I’m proud to be an uncle, but please still call me ‘brother’
Growing up in the UK, my uncles and aunties were only ever family friends or community elders, so I’m glad I can now be a mamu for my nieces and nephews
There is a moment in every Asian man’s life that hurts like a dagger. When cruel fate grabs you tightly by the face, forcibly twists your neck and makes you stare your own mortality dead in the eyes.
It’s when the Deliveroo driver calls you “uncle” instead of “brother”. Oh how it stings when you are made to feel like an old man holding a doner kebab. You realise you are the one thing you vowed never to become: a community elder.
I grew up with hundreds of uncles and aunties. Literally anyone who was a family friend or even a vague acquaintance of my mum or dad. The thing is, none of them were real. I knew they weren’t actually kin because some of them were white and others we’d literally just met. “What’s your name? Atif? Say thank you to Uncle Atif, beta…”
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When my parents moved to the UK from Pakistan in the 60s — first my dad and then my mum a few years later — they did so alone. It was just them. And then us five children.
That made us very tight as a unit, but I yearned for broader branches to our family tree. My mates would complain endlessly about their uncles and aunties “spying” on them wherever they went; how they couldn’t get away with anything for fear of the “network” finding out and reporting back to HQ. I was so incredibly jealous of them. Why couldn’t I be the one being grassed upon by loose-lipped aunties with nothing better to do? I yearned for Eid celebrations to be more than just seven people. I didn’t want the only uncle I’d see that day to be “Uncle Fred” next door who’d greedily accept a selection of our festive grub.
These days, my family numbers many more than seven. We are a legion and I love it. The second generation have been joined by a third. Eid celebrations now include my mother, my brother, sisters, in-laws, nieces, nephews and, for a short period of time, a hamster (RIP Luna). It’s always great to see everyone again — particularly those who call me mamu and accept envelopes of foldable eidi. I’ll never tire of being called that. I never had a mamu or chachu in this country, so I’m glad my nieces and nephews have that extended familial link that I missed out on.
It can be bittersweet, though, with only occasional glimpses and fleeting sojourns into their lives. You watch them grow up in dispatches, and so often as an uncle you are reminded that not only are you not the main character in their story, you’re not even main character adjacent. You’re none of Ross, Joey, Chandler, Monica, Phoebe or Rachel. You’re not even Gunther. At an absolute push you’re Mr Heckles — theoretically always there underneath the action, but not really. More referred to than anything.
You’re always on the edge of any photograph, making sure that everyone else is in the picture and looking the right way instead of bothering to say cheese yourself. Someone blinked? “Let mamu take it, he’s good with photos…”
But it wasn’t always like this. When they were little I was a fundamental and constant part of all their lives.
When my niece was newly born, I whispered the adhan into her right ear as is Islamic custom. Such was my bond with one of my nephews when he was very young that he would cry, arms outstretched, if he ever saw me leave the room. I’d end up having to crawl out of the door. Another nephew was once tasked to make a Mother’s Day card at his nursery and when he brought it home, my sister opened it to discover it was addressed to me.
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But over time things change. It’s sadly inevitable. These nieces and nephews develop their own lives and interests, and they don’t always include you. One minute they’re cherubic little munchkins who can’t wait to see you, the next they smile weakly at your jokes and spend the absolute requisite amount of time conversing with you before returning to their phone screens. Still very polite, and the love remains, of course, but it’s not the riotous, childish, unbridled kind of love you remember. The kind that would see them charge into your arms for showing them all the love and none of the discipline their parents would.
It’s cool, though, because ultimately it’s a relationship that lives — and hopefully never dies — on their terms. Just you being there as a sort of alt-adult to their mum and dad is enough. There’s a security that comes from knowing there is someone else to talk to, to confide in and to trust, who isn’t their parents. They might never need you, but you’re always there, and being that person for them is enough. It’s not like a parent-child bond, which is forged of something stronger than graphene. It’s more elastic. They may drift away for a while, but if you’re lucky, they find their way back to you. And if you’re even luckier, they want to be your friend.
Being on the edge of the photograph isn’t the worst place to be. At least they know you’re there. The truth is that I will never tire of being called mamu or uncle. It’s a role that I am proud and ready to fulfil in any way I am needed. Apart from the Deliveroo driver, that is. He can do one, the cheeky little scamp.
