Afghan Girls for Somali Men

Sometimes, I think certain things are meant to be, for good and for ill, and it's best not to get in Fate's way. How else would you explain how my wife and I met? I lived in Vanier, Ontario, at the time and as a broke student at Carleton University, I needed all the hours I could get from my job as a security guard. I'm living on my own for the first time. My parents, Moustapha and Sagal Hussein are going through a messy separation. The usual Somali family crap. Things are way too tense at the family house in Orleans, so I moved to my own spot.

That day, my scheduler, an irate prick by the name of Aaron Hansen, sent me to this hotel downtown where I was supposed to fill in for one of the site guards. The shift was supposed to last from ten in the evening till six in the morning. Around nine thirty I left my apartment and rushed to the number 9 bus stop. I saw the bus drive off without me, for I was a few seconds too late. The fact that I was running in the late-April rain meant little to the bus driver, and dude left without me. Is any wonder people in Ottawa hate OC Transpo with a vengeance?

I stood there, in the rain, and waited for the next bus. When it finally showed up, I showed my student bus pass to the driver, and I was barely aboard before the bearded, stocky old white dude started a rant about my being so dark-skinned that he barely could see me in the dark. I sat down, soaked, my mind swirling with questions. Would I make it to my shift on time? The last thing I wanted was for the security team supervisor, or worse, hotel management, to complain to my company.

As I sat there, I suddenly remembered the bus driver's words. Did this fool seriously say what I think he just said? Wow. Something about my being so dark he couldn't see me at night? Damn. As a young black man in Ottawa, Ontario, I was used to encountering racism wherever I went. The myth of Canadian niceness is just that, a myth. Still, for this fool to say something like this to me, so casually and unprovoked, well, it made me simmer. I looked around the bus as it neared the Hurdman Station terminal, and no one else seemed to notice my discomfort.

I waited for the bus to come to a complete stop before I confronted the bus driver. Next time keep this bigoted comment to yourself, I said calmly. The old white dude stared at me. What are you talking about? he said angrily. Unbelievable. That's how they are in Ottawa, I swear. They say all kinds of dumb shit about us minorities and then pretend they didn't say anything on those rare occasions when they are confronted by, say, someone like me. Don't say dumb stuff about my skin tone if you know what's good for you, I said, and walked away.

I stood there, in the rain, and waited for the next bus heading downtown. Hurdman is a major traffic point for all the buses in Ottawa. It was nine forty nine and I had about eleven minutes to get to the Rideau Shopping Center, the hotel where I'm working is like five minutes from the mall. I could make it if I run, provided I don't bump into one of those perpetually angry/drunken creeps who hang around Rideau street at night, looking for trouble.

As I boarded the 98 Bus heading to Tunney's Pasture, I noticed someone looking at me. A short, slender young woman with bronze skin and a shock of black hair sneaking out from under her rain-soaked hijab. As Salam Alaikum sister, I said, a bit unnerved by her unwavering stare. I'm a tall black guy in a security uniform. I know I'm likely to get stared at more than usual. Walaikum Salaam, the young woman replied, after a brief pause, still gawking at me. I smiled politely at her.

Did I know her from somewhere? Perhaps I'd seen her at school. I'd been practically living at the Carleton University library during the exam period. Civil engineering is not the easiest major and I'm a B student at best. So, yeah, I had to cram. We don't have a lot of girls in civil engineering at CU and I kind of know most of them. Nah, this gal wasn't from good ole Minto. Nope, so where had I seen her before? Perhaps the Masjid, except that last time I went to a mosque, Ignatieff was still the leader of Canada's liberal party. Yeah, it's been THAT long. Which brings us back to square one. Why is this vaguely familiar-looking broad staring at my black ass?

I saw what that bus driver did to you and he had no right, the young woman said. I stared at her, stunned. You were there, I said slowly, shaking my head. A sad nod from her. Yes my brother and I am sorry for his racist words that wounded you, she said sincerely. I looked into those brown eyes of hers, and saw something I didn't expect. People of color endure all kinds of mistreatment in Western society but we who are of African descent bear the brunt of it. I didn't think people from other backgrounds could understand what we go through, but something in her eyes told me she could relate.

