I grew up a in a community of fierce aunties in Fort Worth, Texas in the 1980s. They raised money to build mosques, schooled Texas butchers on how to make meat halal, and once they knew that Texas was their ultimate home ­— not Pakistan, nor Hyderabad, nor Lebanon, they were on call to wash their dear ones' dead bodies so those who passed could be buried in a plot carved out in the Fort Worth prairie. (Read more.)