Ahead of his Abu Dhabi appearance, the Palestinian-American comedian talks family, the emotional cost of making Mo and why performing in the Arab world feels like coming home.
“There we have it, we’re under surveillance.” The Zoom recording announcement barely finishes before Mo Amer finds his first punchline. Dressed in a black tee and baseball cap, he is confident and thoughtful, speaking with a distinctive cadence that carries him from a mischievous aside into something deeply personal. Ahead of his appearance at Etihad Arena on 6 November 2026 as part of Abu Dhabi Comedy Season, our conversation keeps returning to family, belonging and the pleasure of performing for people who understand the references.
“I can never get enough of performing for my people,” he says. “No matter where they are in the world, that is my most favourite thing.”
Born in Kuwait to Palestinian parents from the Nablus area, Amer moved to Houston in the US after his family fled Kuwait during the Gulf War in 1990. His rise took years of stand-up, from Houston’s comedy circuit to international touring alongside Dave Chappelle. Netflix specials, including 2018’s The Vagabond.
Then came Mo. Co-created with Ramy Youssef, the 2022 Netflix series drew on Amer’s experiences as a Palestinian refugee in Houston, navigating family obligations and an agonising asylum process. It won a Peabody Award.
This month, Mo Amer sold out New York’s Radio City Music Hall as a headliner, returning to the venue where he had opened for Chappelle in 2017. Yet an Arab audience offers something even those career milestones cannot quite replicate: the chance to use material that needs less explaining.
“You get to reach into your bag and your toolbox,” Mo Amer says. “I freestyle a lot on stage.” He means constructing material in the moment, rather than simply asking someone in the front row their name.
His return to the region extends beyond the stage. With relatives scattered across the Arab world, every visit becomes a negotiation between work, family and the limits of one man’s appetite. Inevitably, his mother calls to ask why he hasn’t visited someone he did not even know lived in the Middle East.
“I ate six times today, like I can’t do it again.”
It is an affectionate portrait of a region he feels is too often misunderstood. Even the terminology deserves reconsideration. Mo Amer is trying to retire “Middle East” from his vocabulary in favour of “Arab world”.
“I’m just curious, middle of what?”
His affection rests in everyday encounters. He remembers eating out with his wife and their baby on their last visit to the region, when restaurant staff offered to look after their son so both parents could enjoy their meal. His wife’s immediate response was that she wanted to move here. Mo Amer leaves the possibility open.
For him, that instinct to help reveals a sense of community that outsiders can miss. “People don’t understand, like, how kind and thoughtful and hospitable the Arab world really is.”
That attention to ordinary lives also runs through Mo. Family members become complicated, funny people with ambitions, flaws and relationships, their lives stretching beyond the bureaucratic predicament they face. Mo Amer credits his parents, siblings and extended family with the care he took over telling those stories. He speaks especially warmly of his uncle, a father and community figure he calls “probably one of the greatest men I’ve ever known”. Those examples continue to guide his storytelling.
“I’m not surprised because it was personal,” he says of the show’s popularity. “It was written for me to tell those stories.” Making it, however, demanded more than viewers could see.
“I would hide sometimes between takes and just pour it out of my soul just to get back in there and start directing again.”
After two seasons, he needs breathing space. His enthusiasm for more storytelling remains, although he makes no announcement of another season. “I wanna do more, definitely. There’s so much more to tell, for sure.”
For now, stand-up has offered a way to rediscover pleasure in his work. There was a period when finding humour in painful subjects became exhausting, particularly when audiences shared their own tragedies after shows. He put himself under pressure to write a fresh set and find his joy again.
The Abu Dhabi audience will encounter new material, with room for the improvisation that makes each performance different. Mo Amer now wants to give people a show that is thoughtful, funny and joyful.
Success has also supplied less complicated pleasures. Restaurant reservations rank highly, especially when his wife positions him in front of the host in the hope of recognition. The awkward part comes when strangers apologise for not knowing who he is. “I’m not Michael Jackson.”
For all the bigger stages and television acclaim, the comforts Mo Amer talks about most warmly remain familiar. Asked what he could eat forever, Amer returns to za’atar, real olive oil and bread that is fluffy and steaming. There is room, too, for musakhan.
On stage and off, he is determined to make room for pleasure. “Where I’m trying to live right now, is not letting anybody steal my joy.”
Contact: @moamer