Somali Girls Into Christian Guys

Sometimes I feel like I was meant for other things. My name is Farduusa Ibrahim and I am a young black woman of Somali descent living in the City of Calgary, Alberta. I recently moved there from the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Last fall I graduated from Carleton University with a bachelor's degree in economics. I thought I would find work easily but somehow, I ended up working as a clerk in the local library. This is so not what I wanted, and I may end up going back to school. The one thing I won't do is return to Ottawa. My family still lives there, and we parted on BAD terms.

My parents, Ali and Maryam Ibrahim are Somali immigrants, and they're very traditional. My mother doesn't leave the house without her hijab on. She waits hand and foot on my father and obeys his every order. And she expected me to follow suit. Me? I'm different. I've always been the type of gal who asks questions instead of obeying everything my parents say. That's not a good trait in a Muslim woman. Somali culture is deeply patriarchal, and ninety nine percent of all Somalis follow the Sunni branch of Islam. I've heard of Somali Christians but I don't think I've ever seen one. At least not to my knowledge. If a Somali man or Somali woman converts from Islam to Christianity or any other religion, the entire Somali community will persecute them.

In the Islamic faith, apostasy is one of the worst things you can do. The Prophet Mohammed clearly stated that anyone who leaves our religion must be slain. I was born and raised in a Muslim household, but I no longer wish to be Muslim. I want to live my life my way. I don't want to follow the ninety nine and a half rules imposed upon me by my family and my culture. I envy my Canadian female friends with their freedom and independence. A number of them are dating Muslim guys and I caution them about that.

The thing about Muslim guys is that they're charming and friendly at first, showering the woman with attention and gifts, and once she converts to Islam and marries them, she falls under their power and that's when they reveal their true face. I've seen it happen time and again to women from other faiths who fall for the seductive ways of Muslim men. What they're doing is called Romeo Jihad. They're spreading the faith not by the sword or even preaching the word of the prophet but by seducing the unwary into joining. It's a brilliant ploy, and Muslim guys are doing it to Hindu girls and Sikh girls in the Republic of India, Christian women in Canada and America and even Jewish women in the State of Israel. Men of other cultures need to wake the hell up and protect their women from the wiles of Muslim men. Lest they find themselves on the verge of losing everything they hold dear.

It's oddly ironic that so many women from other faiths are falling for Muslim guys and walking away from their cultures/religions to please them. For the same thing happened to me but in reverse. While studying economics at Carleton University in Ottawa, I met the man destined to change my life forever. His name is Adam Picard, and he was simply heaven-sent. Six feet tall, lean and athletic, with golden brown skin, curly hair and the most mesmerizing green eyes. Adam is originally from Calgary, Alberta. What possessed him to leave such a vibrant place like Alberta for boring little Ottawa? That I'll never know.

All I know is that the first time I laid eyes on Adam Picard, my heart skipped a beat, my face grew hot...and I knew without a doubt that he was the only one for me. I was walking through the quad near the university library and Adam looked lost. He was looking for the architecture building. Talk about being way off. Like the helpful little angel that I am, I offered to guide the wayward young man to his destination. Along the way I learned a bit about him. Just as I suspected, he was half black and half white. His father Joseph Picard is French Canadian and his mother Adele Johnson is Jamaican. Oh, and he's a devout Catholic. I should have heeded the little voice in the back of my head that warned me that Adam Picard was trouble with a capital T, but I didn't.

I walked Adam to the architecture building, and he thanked me with a deep bow that surprised me. When he offered me his hand to shake, I hesitated. As a pious, hijab-wearing Muslim sister, I am not supposed to shake hands with men. Yet when I looked into Adam Picard's kind eyes, I could not refuse him. Going against centuries of Islamic tradition and a lifetime of indoctrination, I shook his hand, and wished him a good day. I stood there, watching as he walked into the building. The brother had the cutest butt I've ever seen on anyone since Bruno Mars. Oh mama! Immediately I chastised myself for thinking such sinful thoughts. I'm a good Muslim sister. I do not lust after men. At least that's what I told myself. Whatever I need to believe in order to sleep at night, you know?

That night as I lay on my bed, thinking naughty thoughts of Adam Picard, I smiled to myself. I figured there was nothing wrong with my feminine fantasies. Adam and I come from different worlds. We could never be together. Romeo and Juliet would have an easier time together than a Muslim gal who is interested in being with a Christian man. Trust me. And yet, amazingly, that's what Fate had in store for Adam and I. The next time I ran into him, I was on my way to catch the train on campus....and just as the O-Train was coming, someone or something bumped me and I fell off the crowded train platform and onto the tracks. I saw my life flash before my eyes.

The O-Train barreled toward me. As the shocked crowd looked on, I shrank back from the approaching mechanical behemoth, screaming in fear. Allah please save me from this, I cried silently. The Most High answered my prayers. Someone leaped onto the train tracks, caught me in his strong arms and heaved me to the platform. I lay there, and felt strong, gentle hands holding me. I looked up and saw Adam's beautiful face. Gently he helped me to my feet and asked me if I was alright. I smiled like an idiot, and nodded. Then I passed out. When I woke up, I was at Ottawa's Civic Hospital, surrounded by family and friends. I was lucky to be alive.

When I got discharged from the hospital the next day, I couldn't wait to return to school and it had nothing to do with missing my friends and classmates. I went to the architecture building and stalked from room to room until I spotted Adam Picard, talking to a tall, masculine-looking white chick with short hair. At the sight of him talking to another female, my heart sank. A feeling I recognized as jealousy.

Adam smiled at me and asked me how I was. He offered me his hand to shake but I batted it away. Instead I hugged him fiercely, a gesture which surprised the both of us. Adam smiled and asked me if I was okay. I nodded, then looked at his masculine lady friend. Adam introduced me to his pal Becky, who was obviously gay judging by the rainbow flag buttons all over her backpack. I smiled in relief and shook her hand happily. Becky was NOT after Adam, Allah be praised!

Innocently I asked Adam to come grab a bite with me to thank him, and he accepted. That's how it all began...my friendship with Adam, which eventually blossomed into a romance. We became a couple. We'd walk hand in hand in the halls of Carleton, just a couple like any other. My friends were surprised since Adam was definitely not a Muslim but I didn't care. I was in love with him, and by the grace of Allah, he loved me too. That's what complicated things. I loved Adam too much to give him up. For his love I went against the rules of Islam, and my family. We ran away to Alberta together. If my family ever finds out where I am, I'm a dead woman. For now, I'm living, working and studying in Alberta beside the man I love. I met his family and they're supportive. We're happy together. Isn't that what matters in the end?