More Than a Butterfly: Interview with Maryum Ali

Maryum Ali has spent decades building a life defined by purpose, not just pedigree—and her solo theatrical debut, FLOAT, that premiered at the Bishop Arts Theater in Dallas, is the culmination of her journey in life.

The play is autobiographical, but it isn’t just a memoir of proximity to greatness. It’s an attempt to do something American theater has rarely done: humanize the Black American Muslim experience on its own terms. Woven in part through it is the imprint of her father, Muhammad Ali—not as a boxing legend, but as the man who taught her how to hold her faith and her ground in a world quick to misunderstand both. In a moment when Muslims are being demonized in public discourse and history itself is being edited out of classrooms, Maryum set out to write the story she’d never seen on stage—one that moves through the civil rights era, faith, identity, and belonging, told through fifteen interwoven vignettes over ninety minutes.

In this conversation with Islamica’s Dr Amina Chaudary, Maryum talks about the moment she knew she had to write this play, what it means to own your narrative when the world keeps trying to write it for you, and why—twenty years after she first imagined it—the time finally feels right. 

This Interview has been edited for print. All questions are in bold. For the full interview you can either watch the video or listen to the audio recording below.

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Dr Amina Chaudary: Maryum, thank you so much for doing this interview with Islamica and to share with a global Muslim audience about your story and this next adventure that you’re about to embark on. When we ask the question to the world, “who is Maryum Ali?”, they may say the most easy and identifiable thing: that she is the eldest daughter of the great legend, Muhammad Ali, right? But if we think about you in your own element: you were once a rapper, a children’s book author, you were in social work. You’ve done all of these other things as well. And now you are a playwright in a solo theater performance. Does it feel like Maryum Ali, the daughter [of the great Muhammad Ali] and Maryum Ali, of these other talents, clash, or is it interwoven? Who is Maryum Ali?

Maryum Ali: Well, I’m just a human being that follows my heart. And all of those different iterations that you spoke about were different phases of my life. I am a creative. I love creative things. And when I did creative work, I enjoyed it. But a lot of it ended because of my faith, because the entertainment industry is not really in alignment with Islam. So I learned a lot from being on stage. I learned a lot from performance. It built up my confidence. I was able to disseminate important information in spaces I may have not been in and have impact in those spaces.

I live comfortably in my own skin and follow what I want to do in life, whatever that career may be. But most of those things you spoke about, I was in those different careers for years. I didn’t just mess with it and play around with it. I was in it for years, social work, in it for 15 years, artistry, in it for 15 years. I’ve been fortunate enough to switch up. And in terms of being Muhammad Ali’s daughter: I love my father. It’s an honor to be called Muhammad Ali’s daughter. In my daily life, I don’t tell people that. I’ve had jobs where they didn’t even know who I was.

Although the resemblance is so striking.

That’s true, but most people don’t recognize me, believe it or not. Muslims may, African Americans over a certain age may have seen my family grow up over the years. But nine times out of 10, I live an anonymous life.

Your father really shook up the world because he refused to fit in a box that the world created for him. What is the box that you are stepping out of, would you say, as a black Muslim woman?

Well, I think one of the reasons why I started to write the solo piece is that as someone who loves theater, I don’t see our story. I see stories about the struggles of African Americans, I see that, but I don’t see the specific story of the African American Muslim person or woman in particular. And I live that story, and it’s a very rich story in American history. It intersects with the civil rights movement, and with what’s going on today, with how Muslims are being attacked. And I think that’s it’s unfortunate that our story hasn’t been humanized more on stage, because that’s how they are able to dehumanize us now. They don’t see Muslims the way they should see them. It’s easy to say they’re all bad, they’re all violent, kick them out of the United States of America. We need the playwrights, we need the creatives to reach folks who don’t know us, who don’t want to know us … It’s hard to gain respect for people who are invisible in the media. So that’s why I’m happy I’m at this phase in my life now as a playwright performer, because what I’m speaking to is very important and it’s information that is currently being banned in this country. I never thought I would live in America where they banned black history. That’s pretty deep, I didn’t think I would see that in my lifetime. I didn’t know we were gonna go backward.

And why do you think this story that you want to share and tell in your experience, as a black American Muslim woman and the daughter of one of the greatest legends ever, is so important for a global Muslim audience, especially now?

