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This Being Human Transcript

Episode 10 – Nadir Nahdi

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

My name is Abdul-Rehman Malik. I’m canvassing the world for the most interesting people, to hear about their journeys, their work, and what it means to be alive in the world today. And perhaps nobody has captured that experience, of being alive, better than the13th-century Persian poet and Sufi mystic Jalaluddin Rumi in his poem “The Guest House.”

 

WOMAN’S VOICE: 

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

So welcome to This Being Human. A podcast inspired by Rumi’s words and motivated by all those who carry that message forward in the world today. Today, social media influencer Nadir Nahdi.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

We all have narcissistic qualities. And yes, I do believe social media is an inherently narcissistic space because it’s about sharing what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. But the challenge for you, the jihad, is being like “how do I leverage this narcissism into something bigger than me?”.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

Nadir Nahdi’s videos have been seen millions of times. But he had his first viral hit before being a YouTuber was an actual job. Nadir has spent the last few years building a following through his YouTube channel BENI, where he documents contemporary Muslim life around the world, with an emphasis on identity and culture. Many of his videos are deeply personal, like Finding Nenek, a moving documentary chronicling his travel to Indonesia to learn about his grandmother’s life, with very few clues to guide him. When he arrived, he found things about her that even his father didn’t know. His work has spun into offline events too, like an international running club.

 

Nadir comes from a tradition of thought and influence. His father, Fuad Nahdi, was a giant in the British Muslim community. A journalist and activist, he founded the satirical magazine MuslimWise and later the current affairs journal Q-News, becoming a central figure in discussions around what it means to be Muslim today. Fuad was also a mentor to me. He died last year.

 

I’ll talk to Nadir Nahdi about the work he does with BENI, his mixed feelings over being an online influencer, and his own search for identity, raised in Britain with Kenyan, Pakistani, Yemeni, and Indonesian background.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

Nadir my brother, I’m so happy to have you on This Being Human.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Aaaaaaaabs! This is a crazy situation for you because you are family to me. So, like, having a conversation with someone where there’s so much already, like, historical resonance and experience to draw from and, like, an understanding is going to be — is very exciting. I’m super excited.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

Nadir’s first taste of online fame came in 2014. When Pharrell’s song Happy was all over the airwaves, Nadir made an all-Muslim version of the music video. It shows people of all ages and diverse backgrounds in urban settings — a skatepark, a bus stop, a parking garage — dancing joyously to the song. I’m in the video too, at one of my favourite cafes. Today, Nadir’s Happy video has almost 2 and a half million views on YouTube.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

At that time, I was a young Muslim boy trying to figure out who I was in this kind-of quite a vitriolic and a politically hostile environment. There are people who are like attacking me or my people for things that I do not recognize. And at that time, I had a full time job. But inside me, there was a creative passion, which I felt like I hadn’t quite flexed yet. And I kind of pitched to my work at the time like “hey, like, it’d be really cool to start using video as a means to kind of showcase the work that we’re doing in a really cool, eclectic way to get young people involved”. And the U.N. at the time, who I was working for were, you know, they’re old school anyway, even today. Right? So they never really understood, they tell me to get to my office to do what you should do, and I was like “Fine”. So I was like, “I’ll do it on my own”.

 

So I get home, and then my mother has a camera and I’ve never filmed a video before in that way. I was like, “Screw it, I’m going to do it”. I had some time. Took the camera, sent some emails to people I knew, and like thankfully, you know, via my network, my parent’s network, I knew some interesting people. I was like, “Hey, I have this idea. Pharrell, he’s a pop star, he’s pretty much a big deal. He has a song called ‘Happy’. If we did our own version, I think it would be really funny and, like, meaningful”. And people were really for it. For about ten days, I traveled around the country filming notable people, but also like, you know, people we’d known from different diverse backgrounds. And I culminated about 30 people in this one video, posted it. Wallahi, I swear to God, I thought about 700 people would see it. And I posted that night, it took me about two days to edit. I posted at 7 pm at night and I thought, cool, 700 people. Most of them will probably be my family because I have a huge family. And that would be it.

