A Muslim Lesbian Love Story

Temptation comes to test the faith of the true believer, the noble Quran teaches this. I sighed as I entered the women's section of the Masjid, I spotted my friend Alimah already at prayer. She knelt, then bent all the way down, kissing the emerald carpeted floor. Don't look at her big butt, I silently told myself. Oops, too late. Why must temptation always come my way? I'm trying very hard to be a good Muslim sister and I wish those lesbian thoughts that keep intruding on my consciousness would go away. I have prayed and prayed, but I keep staring at women's butts and breasts, and I feel a flush of heat down below every time a pretty woman looks at me. Help!

My name is Sulafah Wafeeq and I'm a young woman of Saudi Arabian descent living in the City of Ottawa, province of Ontario. I attend Carleton University, where I major in civil engineering. There aren't a lot of women from my background in the program, but that's okay. I see it as a challenge. When my parents, Wahid and Samirah Wafeeq moved to Ontario, Canada, from our hometown of Yanbu Al-Bahr in the Al-Madinah province of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, we knew we would face a brand new world.

Canada is about as different from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia as can be. Still, we adapted. Well, my mother and I adapted. My father didn't fare so well in this land of secular government, liberated women, sexual diversity and religious freedom. It took him a long time to adjust to the way of things in North America. As for me, I embraced my new country and new life wholeheartedly. The Confederation of Canada granted me so many things which I would only dream of when I lived in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

In this brave new world, women can drive! I saw a female police officer in the airport, she was giving orders to men and they obeyed her. A lot of Muslim women who come to Canada turn their noses up at the ways of Canadian women but not me. I cannot thank these brave women enough for helping build a nation where a woman can be anything she wants to be. Where I come from, I could not leave the house without a male guardian, I could not drive, and I was essentially a prisoner of my father's wishes. Not anymore. In Canada, I can finally say that I am a free woman.

It is one of life's supreme ironies that in Canada, when my father went to take the test to get his driver's licence, he failed repeatedly at both the written portions and the exam itself. When I went to driving school, I passed with flying colors. I am now the proud owner of a G-1 Ontario provincial driver's licence. These days, I'm the one who drives my family around because my father failed the driver's exam so many times that he just quit, and as for my mother, she never bothered learning to drive, considering it haram. Every time I try to encourage her to go out and explore, she insists on staying home, watching television or playing around on the computer. My dad spends his days in the basement, drinking and lamenting the conditions that drove him to leave Saudi Arabia for the supposedly godless nation of Canada.

My father is a drunkard and a notorious womanizer, and I am almost completely indifferent. It's my mother's plight that worries me. Even though we're in Canada now, she insists on living as she would back home. She doesn't go anywhere without my father, and he rarely leaves the house, except to go grocery shopping or gambling. I love my mother the way a daughter should, but she is a very foolish woman. She should stop being an obedient dog and try to live her life! I believe that Allah puts all of us on a chosen path and that we should welcome the opportunities that come our way. I was meant for more than what Saudi Arabia allows women to be. In Canada, I have the chance to be more. Like the American commercial for military recruitment says, I will be all that I can be.

I embraced my new life in Canada. I sometimes see Arab female Muslims and even some white female converts wearing the burka. What a bunch of fools. In Saudi Arabia, every woman wears the burka in public because we've got no choice. Islamic law is what it is. Me? I stopped wearing a burka the day I set foot in the Confederation of Canada. I wear a lot of western clothes, like T-shirts and jeans, and long skirts. I wear my hijab as a symbol of my faith. The burka isn't a symbol of Islam. In fact, according to historians, women in the Arabian Peninsula were wearing the burka centuries before the advent of the Prophet Mohammed, the founder of Islam. The burka is a cultural artifact, not a religious one. It has no place in Islam. It's only men's insecurities around female beauty which caused the burka to be implemented as a mandatory practice in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. See? I'm far from the dull, submissive and foolish Muslim woman that so many westerners assume I am when they look at me. I have a mind of my own. I make my own decisions. I've got big dreams and ambition to spare, and I won't stop until I've accomplished all that I set out to do.

I embraced my life at Carleton University, where I made lots of friends. I found it easier to befriend students from other backgrounds. A tall young Black guy named Jericho Armand, originally from the island of Haiti, became one of my best friends and the brother figure I always wanted but never had. Jericho turned heads on campus when he began dating Christina Abdullah, a young Arab woman originally from the Republic of Lebanon. A Black man dating an Arab woman, now there's a pairing you definitely don't see every day. The Arab guys at school weren't happy to see Jericho with Christina but I could tell he was in love with her, so I encouraged them. Love is love, that's how I see. Besides, most of the Arab students at Carleton University are Muslim and Jericho and Christina are both Christians. He's a Protestant and she's a Maronite. Good luck to them both, I say.

