Aboriginal Ladies Into Black Men

Listening to the song "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" on the radio sucks, especially when it's been a couple of days since your last breakup. The name is Felicia Ewaingham-Saleh, and I have a story to share with you. How I got over my ex-boyfriend Maher Mahmoud. Seriously, I don't mean to disparage my own ethnicity but Arab guys can be such hypocrites sometimes. They date whoever they damn well please yet frown when they see us Arab ladies with men from other communities. Ugh, how is that frigging fair? Seriously, it's time for a change.

I was born in the City of Edmonton, Alberta, to a Yemeni immigrant father, Karim Saleh and an Aboriginal Canadian mother, Christina Ewainghan of the Dogrib tribe of the First Nations people of provincial Alberta. Being half Arab and half Aboriginal is definitely a unique experience, but I won't dwell on it. Aren't we all unique at the end of the day regardless of ethnicity? I've always felt like the daughter of two worlds. My mother raised me Christian after divorcing my father, though I've always felt equally drawn to my Arabian/Muslim and Aboriginal heritage. That's why I have a double major in Criminology and Arabic studies at the University of Calgary.

While taking introduction to Arabic at the University of Calgary freshman year I met a tall, gorgeous young Arab guy named Maher Mahmoud. He's a newcomer to Canada from Saudi Arabia, and I guess sparks flew between us the first time we met. I've always had a thing for Arab guys, and Maher was definitely one handsome Middle-Eastern stud. We began going out, and for a while things were wonderful between us. After about six months together, Maher began to change.

The cool, smooth and laidback, charming and generous guy I'd fallen for turned into a control freak. Maher began pressuring me to dress more conservatively. Hmmm. I was fond of wearing tight shirts and short skirts along with leather boots when he met me and none of that seemed to bother him so why ask me to change now? Maher also began pressuring me to attend Muslim community events with him. Understand that I've always been very involved in the Muslim community at school, and I'm friends with lots of students from places like Nigeria, Gambia, Senegal, Turkey, Tunisia, Yemen and many other Muslim-majority countries. For the most part, the Muslim students at the University of Calgary were a friendly bunch. I liked hanging out with them. Hell, one of my good friends, a hijab-wearing Somali chick named Yasmina Hussein is a Muslim women's group leader. The moment Maher began pressuring me to do stuff, I began to feel uncomfortable. I tried explaining to him that I didn't like the turn our relationship had recently taken.

That's the weird thing about a lot of these otherwise charming Arab guys. They love to drink and party and sleep around with chicks but at their core, most of them are deeply conservative. Even though Maher enjoyed walking into night clubs with me dressed sexily, and he liked partying with my friends and I inside Calgary's hottest night spots, deep down he hadn't changed a bit. He was still a citizen of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, a country where women cannot even fart without male permission, ( alright I'm exaggerating but you get the idea ) and that's all he would ever be.

I've always had an independent streak and that hasn't changed now that I'm in a relationship. I didn't like dating a guy who would tell me how to dress, and I wished Maher would go back to his old self. Too late I realized that the charming, friendly and open-minded guy I thought loved me didn't exist, and the conservative-minded creep who wanted me to cover my hair and wear longer skirts was the real Maher. The day I realized that was an eerie one. It's creepy, when you realize that the person you thought loved you isn't who you thought they were. Maher Mahmoud was a consummate actor, wow! I finally decided to confront him about all the weirdness and went to his dorm one Thursday night. I knew he'd be home because he wasn't at the library or the gym, his favorite places to be on campus.

I went up to Maher's apartment, thinking I'd surprise him by finally confronting him about his bullshit. Part of me still cared about him but sometimes a woman's got to put her foot down. Little did I know that I'm the one who would end up getting surprised. In hindsight, what happened next was more funny than tragic but you simply couldn't tell me that at the time. I knocked on Maher's door on the second floor of the dormitory and when no one came I pushed it open. What I saw would remain with me and haunt me for the rest of my days, even if I live to be a hundred.

