When you have an unusual problem, you must be prepared to seek unusual solutions. My name is Halima Abdirahman and I'm a thirty-three-year-old Somali Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Gatineau, Quebec. The other day at Masjid during the Jummah evening prayers, something unfortunate happened. I was in the sisters corner, praying to the Maker of All Things along with my fellow Muslims. That's when I, um, let one rip. I farted. I have a MAJOR problem and it's called uncontrollable flatulence. I fart a lot, and as a hijab-wearing Muslim sister, I'm not supposed to attract attention to myself because I'm a symbol of Islamic feminine modesty.
That's what landed me in the office of Dr. Henry Gustave, a Haitian gentleman who runs a medical practice on the Merivale area of Ottawa. Originally I tried a female doctor but when the middle-aged white woman started laughing in my face, I ran out of her office. I looked up Muslim doctors but feared the damage to my reputation should my shameful secret be revealed to the Muslim community, so I avoided them. I sought a Kafir instead, and Dr. Henry Gustave proved to be just what the doctor ordered, in a manner of speaking.
Dr. Henry Gustave sat me down and talked to me, and I shared my problem with him. You see, uncontrollable flatulence isn't my only problem. I also have a terrible case of constipation. Basically, I can't shit right, and then I fart a lot afterwards. The good doctor gave me some pills, and told me to try them and call him in the morning. I tried them and nothing happened. The following week, I went back to the good doctor and told him his methods weren't working too well. I thought long and hard about the issue before dropping it on him. His medicine didn't do shit for me, man.
Sitting across from Dr. Henry Gustave, I stared at him intently. Around six feet tall, somewhat chubby but still good-looking, with his dark brown skin and curly hair, he looked decent. Only thirty one years old and he was a doctor. M.D. from the University of Toronto School of Medicine. I looked at his fingers and saw no rings anywhere. Interesting. We don't have a lot of educated brothers in the Somali Canadian community. A lot of Somali brothers in Canada waste their time with drunkenness, fighting, and generally speaking, worthless pursuits. And they get mad when they see highly educated Somali sisters stepping out with brothers from other communities. As if! Even Muslim sisters who are loyal to their faith and community need to keep their options open in this day and age.
Dr. Henry Gustave snapped me out of my reverie by saying my name. I looked at him and smiled. The good doctor told me that my problem was beyond his ability to cure. This pissed me off, and I told him he shouldn't give up like that. Dr. Henry shook his head and said that he was no expert on female issues and that a female doctor might be better suited to helping me. Shaking my head, I told Dr. Henry about my disastrous experience at the female doctor's office. Amazingly, the doctor laughed. Then he promised me he'd try his best to help me.
I promised Dr. Henry, or Hank as he liked to be called, that I would try my best to cooperate. A lot of male doctors in Canada and around the western world are loath to deal with Muslim female patients because of our issues. Well, I shocked Hank by agreeing to let him examine me. You should have seen a look on his face. I swear, I made a black man from Haiti go pale! Without further ado, I stepped into the examination booth. I hiked up my skirt, bent over, and allowed Hank to examine my anus with his gloved hands.
Hank examined my anus, and then...something happened. I don't know whether it's because I was nervous about being touched in an intimate region by a male physician, or due to the burrito I had earlier but I, um, farted. That's right, I farted in the good doctor's face. Hank coughed, and gagged. I whirled around, and apologized profusely while readjusting my long skirt and underwear. Hank looked at me, a strange expression on his face. Then he stunned me with the words that left his mouth next. Dr. Henry Gustave looked me in the eye and told me that he liked the fact that I farted in his face. I should have been creeped out. I should run out of the doctor's office screaming. Instead, I smiled and asked him to tell me more.
Ladies and gentlemen, it's been said that the Creator works in mysterious ways. After the encounter in the doctor's office, Hank and I bonded. In fact, we ended up changing each other's lives in ways most unexpected. Hank gave me a treatment for my constipation and uncontrollable flatulence...and it actually worked. I'm finally cured. After spending twenty four hours without either constipation or flatulence to plague me, I returned to the doctor's office, ecstatic. I was so happy that I hugged Hank, and kissed him on the cheek. I think we were both stunned by my display of affection, and I apologized, for this was an emotional moment for me. Hank told me I had nothing to apologize about, and hugged me. Then he invited me to join him for a bite on his lunch hour to celebrate. What do you think I said to that? A resounding yes!
Hank and I learned a lot about each other that afternoon, and we became friends. We began seeing each other regularly, and I must say, I found him smart, funny and in his own way, sexy. After knowing each other six weeks, Hank officially asked me out, and I accepted. Look, I'm not getting any younger. I'm over thirty, single, and divorced. I don't have any sons or daughters because my ex-husband Omar Khalid was too busy banging plump white chicks to provide me with them. I have a bachelor's degree in business from Carleton University but I got laid off from my old job at the downtown branch of the Royal Bank of Canada. I'm working at Tim Horton's to keep a roof over my head. Trust me, dating a doctor sounded pretty good to me.