I found myself feeling quite lonely on campus, but all that changed the day I met Alimah Osman, this pretty young Black woman originally from Somaliland. She was so tall and beautiful, and also lively and fearless. Alimah, the gal whom I first noticed as she walked around school wearing a Toronto Raptors leather jacket, red tank top and blue jeans. She never wore the hijab, and she was always dressed like a guy. There was someone with her, a short white chick with red hair. I found myself drawn to the Black gal for some reason. I later ran into Alimah at a masjid in the east end of Ottawa, that's when I introduced myself to her. Since that day, we became inseparable. I've always found it easier to become friends with guys than with girls. Women are treacherous and will stab you in the back while smiling at you. Men are easier and simpler. With Alimah, however, I could let my guard down. I cared about her, and she showed me that she cared for me too.

Sometimes, Alimah and I would go to the movies with Jericho and Christina. Jericho and Alimah knew each other from their high school days. They both went to the same high school in Ottawa's west end. I got to know Alimah's family and friends as well. Her parents Kasim and Khadija Osman live in Orleans. She has an older brother named Mohammed who's studying mathematics at the University of Ottawa, and her best friend was Giselle Jenkins, the red-haired white chick I once saw her walking with. I loved hanging out with all my new friends. Often, Alimah and I would hang out at each other's houses. My father didn't like her because he's a racist but he was fast asleep after drinking most of the time so Alimah and I were unbothered by him. My mother eyed my tomboyish friend Alimah suspiciously the first time I brought her home, but relaxed after I told her Alimah was a good Muslim. All was going well, except for one thing. I found myself feeling sexually attracted to Alimah Osman, the tall and drop-dead gorgeous tomboy from Somaliland. Help!

All these thoughts rushed through my head as I found myself checking out Alimah's big butt while praying in the Masjid. I thought about all the sinful thoughts I had of her. In my most forbidden fantasies, I imagined Alimah and in bed together, stark naked and making love. I envisioned her on top of me, kissing me as I caressed her gorgeous ass and fondled her big breasts. I moaned as I touched myself, wishing her fingers were slipping inside of me instead. I suckled at her breasts and fingered her cunt, looking into her lovely golden brown eyes as I made love to her. I spread her thighs and inhaled the womanly scent of her pussy before tasting her, probing her and licking her. I held her in my arms as she climaxed and kissed her fiercely, holding her like I never wanted to let go.

Yeah, all those wicked, wanton sexual thoughts coursed through my hijab-covered head as I gazed at Alimah's spectacular bottom as she prayed on the green carpet on the masjid floor. I looked heavenward, and sighed. Fate and nature have made me a lesbian, I thought. May Allah the Beneficent and the Merciful forgive me, I cannot help being what I am. I finished my prayer, and nodded to Alimah, who was finishing hers as well. We got in the car, and hit the road. I live in Overbrook but Alimah lives in Orleans. It's a long drive but I don't mind helping a sister out. While we drove, Alimah told me she had something to confess to me. My heart thundered in my chest, for I had something to confess to her as well.

Alimah looked me in the eyes and told me she had a secret, but didn't know how I'd feel about her if she told me. Hope soared through me like a lightning bolt. I looked at the gorgeous young Somali woman I loved. Could it be possible that she felt the same way? Was she...like me? Alimah took a deep breath, then told me that she was a lesbian. I looked at her and smiled, and told her that she was my dearest friend and that I accepted her. Alimah grinned and sighed in relief. I gathered my courage and got ready to confess to her my secret. That I was a lesbian as well, and madly in love with her. I never got to finish telling her that. For in her next breath, Alimah excitedly told me that she was dating Giselle Jenkins, the short red-haired white chick. I almost seethed with jealousy but kept my emotions in check. I got so distracted that I almost slammed my old Ford F150 into a minivan. I swerved just in time.

Alimah looked at me, exhaled and asked me if I was okay. I nodded and smiled, and told her everything was fine. I kept my face carefully neutral and focused on the road. Inside I was wracked with anger, jealousy and pain. Of course everyone I'm not fine, I thought. The only woman I've ever loved is in love with another woman. And she doesn't know that I am like her, a woman who loves women. I silently drove Alimah the rest of the way. She told me we needed to talk. I told her that I supported her, and that her being a lesbian didn't bother me one bit. Before I left, I hugged her fiercely, and hung on a bit too long. I touched her face one last time, wished her a good night, then drove away. When I got home, I was crying. Silently I went to my bedroom, wondering why the fates cursed me to live alone and unloved. Must I be denied true love, companionship and pleasure? I am truly cursed. There is no hope for me. If my life ends tomorrow, I honestly won't mind.