Thank you sister, I said, gently nodding. I didn't know what else to say. You're welcome brother I am Nashida, the young woman replied, extending her slender hand. I looked at her, smiled and shook her hand. I'm Bilal Hussein, I said. And thus I met the woman destined to change my existence. Pleasure to meet you and thanks, I told her, as the bus arrived at Rideau. It was nine fifty seven. I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making it to the hotel on time, yet I felt fine. Good to meet you Bilal and keep your head up, Nashida said, as I exited the bus.

I was smiling from ear to ear as I cut through the mall, rushed down the escalator and then ran through the crowded, rain-soaked street below. I finally made it to the hotel by ten zero five, if you can believe that. Please sign in and report to the seventh floor, the security team survivor, a slim, kind of butch-looking blonde chick said evenly, handing me a clipboard. I showed her my Ontario security licence, an orange card containing my mug shot-type pic, and she inspected it before handing it back to me.

I rushed to the elevator, and arrived on the seventh floor. I found out I'd be guarding a tour group, some private school in Quebec whose students were visiting Ottawa. I nodded at whatever instructions the chaperones gave me, then plopped down on the comfy-looking chair. I owe Koodo Mobile close to two hundred dollars and I'm flat out broke so my phone is definitely not working. Lucky for me the hotel had free Wi-Fi, so I was able to check my Facebook. I typed Nashida's name in the search engine, and imagine my surprise when I spotted her quite easily. Apparently we had a few friends in common!

I admired Nashida Ahmadzai's profile. It was quite interesting. The gal is originally from Charikar, Afghanistan, and she's studying business at the University of Ottawa. With the exception of her profile picture, all the other pics on her page were of other people, political figures, religious leaders, and the like. Shall I send her a friend request? I don't see why not. I sent the request, then relaxed in my chair. Overnight shifts like this are easy money. No contractors or bozos to deal with. No one to really report to. The site guards didn't want to bother with this type of watch duty so they asked the company to send a greenhorn like me.

Oh, well. With a balance of only sixty seven dollars in my CIBC bank account, I desperately needed the hours. So bring them on. I don't get paid till next week and I haven't been getting enough hours from the security company lately. I was there, chilling, when I noticed that I had a reply on my Facebook. Damn that was fast! Hello brother, came a very enthusiastic greeting from one Nashida Ahmadzai. I smiled, and noted that she'd accepted my friend request and written on my wall. Since I wasn't doing Jack, why not chat up this cutie?

As it turns out, chatting up Nashida on Facebook proved to be the highlight of my day. Hell, make that my week. The lady was smart, cute AND funny. She'd only been in Ottawa since January, and she already hated it. We call it the town that fun forgot, I laughed as I wrote her. When I asked her what she was doing up so late, Nashida wrote that she was working at a call center near Metcalfe street. I'm bilingual and they were hiring, she said, followed by LOL. I smiled and shook my head at that.

Lots of foreigners come to Canada with more ambition and drive than the locals, and it would seem that Nashida was one of them. Good for her. My family moved to Ottawa when I was only about three, and we've had our share of difficulties but at least my parents expected me to make something of myself. That's why I'm at Carleton, studying civil engineering. A lot of minority guys aren't so lucky. Born in Canada to Somali, Arab, South Asian or Persian families, they have zero ambition and don't even bother with going to college or university. They end up working at Tim Horton's and spend their days smoking, chasing girls and watching TV. Girls from those same minority families attend Ottawa's colleges and universities, and end up working pretty decent jobs for the government or private sector. Such is life.

I want to open up my own realty firm someday, Nashida wrote, and I had to smile. The gal's got ambition, and she's pretty. What was I getting myself into? Nashida and I had been 'talking' for three hours, and had learned quite a bit about each other. I cannot believe I told this young woman whom I had just met about my dissatisfaction with my work, my parents marriage being on the rocks, and my hope to start my own company someday.

Going to have to let you go because I have to answer this call, Nashida wrote, followed by 'goodnight brother'. I smiled and wished her goodnight. I checked the time, and gawked. Damn, it was already four in the morning. How time flies when you're talking to a pretty lady and have nothing else to do. I smiled as I looked at Nashida's profile picture one more time. I saw her something in those eyes of hers, even through the photograph. A simple color picture of her sporting a red jacket and pink hijab. What a cutie, I said aloud, then logged off Facebook.

