You, my dear, have always been a pioneer.

Dear mum, ommi, ma mère…

Where do I begin?

You’ve gone to hell and back again and again, we all have. But no one has done it quite like you.

I know you don’t always believe it. I know that you struggle to see what I do.

So as I sit, watching the night sky under the full moon, wondering if we’ll get to see each other soon, I just have to say…

I know it’s cliché, but you are my inspiration.

With your kind blue eyes and glorious red hair, ma mère, you have taught me how to live without fear.

It’s true that you’ve always been a dazzling spark in everyone’s lives, even before you had kids or became a wife.

You moved out, a spritely 20-year-old, with a zest for life and a hunger to experience everything thrown your way…

With a single ticket to Nottingham, UK, who knew you were set to become their first female DJ?

Shortly after, you discovered your love for lights. You spent your nights immersing the crowds in a world of your own creation; making them feel excited, energised, bright!

You, my dear, have always been a pioneer.

Another 20 years would pass, of trials, tribulations, and moments of pure joy.

Your work ethic, your love for travel, and your keenness to explore the far corners of this planet has given you a husband and 6 kids: 5 girls and 1 boy.

Through money worries, important milestones, and curveballs that have blindsided you…

Watching you come back stronger each time has taught me that amongst all of the nonsense, it’s possible to find something true.

It is with your help that we all made a big move.

As we stepped off of a plane, and the heat hit our faces, you rallied round to make sure everyone was comfortable, to help us transition into our new life with grace.

It looked set to be a paradise, sun, sea, and sand.

We had no idea the trouble we were in for from the moment we set foot on this far away land.

This land that at first seemed strange, yet familiar; altogether homely but peculiar…

It is a part of me, my other half, my heritage, my culture.

And it became a part of you too, with the story you moulded for us like an expert sculptor.

You were on your own, waiting for dad to join us. Getting by on the odd bits of French and Arabic that you knew.

But for the sake of your children, you muddled through.

Things can’t have been easy; building up a successful business so fast it made you wheezy.

Pushing us to excel, keeping us safe, as you worked around the clock and fell asleep during the day, just to be able to put food on our plates.

Then came the news, the call for revolution, the start of the Arab Spring.

A rallying cry that kicked dictatorship in the balls and declared it would never win.

I’ll always remember the hushed voices behind closed doors, the deathly quiet in the streets, the uncertainty of whether we would survive.

You responded by making a pilgrimage to the capital city. Marching headfirst by my side through the danger and strife; pushing me into the British embassy for my GCSEs, yelling, “Go, thrive!”

I will never forget how you sacrificed the most valuable currency humanity has, time.

But, wait! What am I saying? Who you are could never be diminished; anyone would be a fool to think you weren’t far from finished.

Since returning to the UK, you have gone from strength to strength. Despite the events which tested your resolve, you are on a different wavelength.

Your pursuit of knowledge and desire to better yourself even when it becomes a chore…

Your current work with charities and the superhuman effort you put into it has left me in awe of you.

You are my mother, my best friend, and the strongest woman I’ve met.

I can only hope to live up to the bar you’ve set.