The next day when I woke up, one point four million people had seen it. My phone was flooded with, like, notifications. It was still charging, but empty, and like it couldn’t keep up with the rolling notifications that were happening. People were emailing me, wanting to interview me. There was Harvard. They wanted to do academic reports, Guardian, the Independent, and it just

blew up in my face like I never would have expected. And it just showed me how insane this new emerging digital landscape is.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

You know, I had no idea it was you who was behind the video.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Yeah.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

And then it went viral. And then you told me because — because one of your colleagues had filmed me and also Farina and our son Abdi for this incredible video. I mean, you were — it wasn’t like it … it wasn’t like Nadir Nahdi was putting himself out there as a creator around this thing that went wild.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

No, definitely not. We actually wore Anonymous masks like, um, and — so there were reasons behind it. Ultimately, I noticed that my privilege is in my family’s network, right? Like, it was the people who we were, my parents were public figures in the British community. I had access to a lot of people, but I wanted people to feel like this could have been anyone that made this. So, I didn’t use my name. I wore an anonymous mask. I like, was sending emails to people. I told them I was somebody else and, you know, yeah, totally anonymous. Also, another thing that I have to be honest with is that I wanted to protect my parents. My parents had reputations in this space. And if I was to come out publicly and do something, just in case, I wanted to make sure that they weren’t associated with it. So, it was anonymous, but I kind of like that. I thought it was cool. I felt like a superhero, almost.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

A couple of years after the ‘Happy’ video, Nadir started to post videos regularly on his YouTube channel, BENI. He features stories that explore the complexity of modern Muslim identity, like his. Nadir is British, but his background is part Kenyan, part Yemeni, part Pakistani and part Indonesian. It was this last part he decided to explore for his 2018 documentary Finding Nenek: The Girl in the Batik Dress. The video documents Nadir’s trip to Indonesia, where he goes to learn more about his grandmother’s life, which he grew up knowing almost nothing about.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

You went to Indonesia with — with kind of a plan and ended up creating a beautiful and personal story about your grandmother, who until this point had been incredibly enigmatic for you.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Mm hmm.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

Why was it important for you to unravel the mystery of who your grandmother was?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

One of the kind-of question marks hovering over my cultural identity was the story of my grandmother. She — she married my grandfather in Kenya, but she was of Indonesian descent. And how does an Indonesian woman find herself in the shores of East Africa? And like, this is crazy. And what’s even weirder about it is that she never really provided any context or told many stories about it. It was almost ambiguity that baffled me more. And my frustration was going to my dad and being like “did it not occur to you ever to kind-of ask her, like, why?” And it was like … and you know, and actually more so I understand that now. It’s like, when you’re going through the day to day process of life, you don’t think about asking your parents formative questions of their roots and all these things. It just doesn’t cross your mind. So, I think I had the luxury, growing up in the context I did, where the only real battle I was facing everyday was my identity. And so these questions were a lot more important for my, you know, for the previous generation. It was, like, survival. And it was like making sure the family and the security and the safety of their future generations was paramount.

 

But for me, I think we arrived at a point where, like, my generation was ready to ask these questions. But sadly, my grandma had passed away. So a lot of these opportunities to figure out what that was had disappeared, so it was really important for me to kind-of put full stops where there were question marks. And I went to Indonesia and the idea behind me going there was kind of like, “OK, where did it all start? How does she arrive to East Africa? Why did she leave? What would compel a young woman in her early 20s to leave this beautiful country for the shores of East Africa?” And no one knew much about other than calling her Ilya Jawiya because she was a fair skinned Indonesian girl on the shores of East Africa, and Ilya Jawiya means — Ilya her name, but Jawiya — the Javanese. So, she stood out like a sore thumb in this, you know, village in Mombasa. So there were — there were lots of interesting questions to ask.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

In that film, Nadir, there is that moment where you find the key, quite literally to your grandmother’s past.

 

Film Clip

NADIR NAHDI: Holy cow, this is insane. Woah! We’ve got pictures. Man, these are like. This is insane. This is like a treasure chest for me, because this has been like, hiding here.]