In hindsight, I'm definitely not the most observant person in the world, given that I'm a security guard and lack attention to detail. The next morning, I went home and fell asleep on my bed minutes after setting foot in my apartment. Didn't wake up till two in the afternoon. I went to the washroom, shat, showered, then left. May had arrived and like all university students in Ottawa, my bus pass expires. With less than seventy dollars in my account, I can't afford the ninety-eight-dollar regular adult bus pass. I am, ahem, screwed. What good is a security guard who can't get around town?

I went to my neighbor, this Sudanese dude named William something or other who lives on the same floor I do, and asked to use his phone. I figured I'd call the company, get in touch with my scheduler and get more shifts. William flat out said no, then slammed the door in my face. So much for black solidarity, eh? Great. I have no way of getting in touch with my scheduler. Only thing I can think of is going to the campus library and send him an email. I just hope he hadn't left the office yet.

Do you have any idea how long it takes a six-foot-one, 250-pound, severely out of shape Somali brother like myself to walk from my apartment on Coventry road, deep inside Vanier, to the Carleton campus on Colonel By? I left the house around three and walked up Donald Street, toward Montreal Road and Rideau, and then finally made my way toward Bronson Avenue through Gloucester. I attracted a lot of stares on the road, for folks don't walk long distances in Ottawa unless it's a special event. Finally, I arrived at the library.

Immediately I looked for a spot to sit, logged on and signed into my Yahoo account. I had two emails from my scheduler, apparently he was looking for someone to do three overnight shifts starting this weekend, and when he couldn't get in touch with me, they went to someone else. Great. I sat there, for a long moment, and stared at the computer. Can a man be this damn unlucky? Don't answer that. I was still sulking when I overheard female voices coming in from the reception desk.

It's been a couple of weeks since finals ended, and even though the library is open, campus is usually deserted. I've got nine point five out of the fifteen credits I need to graduate from the civil engineering program. I want to take a couple of summer courses and speed things along because I want to graduate next year. This is so not happening if I don't find a way not only to pay Carleton the eleven hundred bucks I owed them from the Winter semester but also, I need to get some cash for summer school. Where in hell am I going to get it? I don't qualify for OSAP because apparently, my parents make too much money. Mom works as an account manager with the Bank of Montreal and dad is a constable with the Ontario Provincial Police, one of a few Muslims on the force. No, my family isn't rich. My parents don't help with paying for my studies. I'm expected to make it on my own. Sounds like fun?

Anyhow, just as I began to wonder who them broads who were being so loud at the front of the library were, guess who walked in with a group of chicks? None other than Nashida Ahmadzai. Damn. I blinked nervously. What was she doing there? I got up and approached her. Apparently she and her friends were visiting campus. One of the red-clad campus tour people were escorting them. Hi Bilal, Nashida said, spotting me as I came toward them.

Hello sister, I said nervously, and Nashida smiled at me. Clad in a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, long black skirt and sky blue hijab, Nashida looked really lovely. We've got to stop meeting like this, she said slyly, a coy look in her brown eyes. I grinned, and we stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. So this is where Bilal Hussein comes to hide, Nashida said, looking at the library around us. I shrugged. As a lifelong nerd and amateur fiction writer, libraries have often been my refuge. Touché, I said, and felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

Out of habit I pulled it out. Since I hadn't paid the bill in ages the phone wasn't activated, so nobody could be calling me. I rolled my eyes when I remembered what it was. I set my phone alarm to buzz every day at 4 : 20 PM because, well, I'm a 420 fan. Not an addict, I just use it recreationally. Something funny happened when I pulled out my phone while talking to Nashida. Let's keep in touch, she said, and spelled out her digits. All without being prompted. How about that?

I smiled with more confidence than I felt as I punched Nashida's number into my phone. Cool, I said nonchalantly, and Nashida smiled. Your tour group is getting away, I pointed out, noticing that her pals or whatever they were headed for the elevators. Why don't you give me a tour of campus instead? Nashida said, with a slickness that surprised me. Don't mind if I do, I said, and just like that, we walked out of the library together. I didn't log off the PC. I kind of didn't care, actually. Twice in the past twenty four hours I'd run into this gorgeous and intelligent sister. I don't believe in coincidences. I'm not as steeped into traditions and religion as I once was, but when Allah points you in a direction, obey His will.