Oppression is the same everywhere. It has different shades of gray. We should all relate to each other and be in solidarity with each other. But a lot of time that oppression is really by the same type of groups. My father said, “Hey, it’s my constitutional right to change my name from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali. It’s my constitutional right and my godly right more than anything to be Muslim, to pray to who I want to pray to.” And even though that was his right, he got pushback, he was vilified, demonized and all those things. But then he had this family where we were going through things too. So you don’t see the personal family side of what he went through and that’s what this play does. When they were questioning why he left The Nation [of Islam]: “What do you believe? Do you believe this or that?” I was going through something in school, in elementary, in middle school, in high school. And [when I was] a Muslim woman in entertainment, I was going through things too. What decisions did I make to protect my spirituality? So all of that is important because again, folks or the media want to define who we are and say that we’re oppressed or we’re this. No, you don’t even know us. You haven’t even spoken to a Muslim. You haven’t even visited a masjid. So how do you know? The narrative is very important for us to own in all spaces.

And for a global Muslim audience, in this time, for exam-ple, in 2026, is there something that you think would resonate now in 2026 as opposed to maybe 15, 20, 30 years ago, or a message that could be universal?

Well, the thing is, unfortunately, we are funding a lot of the oppression and murder in other places. And the same folks who are funding are taking our rights away here. We’re dealing with different things, but in different spaces. Oppression, suppression, violence, genocide, poverty, starvation, all of those things take place in multiple places by the same types of people, by the same types of power. I think that’s why my father transcended different countries and religions and faiths because he was speaking up for not only himself, he was speaking up for people in Africa, people in Pakistan. Islam is global. People were saying: “Wow, he’s standing up to power” and thank Allah, Subhanahu wa ta’ala, that nothing happened to him, because there were threats on his life. His apartment did get firebombed where he could have died, but he was protected that whole time. I talk about some of that in the play.

So much of what he talked about, and you bring this up as well, is that he used to ask you, “What is your purpose?” In our Islamic tradition, as Muslims, we know that God has a purpose for everyone. You used to answer that question [by saying] I want to help people. Do you think that he felt a great deal of responsibility because of the position that he had? And do you feel like you have part of that responsibility as well in terms of this question of purpose?

Yeah, I mean, I think everyone is different. I just happen to want to be in the helping profession. So I worked in social services for a long time, helping youth, trying to prevent them from joining gangs, where there’s death and destruction and murder and mayhem, but that there’s a history behind why that is. It’s not like black people are just violent. No, when you have poverty and injustice, you’re gonna have that. That’s anywhere. I never did anything because of pressure or because, “Oh, my father’s this way, so I have to do that.” I just don’t live that way. When you have an iconic father, you get that question often because he’s so iconic, and it’s hard for people to separate why you really do things. And it just so happens that I’m similar to him in that way where I have that kind of heart, giving heart. And a lot of my siblings do actually, because we grew up just kind of admiring that about our family.

Islam has a lot to do with my career choices in terms of just being in the helping profession, because it makes you feel good. I definitely didn’t get into it for the money, because social services, doesn’t pay a lot.

Your skill and your ability to connect with people, but also help them, is very apparent and it’s very obvious, and you sort of see the spirit coming from your dad. In some ways, it’s a message that we all need to carry now. Put yourself second, and take care of other people around you. Be a steward of the earth, be a steward of humanity.

Exactly.

Let’s move to the play. Could you tell me what was the moment where the light bulb went off? And you said, this is what I want to do.

Wow, so I saw a woman named Charlayne Woodard at the Mark Taper Forum. She doesn’t have a famous father. And she’s a great actress. She was by herself on stage with no props, no visuals, maybe a little background music or sound effects. And she told an incredible story. And I saw that whole story like I was watching a movie. It was magical. I knew it was a real science. It was a real skill set to be able to do that. I saw Richard Pryor’s daughter, Rain Pryor, do a one-woman show about being black and Jewish. And the way she did it, the father-daughter relationship, imitating her dad, saying things about Richard and her relationship that I had never heard before. I was just like, wow. I said, I’m gonna do that one day but I’m not going to do it until I’m over 50. My director is Jemal McNeil, a phenomenal acclaimed director and acting coach. He’s been a friend of mine for 20 years. We did a play together and when I first met him in LA, our play received five NAACP Theater Award nominations in Los Angeles, I told him “Jemal, I wanna do this play, and I want you to direct it.” And he said, “Yeah, let’s do it.” So in 2021, I wrote it and now it’s 2026. It takes time to do something like this.