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

And I want you to tell us about that moment and how you got there, because, in a way, I had known you for decades. But in that moment, I learned so much about you. And I think everyone watching the film felt so close to you. We were with you. Because something remarkable happens. And I wonder if you could share that with us, that critical moment of discovery.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Yeah, I think the scale of that resonance with other people around the world was insane. Like, I was trending on Twitter at the time. It felt like the whole of Indonesia was helping me find the

roots of my grandmother and providing — airlines were giving me cheap tickets, free tickets. And to give you kind of a picture of what actually happened was that we had been told the story that my grandmother was from this city called Solo in Central Java. So my whole life I’ve told people like my grandmother hails from Solo, which is the cultural … one of the royal capitals of ancient Indonesia. And it wasn’t till I arrived there and through connecting contacts and people who, like, knew her, I was told that actually she was born in this entirely different city called Kediri, which is in the east of Java, which is, you know, far away from where initially we had thought she was from. And I’m doing this because of pictures that I have of her in those early days. And in these pictures, she’s wearing a traditional outfit called a kebaya and she’s wearing a batik sarong as well. And interesting, in the traditional textiles and clothes that they wore were a lot more significant back in the day because they were actual identifiers of where people were from. It was actually an elaborate identification, almost a passport of people’s backgrounds, sometimes their age, sometimes their marital status, the village that they came from. And I went to a batik specialist who I was able to identify exactly where the batik was from.

 

Film clip 

NADIR NAHDI: Do we know what kind of kubaya that is?.. 

WOMAN 1: This one right here? 

WOMAN 2: She said that it’s middle. Middle Java. 

NADIR NAHDI: Central Javanese, right. 

WOMAN 2: Yeah, central Javanese 

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

And through that, I ended up in this village which I’d found out that she was actually from, called Kediri. So when I arrived there, I went into what, you know … I was given an address about where her old home was, where she was born. And when I arrived there, there was nothing there. It had been completely demolished and in its place was this huge Dutch church, this massive, you know, cathedral-esque church had been built on top of the apparent land that my grandmother had been … and I had arrived and I’m this six-foot three Western guy with my backpack and, like, it’s causing a commotion in the small village. And then, the kind of word of this foreign guy who apparently has a grandmother from here starts spreading, and then eventually an old man who lives opposite hears this and invites me in. He invites me in because actually he recognizes my grandmother in the picture and was friends with her niece.

 

Film clip 

MAN: (speaking Indonesian) 

NADIR NAHDI: This is all happening really fast. I can’t quite process it. It’s kind of blowing me away.” 

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

And then I show him a picture of my grandmother’s brother, who’s on a bike. And he’s like, we have that bike. We took it from the house when it got torn down. So, he shows me this bike that was my — belonged to my grand uncle. And like … this willful trip that I thought was just, like, a fun kind-of passion trip and I wouldn’t find anything tangible to kind of really think about, suddenly turned into this hugely emotional, weird, coming-together of history, of stories, and suddenly all the kind of unknowns was crystallizing into me actually realizing how much my grandmother has sacrificed, for her to be where she was, and it was incredibly emotional… and I was riding this bike, that my grand-uncle owned, down the highway that he probably did about a hundred years ago, and that’s trippy, that’s crazy trippy, I cant actually explain to you the kind of, you know the – the intrinsic emotional effect that has on you.

 

Film clip 

NADIR NADHI: I am riding my grand-uncle’s bicycle. Holy. 

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

And then he is like, I can take you to the house. And I’m like, “what house? It’s been torn down, I can see that”. And then he’s like, “No, no. You had two properties. They owned one where the church was now and then the other end opposite, they also owned land, but it’s been locked and no one’s opened it for about 70 years”. And I’m like, what? So, he takes me to this boarded up house. It’s locked with like three padlocks. He gives me the key. I’m unlocking it. It’s jarred because of the rust. So we start hammering it …

 

Film clip 

NADIR NAHDI: So I’m feeling a bit nervous, my hand’s kinda like shaking.