Maher, lying in bed, getting his dick sucked by a big-booty Black chick...whom I recognized as Yasmina, the hijab-wearing Somali gal I thought was my friend. Man, she was slurping Maher's dick like a pro. They were so into each other that they hadn't noticed me standing there. Until I screamed. A deafening, primal scream. The kind a woman makes when she's giving birth, or when she's dying. Except I was experiencing none of these things, save for the death of my relationship. You filthy bastard, I shouted at Maher. He looked up, and I guess Yasmina must have been shocked too for she gawked at me...with Maher's dick still in her mouth. They looked so guilty it was almost comical. Felicia, Maher began. I stormed out of the room, but not before grabbing a nearby lamp and hurling into the bed, striking them both. I heard screaming as I rushed down the hall. Good, I hope these fuckers got hurt.

I ran through campus like a madwoman, screaming and shouting. Around me, buildings and people zipped by, for I ran fast. For the most part it was a blur. I didn't look while crossing the street leading to my residence, and a Canada Post truck came speeding by and nearly got me. It would have gotten me if it hadn't been for the efforts of one Caesar Abalunam, a guy I knew from my Social Deviance class. A stalwart young man who, seeing me in danger charged forward and saved me....by tackling me like a linebacker. Caesar slammed me to the ground, bruising himself and me, but saving me from getting flattened like a pancake by the mail truck. Ouch, I yelped as I lay on the pavement. Are you okay? My savior asked. He was already up and held his hand out to me. After a brief hesitation, I took it. Thank you Caesar, I said simply.

Caesar looked at me with concern in those dark eyes of his. He's a big and tall Black guy originally from Nigeria. Dude's got to be at least six-foot-two if not more. He's new to Calgary and quite vocal about the racism he's experienced in this redneck town. As a double minority, Aboriginal mixed with Arab, I can totally relate. We've had some interesting debates in our social deviance class. His girlfriend is a big-booty Jamaican chick named Monique. I've seen her walking around campus with him. I've had a bad day that's all, I told Caesar, brushing it off.

You should talk to someone about it, Caesar replied. What's there to talk about? I shrugged. Locking eyes with the Nigerian, I continued. My Saudi boyfriend cheated on me with a Somali slut and now I feel like shit, I spat. Caesar shook his head. Come with me, he said, taking me by the arm. I looked at his arm on mine. Typically I don't like it when guys get touchy with me but something about Caesar's demeanor made me stay quiet. He walked me to the student center and pointed to the counselors offices. You should talk to someone, he said, then excused himself because he had to get to class. With a sprint that would impress those Kenyan dudes who win Marathons all over the world every damn year, Caesar took off.

I didn't go into the counselors offices, because I'm not the type of female who believes in yapping all my business to a perfect stranger. Instead, I went home, too a shower and rested. I did some homework, listened to music on YouTube and then deleted all pictures of Maher Mahmoud from my Facebook, Twitter and Instagram profiles. To hell with that piece of Saudi trash. Feeling refreshed I sat at the computer, unsure what to do next. Out of curiosity I typed Caesar's first and last names in the Facebook search engine. Ten seconds later his profile popped up. I saw that we had two friends in common, and that allowed me to look at his personal stuff.

Man, I thought I had photos on my Facebook, Caesar's got about a thousand of them. Pictures of him with his parents Victor and Fatouma Abalunam in Lagos, Nigeria, along with his younger brother Stephen. Shots of him at his graduation from Saint Michael Academy in 2010. Pictures of Caesar at his younger brother's First Communion in 2012. Shots of Caesar, shirtless on the beach with his girlfriend Monique, the Jamaican chick with the huge ass. Impulsively I typed her name on Caesar's list of friends and couldn't find her. I did see a message she wrote on his Facebook wall calling him a scumbag and advising him that she was de-friending and deleting him. Shit, looks like I'm not the only one feeling the breakup blues, eh? I sent Caesar a friend request, then went to take out the trash. When I came back, six minutes later, he'd already added me as a friend on Facebook. Man, the dude's fast, eh?

Hello stranger, I wrote Caesar, then clicked send. He thanked me for the friend request then asked me if I was okay. I'm all better now that I lost two hundred pounds, I replied. A long lineup of question marks from Caesar to me. I mean I just dumped Maher and I feel better already, I wrote, followed by LOL. When something isn't meant to be there's not much even the best of us can do, Caesar typed. I smiled when I read that. Totally true. Next, I sent him my phone number. Caesar called me right away, thankfully. I hate it when guys make a gal wait two days after she's given them her number before calling her. What the fuck? Some of us girls have a short attention span. We could forget meeting your asses in two days!

