Muslim women are supposed to be boring, dull and repressed, that's what a lot of otherwise intelligent people believe. My name is Mariam Jabari and I'm here to refute these absolutely false claims. I was born in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, to a Somali immigrant father, Ahmed Jabari, and a white Canadian mother, Marilyn Samson. I am the daughter of two very different worlds. Of Canada, whose history is a complex but wide-open book, and of Somalia, a land in transition between promise and peril. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm a biracial woman from a multicultural background and that works just fine for yours truly. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy and sexy, with light brown skin, long curly black hair and pale green eyes. I get my height from my father, who is six-foot-four, and my complexion is a beautiful blend of Northeast African and Caucasian. Don't know where I get my big round booty from, but it must come from my father's side of the family.
I consider myself a proud Muslim, having decided to embrace the faith of my father after being raised Catholic by my mother and her family following my parents divorce. I am Muslim because I choose to be, not because anyone forced me. And that's just how I like it. Now, just because I'm a proud Muslim doesn't mean I readily accept everything associated with Islam. The Islamic faith is beautiful, but the shit that some misguided fools do in the name of Islam is simply horrendous.
Take me for example. I consider myself a fairly open-minded woman, as far as sexual experimentation is concerned. Lots of Muslim women feel the same way, but they hide it. Me? That's not the way I get down. I like sex, and I don't think I should have to hide it as a modern woman living in twenty-first century North America. Now, fellas, just because I'm a woman who likes sex doesn't mean I'll let you come within sniffing distance of my sweet biracial Muslim pussy. Doesn't work that way.
For me, the first thing I notice about a man isn't a tight body or a cute ass, but a keen mind. I met my current boyfriend Marcel Augustin while walking around the Saint Laurent Mall in the east end of Ottawa. I like in Orleans but prefer to shop at Saint Laurent because Place d'Orleans is a small, boring and dull place as far as shopping centers go. Also, my ex-boyfriend, Omar Khalif, still works there as a security guard. I don't want to run into his nasty ass and that fat white woman he cheated on me with, his manager, April, so I've taken to avoiding that mall altogether.
So, where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you about how I met Marcel Augustin. I was coming down the escalator one fine morning in September and my scarf had fallen and I hadn't noticed. Excuse me lady, a deep, masculine voice said, startling the hell out of me. I turned around, and gasped. For the man standing before me was absolutely gasp worthy. Tall, at least six-foot-one, with dark brown skin and rugged, handsome features. Clad in a black leather jacket over a red silk shirt, black silk pants and boots, the brother looked real good.
Hello handsome, I said coyly, already in flirtation mode. Like I said, I'm a no-nonsense kind of chick. I thought the brother was trying to holler, and was mildly disappointed that he was just returning the scarf I hadn't even realized had fallen. Thank you kindly, I said, taking the red scarf from this kindly stranger and looking him up and down.
You're very welcome, my benefactor said, smiling faintly. From his crisp voice I detected the slightest traces of a Caribbean accent. The dude might be Jamaican or something. Nope, definitely Haitian, I thought, taking note of the red and blue armband he had on. The stranger's voice snapped me out of my mini-reverie, and he calmly introduced himself. I am Marcel Augustin, he said evenly, holding out his hand for me to shake.
Good to meet you Marcel I'm Mariam Jabari, I said, giving his hand a firm shake. Thus I met Marcel Augustin, the tall, dark and handsome Haitian stud destined to rock my world. We talked for a bit, and I found out that he was studying chemistry at the University of Ottawa. Hmmm. I told him that I'm studying business administration at Carleton University, and suggested he take my number for, ahem, networking purposes. Marcel winked and nodded, then whipped out his Blackberry and took my number.
Call me, I told him, smiling, as I walked away. I really had to get to class. It was already noon and I had a class at one o'clock at Carleton. As I walked down the steps leading to the buses, I could feel Marcel Augustin's eyes on me. Damn right the Haitian brother wants a piece of my sugar, I thought, laughing. And I was more than willing to give him some. The City of Ottawa is becoming a fairly diverse town but you don't meet too many young black men who are in university, well-dressed, well-spoken and seemingly have their shit together. Guys like that don't stay single for long, not with all the thirsty white chicks out there. I had to act quick if I wanted a piece of the delicious Mr. Marcel Augustin.
That Friday, Marcel and I went to the movies at Silver City, and watched Dracula Untold. I had fun, and afterwards, Marcel treated me to lunch at the Blair Mall food court. We talked a bit, and I got to know him a bit better. Marcel was born in Cap-Haitien, northern Haiti, in 1990 and moved to Montreal, Quebec, with his family in 2009. After completing his bachelor's degree in chemistry at the University of Montreal in 2013, Marcel moved to Ottawa because apparently, the University of Ottawa has a strong master's program in his major. Smart cookie, I thought with a smile.