Does it still feel like a work in progress for you?

It is, it is a work in progress, because when you do these types of shows, it’s always a work in progress in the beginning. Until you know that it works repeatedly over and over and over again. It’s multiple stories and very fast paced. There’s a through line to what I’m saying and its humanity is created equal under the eyes of God, who judges where you are in terms of if you’re a better person. It’s all based on your deeds, it’s not based on your color, it’s not based on your religion, and we need to live in that light. And hopefully people come away from the play with more empathy and understanding Muslims more and just humanizing us.

Imagine you have an audience here. How do you want to touch them? How do you want to reach out and touch their soul, touch their emotion, touch who they are through your words? It’s kind of beautiful because your father was so eloquent with his words. And here you are using words to convey a story.

I want them to leave saying, I learned something. I want them to be in the audience and experience entertainment. I’m enjoying this. I want them to be inspired and say, “Hmm, I can hold my chest up high. I see her esteem and what she went through and how she handled it. I can apply that to something I’m doing.” Or they may sink in their chair and say, “Oh, she’s talking about me. I’m ashamed of that. I shouldn’t judge people that way.” So all these different emotions can happen. Someone may sit there and say, I’m a Muslim too. I knew everything she was talking about. I remember all that. I enjoyed this production. This was a good time. I just felt good watching it. I learned something. I saw all the imagery and that experience was great. I didn’t know your father was that kind of father. That is what is so great in having director Jemal McNeil directing me. We know what that creative process is. And if you do it right, you’ll get the result … I want it to serve a purpose. There’s meaning behind what we are trying to do and there’s impact. When you go home, not only were you entertained, you changed a little bit. For me as an artist and a Muslim artist, I wanted to be beneficial in a good way, in the right way.

Your father in so many ways was a storyteller and it wasn’t just in the words, but it was in his actions and the decisions that he made. How would you frame that? Your father’s life essentially was one of the greatest stories ever.

He became a story in history. I mean, you can look at his life and they have movies about him and books about him and just how the experiences and the time period he lived in and what he stood for became a huge story. He spoke truth to power. When they tried to corner him in interviews, he would tell them a little story. But you have to educate yourself and know who you are to be able to do that. You have to know what you believe to be able to address people in a way where it hits. And he was ready. He was ready when that microphone came up to his mouth and they said something to him. He knew how to communicate who he was and what he was doing. And they just kind of sit back and go, whoa, we didn’t know he was going to do that.

I am happy that he found Islam through the Nation of Islam because The Nation of Islam really helped African Americans express who they were and made them want to delve into their background, where they’re really from, who their ancestors were, the power, the great things that their ancestors did and be proud because we were in a country where they said, your hair is not good hair. Your skin is not good skin.

Your religion is not a good religion.

Yeah. Allah Subhana Wa Ta’ala knows exactly what He was doing when He had all those African Americans come to Islam through The Nation because it gave them a certain pride that was needed. In this kind of dark environment, in this oppressive and very racist environment, that was needed. From The Nation to true Islam was probably the biggest conversion ever at one time of a people. All those people went to Islam just like that. There’s beauty in that. And the Muhammad Ali you see and admire, that strength came from that first phase of his life in The Nation, that confidence came from loving who he was. You have to give that credit. That group of people didn’t know what true Islam was then. But when they found out and they started reading the Qur’an, they said we could keep the confidence and all the good stuff that came from The Nation, but La illah Illa Allah, there’s only one God and the white man is not the devil. There might be devilish people, but that comes in all races and classes and colors. You embraced one God, and [Muhammad as] the last Prophet. And I bring all of this in the play too. That whole his-tory is in the play.

That’s amazing. I do want to come back to the play, but because you talked about this now, let me ask, some people would say that there are three phases of the sort of Islam that your father experienced. And you wit-nessed it all, right? From The Nation of Islam to one of Islam as the universal one of love and compassion. Can you talk about your experience of being a Muslim and being raised in those sort of transitions that your father went through.

Yeah. You know, it’s interesting. That’s the narrative people have written out for him, which you just said. It’s true in a sense, but it’s kind of a narrative that people have put on him.

That’s great, please do debunk it!

