How to Dodge Flying Sandals and Other Advice for Life by Daniel Nour
To dodge flying sandals launched from the roughened hands of enraged mothers, irate sisters, too-nosy-for-their-own-good aunties and shrieking grandmothers is a life skill central to the experience of the ethnic migrant child. Daniel Nour’s debut memoir How to Dodge Flying Sandals and Other Advice for Life (2025) is a perfect example of unpacking the serious stuff – body dysmorphia, religious guilt, gender stereotypes, homophobia and sexuality – through a series of ‘How To…’ chapters, covering everything from ‘How To Die’ to ‘How To Be Born’ to ‘How to Go Back to Your Roots’ to ‘How to Come Out’ and finally ‘How To Have It All’. Each chapter authentically communicates the migrant experience of Nour’s Egyptian family, brilliantly highlighting the contradictory ways in which migrant children encounter acceptance and rejection from both inside and outside the home depending on how well they can fit in.
From the very first chapter ‘How to Die’, the chaotic dynamics of migrant families (in this case an Egyptian-Australian family) are displayed in all their glory and cattiness. Against the backdrop of Gidoo’s (Danny’s grandfather) funeral we are introduced to Danny’s loud, opinionated and dysfunctional family. There is Tant Ansaf who blames Gidoo’s death on Danny’s family, Tant Awatef who in one breath asks Danny whether he’s eaten the kousa she left for him and about money owed to her by Gidoo and Uncle Kareem who, despite feeling cheated of money from the sale of Gidoo’s shop in the 90s, makes an appearance. Having recently lost my own beloved paternal grandmother just under a year ago this chaos is all too familiar. The “‘It’s all well and good to show up after he’s dead,’ I hear one say” and Tant Ansaf’s public explanation, “‘They weren’t watching him when he died’” and “‘Can you imagine dying without being watched, without being seen?’” when relaying details of the hows and whys of Gidoo’s death hit home. Wailing relatives, discussions of inheritance and money, the pushing and shoving to be in the spotlight at an elderly family member’s funeral to make a good impression and feel important, as well as glossing over the unpleasant personality traits of the deceased are all accounted for in Nour’s memoir – making it an emotional, if a little jarring and nostalgic guide for what to expect even in death.
Perhaps the most compelling element of Nour’s literary artistry is his ability to develop and depict the stages of grief, confusion and anger that accompany the internal struggles of migrant children growing up in Australia. Over the course of the memoir, we witness Danny struggle with his body image and the insidious nature of bullying as they intertwine to create a monster of self-doubt and shame that hangs over his childhood and youth. In ‘How to Be Bi(lingual)’ we begin to see Danny’s self-doubt extend beyond the tangible space of his physical body and hold hostage his identities of Egyptian, migrant, Coptic Christian and queer. Rita, Danny’s older sister, advises him, “‘If you tell people you’re Egyptian, they’ll say you’re a terrorist and beat you up’” while taunts of “‘Bitch-tits’” compound the fear of taking off his fanela to participate in sporting and swimming carnivals. These are episodes of childhood bullying most migrant children who don’t fit the bill of Eurocentric beauty, heritage and grace can relate to. Good literature is meant to be powerful in its ability to incite emotions and probe further pondering and exploration – something that Nour’s memoir does well as it positions readers to appreciate the rhyme and rhythm of cultural processes and rituals while highlighting the importance of carving out one’s own space in the midst of competing expectations.
However, the memoir is more than just a raw and at times painful retelling of what it means to be a queer, ethnic migrant from Western Sydney in Australia. All chapters at some point illustrate moments of hope, friendship and acceptance, cleverly undermining the tropes of Western, Eurocentric storytelling that makes out experiences of ethnic communities to be inherently sad and devastating. The life lessons which Nour chooses to focus on can be interpreted as an intentional choice to simultaneously emphasise both the uniqueness and ordinariness of migrant lives. Milestones such as ‘How to Keep a Part-Time Job’, ‘How to Graduate’, ‘How to Buy a Car’, ‘How to Survive a Global Pandemic’ and ‘How to Buy a House’ are not, per say, exclusive to the migrants of Western Sydney. The genius of Nour comes into play as he particularises the processes associated with general goals of human society. ‘How to Graduate* *in a dress *in front of your dad’, like most other chapters, begins with a witty nugget of wisdom – “Soft hands miss the goal but close the deal” – and proceeds to set the scene for Danny’s graduation on the campus of the University of Sydney, notably identified by the jacaranda tree located in the quadrangle and the Great Hall. Danny’s musings reflect what I suspect will be my own musings in just a few short months (and have been the anxieties of countless other graduates:
“So much cramming, so many closeted afternoons studying alone in the library like a mole creature when I could have been partying at Manning Bar – making out with some guy even. What do I have to show for it? Will it amount to anything?”
Nour highlights the universality of the ethnic migrant child’s anxiety – being acutely aware of the sacrifice made by one’s parents to provide a better life and more opportunities, the reality of mothers and fathers left behind with dreams that they no longer can achieve so they pour all their hopes for a rich, successful future into their children.
But Nour’s prose is masterful in adding layers of feelings and complexity to the simple, universal experience of graduation by incorporating flashbacks where a young Danny wears a “pink chiffon dress” and is told by his father “‘Habibi, only girls wear dresses.... You’re my big man, my big boy so I need you to act like a man, not a faffy.’” Every common milestone faced by Danny, such as his graduation, is underpinned by his grappling with same-sex attraction and self-expression in a society that values heteronormative coupling and behaviours. The chapter ends with a series of affirmations that become the foundation of ‘How to Graduate’ but also communicate the mixed feelings of success, confusion and fear that shape Danny’s graduation:
“I am a rocket. I am a shooting star. I am a comet. I am a cloud of novae. I am flying. I am a gazelle, caught in the headlights of my dad’s Samsung Galaxy camera. I am a graduate.”
Overall, How to Dodge Flying Sandals and Other Advice for Life is a moving read about finding oneself amidst the chaos of a loving yet intrusive family, the uncertainty of knowing when and how to trust one’s gut and the flutters of peace that can be found even in the darkest of moments.
This article has been commissioned in partnership with Diversity Arts Australia’s StoryCaster project, supported by Multicultural NSW, Creative Australia and Create NSW.
Lina Ali is an Indian-Australian writer from Parramatta. She completed her Honours thesis on postcolonial South Asian literature at the University of Sydney. Lina has been published with the Sydney Opera House, Meanjin Quarterly, SAARI Collective and SBS Voices. Her writing primarily explores the intersections between religion, culture, neurodiversity, and gender. You can connect with her on LinkedIn.