NADIR NAHDI: 

And it opens, and it’s like this creaky door opens.

SFX: creaking door 

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

It’s dark, there’s spiderwebs everywhere. And it’s this room and it’s dust on the floor. It’s been totally derelict. It’s run down. And I couldn’t help with, like … feel the, you know, how much had been abandoned in that moment, the shell of a house in which there was so much life, that gave birth to my grandmother that — you know, the woman that was responsible for me being where I am today. And there was just a sudden realization of that, and it was incredibly emotional, and I definitely had a little moment to myself, I was, like, crying outside. Just … I don’t know what I was feeling. I was still finding ways to articulate it.

 

But this derelict house was almost like an analogy of so much of the experience that children of immigrants feel, of, like, a realization that our parents and our grandparents have sacrificed untold, unimaginable things for the promise of a better world for my generation. And it was a mixture of appreciation, but also guilt, right? Of being, like, this is how much has been left

behind for me to be in the place that I am today. And it was such a formative journey on that level. But also the most important thing for me was just to see what it meant to my dad and his siblings and the tears streaming down my dad’s — it was weird because the more I was unraveling, I felt like the more embarrassed my dad was that he didn’t know. So it was a mixture of pain, but also like, you know, appreciation and like gratefulness, that — and pride, that his son was the one to go and do that. And that was, like, priceless. I would pay untold amounts to be able to gift that to my dad over and over again. Like, I don’t think I have it in me to do another video like that because it was so emotionally taxing, but also to share part of my story to the world, live, like, 100,000 people were logging into my stories every day and people were checking in and it was trending on Twitter and … until I provide it, provide that story to other people so they would resonate on that level … that was um, it was … it took its toll for sure.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

You know, I’ve known you, Nadir, and your beloved family since 1995. And one of the things that I noticed about your family, like from the first days that I met them, was the presence of incredibly strong women. Your maternal grandmother, your aunt, your Mumani, like, my goodness, this was a family of strong women. You’ve often talked about your family in Britain being matriarchal. You know, how did this incredible, you know, politburo of strong, opinionated, talented, creative women impact Nadir Nahdi as he was growing up?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Incredibly. And, you know, I love teasing my mom and and, you know, in her face, undervaluing her influence on me, but she’s probably the most influential figure in my life. When you might have a male role model in your life, it’s a very different kind of energy. And my mother and the women in my life were very forceful and strong, not in a masculine way, but in a totally alternative feminine way. And it was very unique in a way that they would engage in discussions, but also when there was oppression or — or someone had done wrong, how assertive and authoritative they would be in stamping that out immediately. I’ll never forget being at a conference, it was an Islamic conference — I won’t say what — and there was a religious scholar on the stage and he was particularly controversial at the time by more conservative inclined people who didn’t like him. And he was speaking, and some heckler came out of nowhere dude, some heckler came and he was like berating him and insulting him in front of 2000 people. And it was embarrassing, and it was painful to see because the scholar was amazing. He was doing and saying really amazing things. And everyone was kind of like this awkward silence. You know, what British people are like. You know, if you ruin the decorum of a public space and it’s awful. And then literally I’m sitting next to my mom, I must be about 15, 16, and my mom stands up. I hear the chair swing behind her — “Sit down, you bleep bleep bleep blah blah blah”. And she’s like the only one in this huge room and like, she’s not having any of it. She’s like, ‘get out or shut up’. And I’m just, like, looking at her like, “oh, my God, what is happening right now?” It’s like, if my mom gets in a fight, I’m the one that’s going to be ended up getting punched in the face. But like, that was an extreme example of my mom, who was an incredibly moralled principled person, who always stood up for what she believes is right. And then … and I loved it. And… growing up that was really formative, but also, like, determined how I treat women in the future.