My father, even in The Nation of Islam was always compas-sionate and loving to everyone. Even though The Nation said white men are the devil and things like that, I saw my father be very kind, even to hire white people. So he was consistent in terms of being compassionate, being generous, that was a throughline. He didn’t change. In general, he kind of stayed consistent. When we got to true Islam, we could read the Qur’an now, we are praying differently now. It was just like anyone else who converts to a religion has to learn it and understand it and know [everything like] why you pray. It’s a never-ending learning process. So to your question, I really don’t look at it that way, the way people kind of put that narrative out, because I’ve always seen him to be those things. He’s always donated to charity. He’s always loved people from other countries. He’s always been that person, but they try to put his life in chapters. But he’s always been that global loving person. He’s been traveling since he was 19. He’s been all over the world and he’s enjoyed every space, whether it’s Ireland, Pakistan, China. He has an appreciation for all people as long as I’ve ever known him.

I want to talk to you about the title of your play FLOAT. How did you come up with the title? We all know the reference, but why did you decide this as your title and what does that mean for you?

So I can’t tell you all of that because it’ll give away too much of the play. I want you to know why when you’re watching it. But I always knew it was going [to be this title from] 20 years ago. I knew this play was going to be called FLOAT 20 years ago. I knew the opening scene of this play. In the play, there are two metaphors regarding the word float and not only the butterfly. Some other things and they’re connected to spirituality. That’s all I can say. So after you see the play, you’ll go, I see why she named it FLOAT.

And are these very personal to you in terms of why?

They’re very personal. Yeah. Some are heavier than others, some are more spiritual than others. You know the connection to “float like a butterfly sting like a bee.” But I give it my meaning because it’s a play mostly about my perspective and my life and my experiences. There’s a meaning in there that’s bigger for me than float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.

And when you say spiritually, do you mean like you as a Muslim woman?

Any spiritual person, I think the way and I reference this word float, if you’re Christian, Muslim, Jewish, and you follow, follow your faith, or if you’re just a person that believes in universal good and evil and you want to be more good, you’ll connect to that meaning float.

So, I asked you this question about the phases of your father’s religion and you debunked it. And I really loved the fact that you did. You said, that’s the narrative that people put on him. People say Muhammad Ali or you as Maryum Ali that there’s a certain portrayal that the world seems to always put in a certain label or certain description. From your perspective, is there something or a perspective or an angle that you want the world to know about Muhammad Ali, your father, and Maryum Ali, the playwright, the artist, the creator that you don’t think the world already knows?

With regards to my dad, what the world may not know is how he handled his disease, Parkinson’s. The lens he saw that disease through. He had Parkinson’s almost as long as him not having it, believe it or not. He had Parkinson’s for over 30 something years. And his first symptoms were way before he was diagnosed at 42, but he had the symptoms in his thirties. I said to him in a private moment [that he was] a person who was known for how articulate he was and energetic and then to lose that. I said, what kind of person do you think you would be if you didn’t have Parkinson’s right now? He’s always been a person who acknowledges any wrong he’s ever done. That’s so special to be able to do that: to say to his daughter “I did this wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I did that wrong. I repent for that. I pray for forgiveness for that” and not come off like he’s perfect. So he says [to me] “Parkinson’s is the cards that were dealt [for me]. It’s what Allah gave me. It’s what I may have given myself. I don’t know, but I rather suffer now than in the hereafter.”  I always want to cry thinking about it. I read a hadith [saying] basically “Allah loves you. So, He may give you something so you can make it to jannah. Because if you didn’t get it, you may not make it.” I don’t know if my father read it but he knew that inherently. And he was fine with having Parkinson’s because he felt I’m going to be a better person with this, and I have time to repent. I have time. I don’t know if people know that about him. He really kept a good mindset about it. If I ever get anything, I want to be able to handle the disease like he handled that. Just be content with it, do your best with it and say, this is an opportunity for me or this may be a blessing in disguise. That’s hard for people. A lot of people curse God when they get something. But that’s the beauty of our faith is accepting your destiny, accepting how life unfolds. So I don’t think anybody would know that about him. That’s a private [moment]. I think maybe he has said it in interviews here or there, but I don’t think most people know that’s how he interpreted his disease.

Because when you think about the essence of Islam or how we should practice as a Muslim, that’s it. And that must have had an impact on you and continues to.

Yes. Oh, yes. Cherish your life and don’t worry about some-thing simple that happened yesterday [but instead think] maybe Allah diverted us from an accident. I can’t worry about it. You know, just say, “Alhamdulillah for everything.”

