Memoir

by Zoya Patel In Makkah, everyone is a believer. You would call it ‘Mecca’, probably, softening the rough edges of the k’s into c’s, taking the harshness out of the pronunciation. But to me, it is Makkah, and the guttural sound of the word echoes the desperate, almost primal faith that surrounds the city. From as early as I can remember, Makkah was a word uttered with reverence in my household. Each evening, we would gather for maghrib prayers, turning our mats to face where

by Melissa Wellham I’m sitting in the GP’s office, and explaining to the doctor how I can’t sleep. I tell her that it’s affecting my work, affecting my friendships, affecting me. I like her. She’s a she (obviously) and I’ve always been more comfortable with female doctors. She’s young and pretty, and that probably shouldn’t matter – but I’m sure it makes me like her more. She’s very calm and competent. She is exactly as calm and competent as I wish could be. The doctor is co