About

Hana Karam has spent her life on the side of words — as a teacher, a journalist, a novelist, and the founder of a school that gives the Arabic alphabet back to children who grew up without it.

Hana Karam, married to Manoli Saba and mother of two boys and a girl, has devoted her life to the power of words and human connection. She earned her degree in French Literature from the University of Aleppo in Syria and began her career as a teacher before her passion for writing led her to contribute articles to newspapers and magazines in Kuwait.

In 1989 she published her first collection of stories, ورود الإياب — Wouroud l-Iyab, Roses of Return — in Kuwait. Alongside her literary work she built a career in Cyprus, where she headed the human resources department of a trading company in Limassol for fifteen years, and later founded an Arabic language school for beginners of every background.

In 2006 she released her first novel, هكذا ولدت مريم — Hakaza Woulidat Mariam, Thus Mariam Was Born — further affirming her voice as a writer deeply attuned to the nuances of human experience.

Hana Karam at a window, looking out over a valley at sunset.

A life in brief

  • AleppoDegree in French Literature, University of Aleppo, Syria.
  • KuwaitArticles and short stories in the Kuwaiti press — Mirat al-Umma, Al-Nahda, Osrati and the newspaper Al-Anbaa.
  • 1989Wouroud l-Iyab (Roses of Return), her first short-story collection, published in Kuwait.
  • LimassolFifteen years as head of human resources at a trading company in Cyprus.
  • 2005Founds an Arabic language school in Limassol for Arabic and non-Arabic speakers.
  • 2006Publishes her first novel, Thus Mariam Was Born.

In print

  • Mirat al-Umma magazine, Kuwait
  • Al-Nahda magazine, Kuwait
  • Osrati magazine, Kuwait
  • Al-Anbaa newspaper, Kuwait

This is my zone

Technology has been beneficial in many ways, primarily in bringing the world closer together, shortening journeys and easing in many ways the plight of distance.

It has linked the East and West. It no longer mattered whether you were an Eastern or a Western resident, what mattered was what resided in your heart, mind and soul.

Many who live in the East feel like strangers among their own relatives and friends, in the streets of their own town, because their hearts and souls have travelled to the other side of the world, a very long distance from home.

Many who live in the West, no matter how far away, do not feel the distance nor the miles that separate them from home because their hearts have remained there, fluttering over the small and narrow streets of their hometown. They would be walking down the Western roads, but in their hearts lingers the feeling of being in the East, breathing that same air and inhaling those same smells.

And here I am, resident of the Near West, heart tied to the Near East, reminiscing the smell of regular and Arabian jasmine wherever I go. My eyes long to see the familiar hills and picturesque town squares; their memory follows me everywhere, even here, in this country where people drive on the other side of the road.

Every time I get nostalgic about my hometown, my childhood, my origins, I go through my numerous books and albums and drain from them what I can to quench my thirst till they become my town, my country, my memories. If I ever find my real home changed, the sweet aroma of jasmine blended with the foul smell of petrol and fast-rate progress, I will go back to my old trunks, dig out my old books and photos and find refuge in the emblems of my country and my absence from home.

Technology has shortened distances, allowed me to keep in touch with the East and West. It has left me in a land where I have long tried to “belong”.

In these pages, I have revealed myself in the hope of sharing my words with those who wish to listen, of opening up to the sounds around me and listening to what they have to say.

I therefore welcome you all.

Here is my zone, where I have laid myself down in writing. I would very much like to receive the echo of your response.

هناء كرم

02·Contact

Every word invites an echo.

For a note about a story, a literary enquiry, or a question about learning Arabic.