As a five-year-old I would love to spread black and white pictures and portraits in sepia over my mother’s beds and ask about the origins of the people that filled them. Women with dark features, almond-shaped eyes, and heads held proudly under muslim scarves. I wanted to know these women’s stories. The idea of young brides set to marry arranged dapper men and then growing to know them as life happened was so romantic. And their stories seemed lush with mystery.