And the beautiful harmony with my mom and dad was like, it was a partnership. There was no kind of weird, authoritative power balance, and my father, he knew that my mom knew more about him than some stuff, and when he spoke, he kept quiet, right? And he respected her on that level. And so my father knew when to speak up and when to speak down. And my mom as well, and they worked together on that really well, even when they were arguing, which was a lot [laughs]. Like, there would be heated discussions in the house, but I loved it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

WOMAN’S VOICE: 

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ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

Nadir’s father, Fuad Nahdi, was a major figure in the UK’s Muslim community. He was a journalist, a satirist, an advocate and founder of the publications MuslimWise and Q-News. He was also my mentor. He died last year.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

Let’s talk about your dad.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Yeah.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

You know, Nadir, when I think about Fuad, I think about someone who was always at ease with himself, wherever he was. You know, I had the honor of being his — being his aide de camp, so to speak, the time that he spoke at the General Synod of the of the Church of England, the first

time a Muslim had ever spoken to the governing body of the Church of England at basically their parliament. And I had the opportunity to sit behind him. And I went from the green room where he was literally yakking it up with the Archbishop of Canterbury to on stage where he held this incredibly dour and august company kind-of in the palm of his hand as he addressed them. He had an incredible ability to adapt to every place, and faith animated him and yet, Nadir, he was one of the most irreverent people I knew. You know, he was able to be fun and joyous and also to be very mischievous. You know, there’s something about that mischievous energy that I’m most attracted to in my mind when I think about your dad. Has some of that mischievousness rubbed off on you?

 

NADIR NAHDI:

100 percent. I think, like laughter was such a massive part of my childhood, right? And like, my dad was a jester. He was a clown. And, you know, out of everything that I remember about my dad, it’s those moments. It’s moments of like severe, gut wrenching laughter. And, you know, it gave a humane quality to my dad that people really connected with. And like, it’s crazy because,

like you said, my dad could connect with anyone. There were times I felt my dad gave too much of himself to people I felt he didn’t deserve. They didn’t deserve his time. I would get frustrated with it, you know, because he would give so much to everybody else, there was very little for us at the end of the day. And there was people who, like, at the time, maybe in my own naiveté or my own immaturity there, I felt like these people were taking more from him than offering him, and I would get angry on that basis. But then it wasn’t till I got older that I’ve come to realize how rare — and I, you know, as much as I tried to emulate my father, that is something that was uniquely his, is this ability to be entirely present and focused and whether you’re the king of Morocco or you’re the doner kebab guy on Preston Road, my dad gave his entirety to you. He made the same jokes with you. He made you feel as, like as much yourself as you probably do when you’re by yourself. I think it’s something inherently about the Swahili culture. My dad is Kenyan. There is something very African about, like, loudness and abrasiveness and, you know, on the food table, they were always story times and I think that’s why I … like, so much of my life is about stories is that like everything was story time at home. You know, my dad was a masterful storyteller the way he would weave these anecdotes and histories and moments that he found himself in on the dinner table would capture people. And my dad liked you, if you sat on his table, you ate his food and you told a good story, that’s how my dad knew that he would get on with you.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

You know one of Fuad’s enduring legacies was his passion for defining and redefining what it meant to be Muslim in the modern world. I remember one of the first questions that he asked me. I was a young, precocious, overconfident student activist trying to show that I knew something about the world. And the question that he confronted me with was that beyond beards, scarves, and halal meat, what does it mean to be Muslim in the 21st century? And it’s a question that I realized that I’ve asked again and again and again in my own life. He really was exploring this. Nadir, your work in so many ways picks up where your dad left off. You’re picking up those same themes, aren’t you, and carrying them forward in your work.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Really, I kind of feel like our generation is, you know, the water that lies above a seabed of pebbles of work that’s been done within our community, and I definitely see myself as an evolution of that. My dad always used to tell me that, you know, there’s no new stories. Theres only new ways of telling the same stories. And really, in my arrogance, you know, maybe when I was younger, I felt like I was doing something incredibly innovative. But really, if you look back from hindsight and a bird’s eye view, you actually see the community is going through cyclical events, that, like, surface very similar issues. Yes, the details may vary, and it might feel different. The texture of it might feel different. But ultimately, you are still fighting the same fight.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK:

