I know you missed me but get on your damn knees if you know what's good for you, Yasmin Hussein's stern voice echoed through our living room, and I obediently did as I was told. It had been a week since my Somali Muslim sweetie and I got back together, following a fateful encounter on the day when tragedy struck the City of Ottawa, Ontario. My name is Steve Salomon, a big and tall young black man of Haitian descent living in Canada's Capital, and I'm happy to say that my queen has returned to her kingdom.
Much has happened between my lady Yasmin Hussein and I lately. We come from different worlds, you see. I am of Haitian descent, as I stated before, and I was brought up in the Christian faith. Roman Catholicism to be exact. As for Yasmin, she is of Somali descent, and like ninety nine percent of all Somalis, my sweetie was raised in the Muslim faith. Sunni Islam to be exact. The thing about Islam is that it has many rules, and one of the strongest ones is that Muslim women aren't supposed to have relations with men of other faiths.
Sparks flew between Yasmin Hussein and I from the moment we met. I was working as a security guard for a fancy office building in downtown Ottawa. Working the overnight shift sucked, but the highlight of my evenings came from observing a certain tall, curvaceous, big-bottomed Somali lady who cleaned the building at night. I started talking and flirting with the tall, curvy Somali chick in the Hijab and long skirt.
Now, anyone who knows Somali women, or Muslim chicks for that matter, would tell you that if you're from another religion and you're trying to holler at them, it's a fool's errand. Yet when I looked into Yasmin's eyes, I saw beauty, lust, power and a barely contained wildness. Hijab and traditional clothes aside, this chick was a freak and something inside of me knew it. That's why I pursued her relentlessly, and eventually got her. Life hasn't been the same since.