I showed Nashida around campus, alright. We walked through Loeb, and then I led her through the tunnels leading back to the Uni-Center, where we got some coffee at Tim Horton's. As we sat down near Oliver's Pub, which was closed for the season of course, Nashida and I had ourselves a nice little chat. I'm loving it here in Ontario, she confessed, while sipping her latte. I shrugged and smiled. I've lived here my whole life, or pretty close, so to me, Ontario is just meh. Ottawa sucks but Toronto is definitely where I see myself living after graduation, I told Nashida, who high-fived me. Amen to that brother, she giggled.

I tried not to stare at Nashida as we spoke, not the easiest thing in the world since she's really pretty. Short and cute, but with a fire within. More than that, I found her friendly, and easy to talk to. We must do something soon, I said. I'm free Tuesday so let's do movies, Nashida suggested. Man, I could have hugged and kissed her right then and there. With less than seventy dollars in my account, I couldn't take this gal anyplace fancy even though I was totally feeling her. Going to a movie at Silver City in the east end was right up my alley. Sounds good to me, I said, and Nashida smiled.

Before I knew it, we'd been talking for a good couple of hours. It was getting dark outside. I walked Nashida to the O-Train station ( apparently she lives in Westboro ) and as I extended my hand for her to shake, she gave me a hug. See you real soon Bilal, she grinned. I stood there, stunned. A bit hands-on, isn't she? This gal was not like the others, for real. Honestly, I don't typically bother with Muslim girls when it comes to dating because a lot of them are too conservative for my taste.

Good night Nashida, I said, as I hugged her back gently. The O-Train came, the same train I'd been riding all year with my now expired U-pass. Nashida got on, and waved me goodbye as she sat down. I waved back enthusiastically as the train went away. I stood there, smiling like an idiot, not feeling the rain as it fell on me. I am so glad Nashida took the O-Train and not the bus. I so didn't want to ride the bus because I wanted to save every penny for our upcoming date Tuesday.

With a smile on my face, I began the long trek from campus back to my apartment. Not the safest thing to do on a rainy night in Ottawa, that's for sure. We're not that big a city, barely a million people, but we've got our share of crazy drivers and weirdoes-on-the-street. I thought of Nashida, and how we kept running into each other. I have a good feeling about this gal. My last relationship didn't work out so well.

In one of my not-so bright moments, I went out with this chick named Dominique Morrison. I guess you could say I was blinded by lust. The lady was really something. Tall, curvy and sexy, exotically beautiful the way only someone half black and half white can be. Dominique is originally from Montreal. We met at school, and she was taking Nursing at Carleton. A whirlwind romance followed, and Dominique was a lot of fun. Until she dumped me for a Puerto Rican guy named Rico. Isn't love grand?

I swore to myself I'd stay focused on school and work, since I had lousy work with the female of the species. I was too liberal/westernized for the Muslim girls in Ottawa and too much of a nice guy for the chicks from other communities. Yeah, my prospects with women weren't great, until Allah put Nashida Ahmadzai on my path. Of course, things weren't easy for me or my new prospective lady love. I was going through all kinds of crap with my family, my school and my job.

I would later learn that Nashida was going through her share of hardships. Remember when I mentioned the pink hijab she wore? Well, her mom Nadia was a breast cancer survivor, and this was a cause Nashida was particularly passionate about. Nashida and her mother moved to Canada for the education and healthcare, essentially. All these things ( and more ) I would discover about her in time. A difficult but ultimately wonderful and life-changing relationship awaited us both, and it would begin at the Silver City theater next Tuesday, where Nashida and I would go watch the movie Brick Mansions. I would tighten my belt and save up for that date, mainly because something inside told me Nashida was worth it. And she was.

Yeah, a wonderful future awaited Nashida and I. One day, tonight's events would be something my dear lady love and I would share with our friends for a good laugh. For now, though, I would endure the freezing rain on the first day of May as I walked from the Carleton campus on Colonel By to my apartment on Coventry. First order of business tomorrow? I'm going to borrow money from a friend, or maybe Western Union's cash store, to pay for my damn phone because I've got Nashida's number and I definitely want to hear her voice. Tonight, though, as I dodged cars, walked through cold and lonely roads, and avoided the crazies that filled the streets of Ottawa at night, I thanked the Most High for putting Nashida on my path. Peace be upon you.