Nadir, people call you a social media influencer [laughs]. Does that term bother you?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

I think people in this space that I operate in, we all like to say, ah, yeah it’s so naff, it’s so cliche, but it’s become the accepted term. And, like … and yes, it has a host of issues with it. But, you know, it doesn’t bother me either way. I think I have a love-hate relationship with this industry as a whole. And whereas, like, I appreciate the access I have to, you know, so many people and people who find my work interesting and it’s incredible. I am also very aware of the pitfalls and the dangers of, like, the modern landscape and having access to that many people instantly. So in some ways, it’s-it’s a blessing and it’s a privilege to be heard — definitely — but I’m also very aware that it comes with a huge responsibility.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

What are some of those pitfalls?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

I mean, yeah, I could kind of tell you the obvious, but what I will start with is that… let me say that I’m very lucky and fortunate that I came into this space older. I started kind of my digital ascent when I was about 26, 27. And by then, arguably, you kind of know the man that you’re growing into and the trajectory that you’re going down, as opposed to being a 17 or an 18 year old who suddenly at the fingertips has access to, you know, 500,000 people. It’s a very different world when you’re still shaping who you are in a context of celebrity. It’s a very different kind of challenge. I’m older now. I know who I am. I’m rooted in my community and my family. And I have a support network, which is key. But growing up where your every move is monitored, people are listening to what you’re saying, people know who you are. It is a very unique situation and extremely difficult. What is done is kind of surface almost negative characteristics and personality traits as mankind, and really like put it on the forefront and put it at center stage, and a lot of that is kind of, you know, we are judgmental. We seek validation. And when you put faith, identity and culture in a context of consumerism, validation and an algorithm, it creates this very, very challenging dissonance which you need to tread carefully in. And I find myself just like I said, a love-hate relationship with it. And it comes with huge perks which I’m very grateful for. But it can just as equally come raining down on you and cause a lot of difficulty at the same time.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

I think few would doubt that you’re influential. So I guess the natural question is exactly what are you influencing? Exactly who are you influencing?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

My particular journey is I’d never really believed I was influential. Right? If influential is the definition of, like, being able to sway opinions, then I never really believed it as it was kind of happening. It was just, you know, what’s dangerous about it is that it’s just numbers. These aren’t interactions that are happening face to face, right? These are just almost what dangerously happens is that people become digits. It’s OK like, this X number of people, X

number of people, but they don’t have names, so it doesn’t register in the same sense as an offline interaction.

 

When I started doing offline or leveraging my online influence into like offline work where I asked people to turn up, that’s when it felt like influence. So when I had, like, would host an event or I have this run club that I do and like 100 plus people would turn up or even more in some circumstances or people would turn up at my hotel, wanted to say hi or meet and greets. That’s when it felt like, wow, OK, this game that I’m playing online has offline impact and like people are turning up for it. To get someone to turn up offline is a whole different form of influence, right? I’ve come to accept and I think we all should. It’s very healthy to accept that we all have as humans a core base level of narcissism. We all have narcissistic qualities. And yes, I do believe social media is an inherently narcissistic space because it’s about sharing what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. But the challenge for you, the jihad, is being like “how do I leverage this narcissism into something bigger than me, something more meaningful than me?”. And that was this kind of genesis of my work, was being like, “Okay, cool. So how do I tell stories, create experiences that expose young people to meaningful, impactful things?”.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

If you scroll through the BENI Instagram account, you’ll find dozens of pictures of young people running together through the streets, all around the world — or posing joyfully in gear marked “BENI Run Club.” The club was a happy accident. Nadir started running because it was an easy way to keep fit as he travelled around the world. When he realised how good it was making him feel, he decided to share the experience with friends. And it grew from there.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

