The Manufacture of Muslim Identities

In East London, I examine the emaciated boy. His pigeon-chest rasps with each mechanical breath. Finely etched features remind me of Saudi camel sellers, once my patients. Wisps of hair peep through his unbuttoned thobe, betraying a still-lingering puberty. An untrimmed beard and skullcap are final clues: my patient is an Arab Muslim.

X-rays show a ferocious pneumonia. I go in search of family, expecting to see other Arabs. Instead, I encounter four robust Pakistani women. Pockmarked acne and gap-toothed smiles unite them as family. As a Muslim of British-Pakistani heritage and a physician, I am amazed at the extent of his racial transition. He has fooled me entirely.