Sexual liberation of the modern Muslim woman, that's a controversial topic in both feminist and Muslim circles. Trust me, ladies and gentlemen, I would know. My name is Maimuna Hamid, and I'm a writer, artist, divorcee, and proud Somali-Canadian woman living in the City of Montreal, Quebec. I've lived in Quebec all my life. It is my home, and I'll happily slap any fool who says otherwise.
My father, Ismail Hamid is originally from Lebanon, and my mother Amina Kader was born in Somalia and moved to Canada a long time ago. I guess that makes me technically biracial, but I identify as Somali. A lot of people think of Islam as a patriarchal religion, and that's simply not true. Culture is a factor which cannot and should not be ignored. Somali culture is and has always been matriarchal, in spite of the influence of Islam. I identify as Somali because I was born of a Somali woman, that's all.
Forty, the age which I'm fast approaching, fills me with dread. Lord, how I hate that number. For a man, forty signifies that although he's past his youth, he's still in his prime. Think of actor Pierce Brosnan during his James Bond days, for example. The man looked virile and strong, and he kicked a lot of ass onscreen. Forty for a woman means something else entirely. Nothing you or I can do about it, it's just the way of the world.
When I was younger, you couldn't go to the movies without seeing actress Meg Ryan onscreen in some type of romantic comedy. Meg Ryan was the romantic comedy queen before Reese Witherspoon. The lady was simply everywhere, and like millions of her fans, I simply adored her. Then Meg Ryan disappeared. The reason why? Oh, no scandal or spectacular downfall. Nothing of the sort. The beautiful actress Meg Ryan turned forty, and apparently Hollywood stopped needing her services.
"May, I'm making breakfast, want an omelet with extra cheese?" The voice calling from my kitchenette belongs to my latest overnight guest, Phillip Angrand. Seriously, the dude stays over so much I might start charging him rent. Just kidding. I met this tall, handsome young Haitian stud while attending an alumni meeting at the University of Montreal. From the moment I first saw Phillip, I knew he would be trouble.
Phillip burst into the room looking for the U of M Alumni Association president ( and current University of Montreal faculty member ), professor Gerald Durosier. Phillip felt his civil engineering term paper merited an A rather than a B plus, and argued so compellingly with his prof, that he ended up getting his way. Stunned by this young man's moxie, I approached him when I saw him at Starbucks after the meeting. You know the rest.
"Sounds good to me, mon cher," I called out from the bedroom, and then I got up. Looking in the full-length mirror on my dresser, I took a close look at myself. A six-foot-tall, curvy, smiling woman with caramel-hued skin and almond-shaped golden brown eyes looked back at me. My long black hair, which I almost always hide under a Hijab when I leave the house, hung loosely on my shoulders. I look good, all things considered.
Last week, I went to City Hall to have a new health card made, and the young woman working the counter couldn't believe it when she saw the date on my Quebec driver's licence. November 9, 1976. That's right, I've been around for some time now. I've seen stars and trends come and go. I've also changed jobs more times than I can count. I studied psychology at the University of Montreal, and graduated with a bachelor's degree in 1997. How did I end up spending the next two decades working for CIBC, one of Canada's largest banks? Life happens, I guess.
During my final year of university, I met Mehmet Baykal, a tall and handsome young man originally from Malatya, Turkey. Mehmet and I hit it off, and started dating. Eventually we got married, and our daughter Mariam was born in 1998. While Mehmet and I had a passionate and at times tumultuous relationship, I soon realized that we just weren't meant to be.
Like the song says, sometimes love just isn't enough. For Mehmet and I, it definitely wasn't. We got divorced in 2003. I've been doing the single mother thing ever since. These days, my lovely daughter Mariam is studying organic chemistry at the University of Calgary, and her father Mehmet is now married to Amanda, the white woman he was cheating on me with throughout our brief marriage. I hope he's happy with the three sons she bore him. No, I am not bitter. It's all well and good that we all moved on.
"Hey mamas, looking good this morning," came a deep, masculine voice, and I turned around and found myself looking into the dark, handsome face of Phillip Angrand. With his slick goatee and curly dark hair, the Haitian stud reminded me of actor/rapper Ice Cube during his N.W.A. days. I had a crush on him back then. I smile at Phillip and give him a quick peck on the lips.
"Why thank you," I reply, and Phillip smiles, then grips my ass in his hands. Phillip simply can't get enough of my rather ample Somali derriere, and I love that about him. Growing up biracial in the City of Montreal, I was too dark for the Arab side of the family and too pale for the Somali side. I never really fit in anywhere, and it disturbed me somewhat. Too tall, too curvy, too pale or too dark, always too much or not enough. Damn.
"You look like you've been thinking too much, babe, you need to stop doing that," Phillip says as he cups my chin in his hands. I look into his chestnut eyes, and the confidence that I see in them astounds me. Phillip is so manly and confident, so sure of who he is. I envy him those qualities, seriously. How I wish I could have had such confidence at his age.
