‘‘
FM – The research for My Name is Samim actually took longer than the writing itself. I have a background in Asian and Middle Eastern Studies, specialising in Iran and Afghanistan, so I already understood Afghanistan’s history, languages, literature, religion, and geography. I’d spent years studying the country, but I knew that to tell Samim’s story properly, I had to go beyond textbooks and explore real, lived experiences.
I read memoirs and personal accounts from refugees, collected stories from Afghan asylum-seekers, and studied reports from charities working directly with migrants. I also looked into immigration policies, especially those affecting unaccompanied minors, to make sure I got the legal side right. Watching documentaries and following investigative journalism helped me understand the constantly shifting situation more clearly. One of the most valuable parts of my research was working with Aryan Musleh, an Afghan photojournalist. Through his friends and acquaintances who had fled Afghanistan, I gained invaluable first-hand insights that shaped not just the details of the book, but the emotional heart of Samim’s journey.
P&I – There are themes around racism and cultural differences, how do you approach these themes for your audience, and what do you hope that stories like Samim’s can teach children about empathy and understanding, especially in such conflicted times for the UK?
FM – To me, the key was to approach these themes with care and honesty. Children’s understanding of complex issues like racism and cultural difference can be surprisingly nuanced, but it’s important to present them in a way that respects their empathy without overwhelming them. I focused on the emotional journey of the characters. By showing the challenges of racism and cultural divides through the eyes of relatable characters like Samim, children can see these issues not as abstract concepts, but as human experiences. It’s not about explaining racism in a textbook way, it’s about showing how it hurts, how it isolates, and how people can choose to come together despite those divides.
One of my young beta readers once said something that’s really stayed with me. Months after reading My Name is Samim,
Autumn-Winter 2025
If young readers come away from the story feeling more connected, more curious, and more compassionate, then I’ve done what I set out to do.
she told me: “I didn’t know much about refugees before. But now, when I see or hear the word in the news, I feel more interested and more worried about them, because I think of someone I really like. I think of Samim and Zayn.” That meant everything to me. “Refugee” can feel like a distant, abstract word to many children. Through Samim and Zayn, I wanted to give that word a face, a story, someone they could relate to and care about. Samim and Zayn aren’t just going through something difficult, they’re funny, brave, scared, kind, and stubborn, just like all kids.
If young readers come away from the story feeling more connected, more curious, and more compassionate, then I’ve done what I set out to do. I hope the book helps them move past the headlines and see the people behind the label, children like Samim and Zayn, with their own hopes, fears, and stories worth hearing.
P&I – There is a second book out in autumn 2026, this time focusing on Samim’s friend, Zayn. How does Zayn’s story link with Samim’s and where does this new book take the reader?
FM – I’m currently editing the sequel to My Name is Samim. It follows Zayn, Samim’s friend and a key side character in Book One. This will be the final book in the series, wrapping up the journey of two boys, best friends, as they discover where they truly belong. Writing the final lines of Book Two was emotional. It felt a bit like saying goodbye to my sons, letting them go and trusting they’ll find their way in the world. But I’m also really excited about Book Two. I began writing it with one clear issue in mind that I wanted to explore, but along the way, it grew into something more: a story about unity and humanity, a story about how, despite our differences, we all share a love for family, the fear of loss, and the hope for a better future.
P&I – I’ve already mentioned your work in teaching, but you are also doing school visits now, what response do you get on those?
FM – I’ll be honest, doing school visits and talking about empathy for refugees in today’s climate can be hard, especially as an immigrant myself. I feel a flutter of nerves every time I walk into a classroom. I look at all those bright, curious faces and
can’t help but wonder: “What have they heard, what do they already believe?”, I never really know.
But I do know this: empathy and kindness are never the wrong things to talk about. So, I take a deep breath, let the nerves settle, and begin to tell them about a boy called Samim, who in so many ways, is just like them, and who, just like them, deserves to be safe and happy. And then, the talk flies by. We speak about what children like Samim are put through, how they long for safety and normality, and I see arms shoot up to draw parallels to their own experiences. Their eyes stay fixed on me, bright and full of life, brows slightly furrowed, feeling all the right feelings.
At the end, I always ask: if a refugee boy or girl joined your school, what would you do to make them feel less scared and more welcome? And then comes a flood of raised hands: children saying they would offer them a seat, invite them to play football, eat lunch together, show them around the school, tell them not to be scared. And all I think is: “Don’t cry!” I know things are tough right now, not only for refugees, but for immigrants all over the world, and my heart breaks with every headline. But if you were in those classrooms with me, you’d know: our future is bright. It’s beautiful and kind, and every time I leave those classrooms, my heart bursts with hope.
P&I – What are you working on next?
FM – Alongside the sequel to My Name is Samim, I have a few other stories quietly taking shape. One of them is an allegorical tale set in a dystopian world. So far, I’ve only written the ending, probably because I’m clinging to it. It’s full of hope, and I think I needed that promise before I could begin.
I’ve realised I’m often drawn to writing about things that break my heart: displacement, loss, injustice, but I always leave space for hope to bloom between the cracks. Because even in the heaviest stories, there must be light: a reminder that things can change, that people can find each other, that better days are possible.
That hope is what keeps me writing. It’s what I want to leave with every reader who closes one of my books: a quiet belief that even in the darkest moments, there is always a path forward, and there is always someone who will walk it with you. PEN&INC
PEN&INC. 31
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60