I sent some friends a message, I was like, hey, let’s go for a group run and be like 12 of us to 13 of us. And we went for a run and I posted on my social media. And then my social media got flooded with messages of people asking if they could join. And then the next week I was like, cool, so I opened it up and it doubled and then it just kept doubling, and kept doubling until like, literally in the fourth or fifth week we had 100 plus people running the streets of London in this huge group. And, like, 100 people may not sound like much, but when you get 100 brown and black people running the streets of London, like it’s — it’s something to see. But really, the magic of the club is being like … providing a safe space for young Muslims to connect, but also to be partaking in an experience that is good for them. And in that context, you’re cultivating interesting relationships with people around you because it’s fun. Right? And people are sweaty. People are disheveled. And in that context is an analogy for people stripping down their vulnerabilities or whatever preconceived issues they had. And they are almost naked in front of their peers. And they open up, they’re more vulnerable. They connect more deeply with people in that environment. And it was just amazing to witness the relationships that were being birthed from that context. And they just kind of grew up wide — I took it to Berlin and it grew there, which was incredible to witness and see. The idea of a run club isn’t new. It’s not groundbreaking. It’s not the wheel. It’s the voice in which we are targeting certain people that resonates in a very innovative way. So, if you can find that vocabulary, find that voice, people will turn out because they’re desperate for spaces that reflect them and their unique qualities.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

And it’s attracted the attention of, you know, global corporate brands like Nike. Are they seeing the fact that you’ve created a space where one didn’t exist before, where people who otherwise would not be part of run clubs are suddenly joining them?

 

 .NADIR NAHDI: 

100 percent. Nike are cultural masters, right. Nike sells culture. It doesn’t sell shoes. It sells culture. So, they are adept at picking up cultural movements at the beginning of when they are happening. And like, before I even considered reaching out to Nike, Nike reached out to me in week three. They had noticed — hold on a minute. There are some sort of cultural tremors happening in London for an audience in which they find famously difficult to target, suddenly turning up in the streets running. And they didn’t understand it. Or they — they couldn’t really compute it. So they invited me to the headquarters to have a chat. And they were incredibly supportive. And they came on board and wanted to be official partners to help support us. And we’re really grateful for that because, you know, growing up, I never felt like our community would have the validation from such a huge, massive cultural powerhouse. And I know it sounds superficial. To most people in our ivory academic towers, it sounds like it’s insignificant. But I work with people from like estates, who have working class backgrounds, and like, some people see a swoosh. But what we saw was culture and things that meant a lot to us growing up. And for me ultimately what I’ve come to realize is that, if you want to be relevant and resonate with a group of young people, you need to come down to the level in which they’re operating at.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

Nadir Nahdi, what does this being human mean to you?

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

This being human is to me being fallible, it’s being rough around the edges, it’s being unkempt, it’s being imperfect, it’s being all the things that you’re probably hiding from people that you care about their perspectives on. And why I think it’s really interesting bringing my father into this conversation is that despite his intelligence, despite everything that he was rooted in, his most redeemable, emotionally compelling and kind character was his ability just to connect on a core human level, in his mistakes, in his, at times temper, in his jokes, in his impropriety, in his disheveled physical demeanor at times. All of these things helped to create a package of imperfectedness. But, to some persons, at certain given times in his life, he was the perfect person that they needed.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK: 

Nadir Nahdi, you’re your father’s son. You are your mother’s son, and you’re my brother. Thank you so much for sharing these beautiful reflections with us on This Being Human.

 

NADIR NAHDI: 

Thanks Abs. Thanks for having me.

 

ABDUL-REHMAN MALIK VOICEOVER: 

This Being Human is an Antica production. Our senior producer is Kevin Sexton. Our supervising producer is Pacinthe Mattar. This episode was produced by Ebyan Abdigir and written by Kevin Sexton. Mixing and sound design by Phil Wilson. Original music by Boombox Sound. The Executive Producers are Kathleen Goldhar and Lisa Gabriele. And Stuart Coxe is the president of Antica Productions.

 

This Being Human is generously supported by the Aga Khan Museum, one of the world’s leading institutions that explores the artistic, intellectual, and scientific heritage of Islamic civilizations around the world. For more information about the Museum go to www.agakhanmuseum.org.

 

The Museum wishes to thank Nadir and Shabin Mohamed for their philanthropic support to develop and produce This Being Human.