by BENJAMIN ASHRAF

Onijah Robinson flipped the script on decades of anti-Pakistan sentiment in Western media in this captivating yet chaotic TikTok saga, says Benjamin Ashraf.
I’m sure it didn’t take Onijah Robinson long to realise that, much like New York, survival in Karachi is all about hustle.
She must have felt it the moment she landed at Jinnah International Airport, surrounded by a sea of shalwar kameez-clad locals shouting, “Madame, please”, as she grabbed her bags off the carousel, preparing herself to meet her e-husband in Pakistan for the first time.
It’s a daunting prospect for the uninitiated; the scenes at the arrival hall contain just about every element necessary to heighten the senses.
Even for us Pakistanis, Karachi has something of a reputation as Pakistan’s untamed and outgrown metropolis — a place where the promise of riches and romance are tested along the shores of the Arabian Sea.
Karachi’s motto, therefore, ought to be one of caution. In the city of 20 million, most who chase fortune end up empty-handed. Few leave their mark. But Onijah Robinson, the ‘American woman in Pakistan’, clearly ignored this advice and, for nearly a week, stole our screens and hearts.
In a world where debating the merits of bachelors and bachelorettes has become a global pastime, and self-conscious trivialisation carries the weight of political discourse, it’s perhaps no surprise that she took over our timelines.
It’s a love story tailor-made for the internet: a ‘catfish’ romance between a 33-year-old African American and a 19-year-old Pakistani, fuelled by fleeting anxieties and an unhealthy dose of peacocking — until it spiralled into a meme.
But I’d argue that the story of the ‘American woman in Pakistan’ is more than just algorithm-induced brain rot. Without sounding dramatic, the whole event felt somewhat allegorical.
In the weeks leading up to Onijah Robinson’s arrival in Pakistan, anti-South Asian hate had again crystallised across the Atlantic. In Britain, communities of Pakistani descent were scapegoated for the crime of child grooming. In the United States, South Asians faced the wrath of MAGA following the H-1B visa debacle, while figures like J.D Vance and Elon Musk backed efforts to rehire a DOGE staffer who had openly called for the “normalisation of Indian hate.”
It felt impossible to go a day without seeing videos that ridiculed South Asian accents, appearance, or cleanliness for likes. And this tide of xenophobia appeared unrelenting until Onijah Robinson entered the fray.
Only in Pakistan
Not even the wildest imaginations of Lollywood could have scripted what happened next.
Rejected by her suitor’s family, Onijah Robinson moved from heartbreak to hustle, standing before a bewildered Pakistani press corps and began issuing a series of absurd demands.
“My plan is to reconstruct the whole country, I am asking for $100,000 or more,” she said. The ‘moah’ emphasised with a thick New York accent, her hair partly covered with a black hijab. Then, she demanded more money, land, and a Pakistani passport. “I won’t speak unless I get $5,000 a week from you — in US dollars,” she told reporters.
Bingo. And just like that, folks, a niche internet micro-celebrity is born.
Yes, there are real concerns about her mental health. Yes, it’s alleged that she used Instagram filters to pose as a white woman with blonde hair. But no, this story isn’t just about Onijah Robinson — it’s about how she was treated.
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