That’s so beautiful. It sounds like your father had a very special relationship with God. That God was embodied in his day-to-day life. How did you witness that and how is that still with you today?

I saw my father as a human being who had flaws, who loved Islam, who wanted to be better. He knew where he went wrong, and knew if he woke up the next day, he had an opportunity to be better. My mother’s parents are like that [too]. They raised me in the same way. Aminah, my grandmother who has your name, is 96 now. I just watch her [and my grand-parents] just try to elevate. And of course that has a lasting impression on me. Other people in my family have been examples [too]. He’s not the only one. [But as to my father] that’s one of the reasons why his impact and what he stood for is why I wrote this piece. How did that impact go to his daughter? How did it impact his kids or me? I can’t speak for all my siblings, but how did it impact my life? And that’s what FLOAT is about. What I saw, what I grew up with, how did that help me make decisions to try to protect my spiritual purpose.

Your father believed that division is wrong. As you said earlier, the idea of universal love and compassion for everybody. And then here we are now in 2026, and it feels like not just the whole world is divided, but even amongst Muslims, that there’s division amongst race lines, amongst even doctrines, class, ethnicities, nationalities. What do you feel about all of that?

You know what they say in our faith, “shaytan gets you where you are,” right? He comes from the front, the side, the back. We could have Islam, but then why do we have hierarchy within that? So, shaytan may not get a Muslim to do anything lewd, but he may get you to not look at your brother who looks different than you but is part of the same Ummah. I think there’s always been division from the beginning of time. It’s a part of that dark plan to whisper and break us apart, you know. It’s not good to turn your back on your brother. It’s not good to turn your back on anyone being oppressed, because that oppression is going to catch up. Not respecting someone’s real-life experiences when they’re going through things and dismissing them is not good because you’re normalizing oppressive policies. You’re normalizing this to the point where it’s going to get bigger and bigger and it’s just going to swallow all of us. And that’s what’s happened.

Do you feel comfortable talking about racism amongst the Muslims now?

Yeah. This division thing is a real thing. I’ve said, “Asalamu Alaikum” to Muslim sisters from different countries who won’t even give me the greetings back. It happens all the time. Matter of fact, I kind of stopped saying it, because it hurts me so much. Isn’t that a hadith that you return the greetings? So we have to stop doing that, especially in America. We are in a place where we are being demonized and vilified. It’s “peace be with you.” It’s acknowledging, “I see you, Muslim sister.” This thing of not giving the greetings as a person who doesn’t look like you, I don’t know what that is. And we really should stop doing that.

I love that you said that, because I think that this is so important for us now. Does your play have a theme that would kind of speak to this idea of bridging divides in people?

The play is more of a personal journey. There are things in there about Islam, what I went through as a Muslim girl, but there are things in there that have nothing to do with me being a Muslim. They’re just experiences and moments that you learn from.

With all the creative stuff that you’ve done, you have had quite a public persona, as your father has as well, right? And in some ways, it is—just as your father—in some ways an example of living Islam out loud. Would you agree with that?

Yes, I agree with that, but I think so many Muslims are now. You know, back in the day when he was coming up, it was kind of rare to see that. You didn’t see athletes speaking and defending their stance and kneeling or praying at their sports. You know, you have shaykhs and imams with YouTube channels and their own networks. You have Muslims who are artists and comedians. You see that a lot now. I don’t think it’s uncommon anymore. I saw Mo Amer, the comedian who I know. He’s a great guy, talking about the misconceptions of Islam boldly. I think my dad definitely paved the way for many people [like him]. [Mo Amer] wanted to paint a picture of my dad he could use for his set, for his Netflix special. So I had my sister send it out to him. And when I watched the show, I was like, “There’s the picture!”

Your father paid an enormous price as well, right, for taking a stance. Is there someone you personally feel you respect for taking a stance, a principled stance, on something that is of great value to you?

Yeah. There are a lot of African-American activists right now who are speaking up against a corrupt administration. There’s so many I can’t even name. A lot of them I love. They’re out there speaking truth to power. Whether they’re politicians or journalists. Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf is another Muslim who I really admire. And the way he stood up, I believe his career got cut short because of it. Colin Kaepernick is not a Muslim, but he lost his NFL career. Just lost it. He kneels, and he never got his career back. It’s still a lot of inequity, inequality, and oppressive policies that still target only certain people.