Hello Miss Felicia, Caesar's warm, masculine voice greeted me on the phone. Hello Captain Nigeria, I laughed. For the better part of the next two hours Caesar and I chatted on. He offered me his condolences about Maher and I gave him my condolences about Monique. It's ironic but both of us got messed up by big-booty Black chicks we thought cared about us. Maher cheated on me with that Somali slut Yasmina and, according to Caesar, Monique dumped him for a white dude ironically named Julius. Even though I felt Caesar's pain, I couldn't resist rubbing that one in. Oh, come on, it's funny! That bitch Monique left Caesar for Julius. Caesar laughed at that, thankfully. For a moment there I thought I'd gone too far.

After two hours on the phone, Caesar and I wished each other good night, but not before agreeing to grab coffee at the Tim Horton's inside the food court the next day. I wore a stylish red tank top with a short black skirt and thigh-high black leather boots under a black leather jacket. Like the overdressed foreign gentleman that he is, Caesar showed up in a green silk shirt and black silk pants. Outside of his gym clothes, I don't think I've ever seen Caesar not dress up like he's going to church or something. He works at the library on campus and everyone knows he's a snappy dresser. Hello Nigeria, I said joyfully, and gave him a hug. Call me Caesar it's shorter, he said as he gave me a peck on the cheek. The whole kiss on the cheek thing surprised me to tell you the truth. Old Nigerian custom, Caesar said, almost apologetically. I'm Canadian and we're not that touchy up here but I let it slide. No worries, I said with a smile.

Caesar and I grabbed coffee and sandwiches, which we split the cost of, and then sat down to talk. We talked about school, work, life in Calgary as visible minorities, and of course our recent breakups. Completely blindsided me when Monique left me for a guy I thought was my friend, Caesar said, and I noted there was a haunted look in his dark eyes. Gently I touched his hand. Fuck that bitch, I said cheerfully. Caesar looked at me and smiled. You're right, he said, laughing. Amen to that, I laughed, and sipped my coffee. I told him about how I caught Maher with Yasmina sucking his dick and threw a lamp at them. Ouch, Caesar said. I stared hard at him. They had it coming, I shrugged. Caesar smiled at me hesitantly. Remind me never to piss you off, he said nervously. I winked at him. Just don't do it, I laughed. I'm five-foot-six and weigh one hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet but you don't want to piss me off.

We chatted for about an hour, then had to go our separate ways. To be honest I liked talking to Caesar, he was friendly, funny and very easy to talk to. Let's keep in touch, I said. Caesar smiled then bumped my small fist with his. Fight the power, I said, laughing. Caesar looked at me for a long moment without saying anything. You're something else, he said. I was about to reply when guess who came waltzing into the food court with a group of young Arab guys. Maher Mahmoud, the Saudi cheater, in the flesh. He shot me a look, and muttered something underneath his beard. I've always had impeccable timing, and I know how to seize the moment, no matter what's going on. I stood on my tippy toes and planted a kiss on Caesar's cheek, startling him. It was great seeing you today, I said with a grin. Caesar froze for a moment, then nodded. You too, he said meekly.

I gently touched Caesar's arm, wished him a good day and walked out of the University of Calgary food court with the remnants of my coffee. I walked past Maher Mahmoud who stood nearby, huddled with a pack of his Arab buddies. I shot him a knowing look, smiled and walked away. I went to my first class of the day feeling a profound sense of satisfaction. Man, you should have seen the look on Maher's face when I kissed Caesar, right in front of him. Arab guys are so frigging weird when it comes to their dating habits. They feel like they can date/marry women of any race, ethnicity or religion but us Arab women can only be with them. And like males of every color out there, they find black men sexually threatening. Hmmm. Speaking of sexually threatening, Caesar's not bad-looking and he's got a cute face and tight body on him. I'm not a rebound type of chick but maybe I'll have a roll in the hay ( or ten ) with Captain Nigeria. Of course, I'll have to seduce Caesar into it. He seems like the morally upstanding type, and that's going to make it so much fun to chase him. And chase him I shall. I'm a single and exotically beautiful, free-spirited young minority woman in Calgary, maybe it's time to expand my horizons.