Zada opens his memoir with a terrifying scene: Yanked off a bus at a military roadblock on the way to Mardin, Turkey, in 2015, the seasoned journalist wondered if the men with semiautomatic weapons would ever let him go. The author then flashes back to his very first trip to “the East” at age 24, when he and his fellow Canadian travel companion found themselves in a Tangier drug den. As Zada continues to meander his way through stories of his life and career—from absurd anecdotes of his Egyptian landlady, “a diminutive Coptic grandmother with a Napoleon complex,” to his work as a TV producer in Dubai—he slowly threads together themes of identity and acceptance in the context of a rapidly changing world. The idea of storytelling itself also plays an important role within the memoir, acting as a type of cultural touchstone the world over—especially in the stories told by the author’s mentor and family friend, a “force-of-nature raconteur” Egyptian named Kamal Bey who memorably compares the increasing “tribalism” of the United States’ political parties to “the fanatics of the Middle East.” Zada’s own Egyptian ancestry, combined with his Westernized Arab upbringing and lifelong wanderlust, gives him a unique perspective—one that he eloquently expresses with a clear and vivid narrative voice that uses the desert as a metaphor for identity and nationality: “The desert constantly shifts and changes as we move through it… It is one desert, yet it is made up of endless permutations, all slightly different from each other but sharing a common, underlying reality.” This is a compelling travel memoir that doubles as a thoughtful reflection on the unnecessary (and self-imposed) national and cultural boundaries that exist only to distract us from our shared humanity.
