to my sister to send her the letter. Five years after I gave the letter, we got married. I didn’t ask her about the letter and I didn’t want to see it again. I know it’s there somewhere in the house but I don’t want to see it.”

Majid Shokor is a Melbourne-based Iraqi actor and writer. Majid is best known for his roles in You Deserve Everything and the award-winning documentary On the Banks of the Tigris.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“When I first started comedy the guy would say, ‘Welcome to the stage, Khaled Khalafalla’ and I would be like ‘Thanks, by the way, my name is Khaled Abdullah Abdullatif Mohammad Hamullah’ and that got a huge applause. Saying my name confidently with conviction is what is enough to launch a career in comedy.

My breadth of audience had grown and my connections with people had grown.  I was no longer honest to myself by only speaking to an Arab audience.  That was a moment that I realised - what do I want to say? If I could say anything with no fear, where there is no judgment.  

And I realised I would want to ask my parents ‘What did you think would happen if you moved us away from what you think is the motherland to Australia and we lived here all of our lives? Why would you think we wouldn’t be Australian? Why should I feel ashamed of connecting with people who are Australian?’ I had a talk with Mum recently and I was telling her, ‘so I’m not like other Arabs (and they’re not like each other), you’re surprised that I might not want to marry an Egyptian, Arab, Muslim girl?’ So it’s kind of bargaining and pushing how far that can go. And this has been a talk for 2-3 years until, the furthest I’ve bargained so far is she can be an Australian girl who might not be Muslim who has to understand God, who has to understand Islam and she has to know that the kids will be Muslim and this is non-negotiable and I will be teaching the kids everything I know about Islam and she has to be okay with that.”

Khaled Khalafalla is an Egyptian-born stand-up comedian and actor. Khaled has been dubbed the next “huge mainstream star” by The Age. Khaled plays Ali’s brother Mo Green in the film Ali’s Wedding.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“I grew up in country Victoria. We were brown migrants in a very Anglo town – I say brown pea in a white pod. Mum was a community health nurse and Dad was the Forensic Pathologist at the local hospital in Bendigo. We grew up with a rich culture of expressing and learning about Indian heritage from music and language and dance. 

There was the Indo-Australian club that my parents were very much a part of, which showcased all the families’ children, who would either sing a song or dance in their native Indian dialect. We were the Chopra Sisters. We would perform at the clubs – the Rotary club, the Indo-Australia club, church groups. 

My mum had a beautiful voice – she still does, and my dad also sang and played harmonium, the keyboard and the accordion. I think their love of music and passing that down to us was one of the ways that they showed us belonging and love and identity. Being an Australian Muslim woman in 2017 I want to set an example to my kids in different ways. Relationship wise, I hope they marry a Muslim, who gets them. For me, if I could tell them anything, it would be, to marry someone who is coming from the same place. I don’t mean geographically; I mean spatially, I mean their sense of humour, their politics, their emotional connection, it’s all from growing up together. An Algerian background Australian born guy is going to have more in common with my Indian background Australian born daughter than an Indian from the North of India. Just because they speak a similar language and like the same curries doesn’t necessarily make for a sustainable relationship! Compatibility counts.”

Tasneem Chopra is an activist, author and cross-cultural consultant. Tasneem advocates for social change and justice, particularly among minority groups.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“I run the shop during the day, and when there’s no customers I have a microphone in my hand, and practicing for a gig that I might have that night or the next night.  Clothing was my love, but comedy has become my first love.

My first joke was “not only do you get 72 virgins, you get a set of steak knives with your prize”, and I put it up on YouTube and the local butcher told me off and said that I can’t joke about those things. I told him leave the jokes to me and you just keep selling me my meat.

One night I was at a henna party and I was making them all laugh and one girl says you’re so funny you needa meet my cousin I go no way I’m don’t wanna meet anyone she goes nah I’m gonna call him so she calls him and puts me on the phone and then all I did was just pick on him.  1 month later we’re engaged, three months later married, three months after that pregnant.

I joke about my husband a lot, I talk about how he has 23 cars, and they’re not cars, because one needs a wheel, one needs engine, seats, so I’ve got heaps of shit, no cars. 

When I married Albert, my father in law handed me papers. And I said why are you giving me these for? And he goes well you need to sign this so the marriage is legal in Australia. I say are you kidding me, if I sign that its gonna take me two years to get divorced. If I don’t sign I just go the Sheikh and I’ll be divorced in five minutes. He wasn’t happy, but it was funny.”

Frida Deguise is a stand-up comedian, fashion designer and former chef of Lebanese origin. She’s also written for shows such as The Gruen Transfer.  

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“My mother and father met whilst working in the hospital. My mum has always been obsessed with Egypt so I think she felt it was fate that they met and fell in love. It was very difficult for them, if you could imagine Newcastle in 1970 for a Catholic woman and a Muslim man to be together.

My dad gave me some advice when it came to love. One of them was Arab women are crazy! What he meant is that they are very passionate and they love a lot and you know I can understand that coming from his culture it might have been a breath of fresh air to meet someone like my mum who was a fairly laid back Aussie girl.

After Dad passed away, the fears about losing touch with our culture was very strong and I think that’s definitely what led to me to seek out a Egyptian girl as a partner, being welcomed in to her family was huge for me and I think a big part of my healing was to be surrounded by a loving Arab family.

Doing the Hajj (pilgrimage) was originally on behalf of my father but what I didn’t realise was the effect that it would have on me. I think it’s very rare to have that opportunity to draw a line in your life and say that’s who I was in the past and this is who I want to be and this is what I’m going to change about myself and Hajj gave me that opportunity.

It made me feel much more at ease and much more accepting about my father’s passing and the anger and the pain has largely left my heart and that’s been a true blessing.”

Samir Ali is an entrepreneur by day, photographer by night. Samir runs COMMUNE, a Sydney co-working space designed to foster creatives networks.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar

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“The first time I met Safwan was when I was 16 years old, we both qualified for the junior world championships. Safwan’s Lebanese, and my parents are Polish. Once we started to see each other, we had some pretty heavy conversations, and I was like, ‘Saf, I'm never going to be Muslim”. 

The more that I learned the more that I was surprised about how similar it was to the catholic values and stories that I was raised with. I would see him pray, and I was like, “let me read the Quran”, and I was like oh my god, I'm pretty much reading the bible but it’s an extra few stories. Something in me just knew that I would become Muslim at some point.

I think out of everyone my father probably found it the hardest even though he is incredibly supportive and he loves me and Safwan very much. My mum and aunties were a bit more open and understanding, I guess females generally make sacrifices and you know are willing to do crazy things.

His family is beautiful, they get along with my parents so well I guess because they both came over as immigrants, as refugees, and had to work really hard to establish a life in Australia. 

They don’t feel intimidated having conversations with my parents. They both love coffee, and food, so they share that with each other, and they have great senses of humour on both sides, they’ve formed a really special bond together. So hopefully if we’re blessed with having children one day they can learn those two languages. And have experiences from both sides of the family.”

Carmen Marton is Australia's first ever world taekwondo champion and an Olympic athlete. Carmen’s Polish parents came to Australia as refugees.

Directed by Fadia Abboud, photographed by Hoda Afshar