Do you feel like people are not taking a principled stance anymore? It’s like you have a few and when those do come out and they come out big, but everyone seems to have strong feelings about it.

There are certain people doing it. I think the celebrity com-munity, there’s just a handful. There’s a small number of people that are. A lot of people’s salaries and paychecks are intertwined with an entity that will ban them. The whole setup of owning everything and corporations and politics has been set up to make it where you feel like, “I will lose my job and everything I own if I go against these people.” And it’s set up that way. So when they do come down and make the government oppressive and put policies in, you have no recourse. You’ll have to give up your career. And I think that’s what people love about my father. He was ready to give up boxing and just say, “Throw me in jail. I don’t care. I don’t care.” He happened to survive that, but he was willing to throw it away. And I think that’s why he’s special, because he was going to throw it away, and he was going to be poor, and he was going to go get another job outside of boxing if they took that away from him. And Colin Kaepernick did the same thing. He could have given an apology and did all that and maybe got back into the NFL, but he said, “No, I’m not doing it.” So I admire him for that because he’s the real deal, like my dad. He really lost everything. But I think he gained more. When you hear him talk, you could see that he gained more from leaving the NFL than losing.

I have one last question, but before I ask the question, I want to ask you if there’s something else on your heart or on your mind, knowing this will go to a wider Muslim audience of all backgrounds and ethnicities. Is there something that you feel I should be asking you or that you want to share in terms of what it is that you’re doing and you as a storyteller and you as a narrator and you in this snapshot of history?

Well, I think that people should be open to understanding the lives, the feelings, the experiences, the history of those who don’t look like them. And lower judgment and come into space, and that’s what theater is about: come into certain spaces that you might not agree with, but learn something. Because we don’t know who our neighbors are going to be. We don’t know who we’re standing next to at a store. They have a life and a story. And that way you can be empathetic and caring, even though you may not agree. I believe Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, was that way. You might not agree, but he protected the churches. He protected people of other faiths under his rule. So it’s OK to learn from other people. It’s going to broaden your horizon. It’s going to open your mind to other people’s lives. And don’t be afraid of that.

If your father could see FLOAT and if he was sitting right there in the back of the theater or the front of the theater, and he could watch you perform, what would he say to you afterward?

If my father saw FLOAT … Well first of all he saw me in [the play] “Steel Magnolias” directed by Jemal. And he was, just like his wife, crying. I mean, I rented out the whole space because my dad was going to be there. It was only 45 seats, a small black box theater. And I was so happy. And then he saw me do stand-up comedy for the first time. And I was so nervous but it was the best performance I ever had in my life.

If he saw FLOAT, he would be in awe. He would be in awe. I think he would cry. My father was a crier. I don’t know if you knew that, but he was a crier. Like he would literally come visit us and show me a picture of me and just start crying. He was a big teddy bear. But I think he would cry multiple times. And I just think he would say “Did you write that? You didn’t write that. How did you write that? That’s professional. Wow, that’s good. You were teaching. You’re just my little girl.”  And I hope there’s some way his spirit can float in and see this play anyway. Oh, that would be so wonderful. But I feel his spirit so much when I’m doing this play and you’ll see how much I sound like him and act like him.

Is there one or two lines from the play you can give me in your father’s tone and voice?

Let me see. Let me think. There’s a scene where he calls me and I’m eight years old. This really happened. And I’m being bullied, but I’m beating the kids up though. And I answer the phone. And I say,

“Hello?”

“Asalamu Alaykum Maryum. It’s daddy. Whatcha doing?”

“Walaykum As salam. I was playing outside. What are you doing?”

“I just spoke at a university.”

Now, the scene before, you see him speaking at the university being questioned about “You left The Nation of Islam. What are your beliefs now?” He’s dealing with that. But what am I dealing with in elementary school? I’m like:

“Some of the kids are mean. The Muslim school closed and I’m at the all-white school.”

And it’s a culture shock for me. And I’m being bullied as the black Muslim girl.

“Some of the kids are mean. There are not many black kids at this school. And the boys bother me a lot.”

“How are they bothering you?”

And so we go back and forth. And he teaches me a lesson
at the end of this phone conversation. And that’s all I’ll give you.

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Maryum Ali has a background in entertainment and spent over a decade in the social services field, specializing in youth development and juvenile delinquency prevention. She is also a public speaker. Her solo play, FLOAT, marks her return to the performing arts.