Ever since I could remember, I've always had a thing for black guys, and it's not an easy thing for an Arab woman to admit. The family in which I grew up is profoundly racist, although they would deny it to no end if queried on the subject. There isn't supposed to be any racism in Islam, that's the fairy tale being preached in every Masjid from Yemen to Lebanon, from Indonesia to Senegal, from Saudi Arabia to Afghanistan. My name is Haifa, and I was born in the town of Ghazni, in central Afghanistan. My parents, Abdul and Fatima Uzhmakai moved to the province of Ontario, Canada, in 1999, exactly ten years after my birth. To say that we experienced culture shock in the City of Toronto, Ontario, would have been an understatement.
Life in Canada changed us, whether we liked it or not, though at first we resisted. Muslim immigrants have a hard time adjusting to life in Judeo-Christian countries with secular governments, where religion and public life are seen as completely separate things. In Afghanistan and pretty much everywhere else in the Middle East, with the possible exception of Lebanon, religion and government go hand in hand. My father especially had a hard time adjusting to our new lives. Trained as a physician in Afghanistan, he was dismayed that Canadian employers considered his medical training null and void. He went to Seneca College to study Nursing, and found work at the local hospital but he always felt like he was meant for so much more. Being unable to achieve his full potential in Canada embittered my father, and eventually drove him to an early grave. He died of a heart attack in November 2009, at the age of 56.
My father's death profoundly affected me, but for my mother it was the beginning of the end. Mom worked as a cashier at the local Loblaws supermarket, and my father was the primary breadwinner in our family. I was studying business administration at York University when baba died, and I had to take a part-time job as a security guard to make ends meet. I wasn't fortunate enough to get enough OSAP funding to live on campus, because the Canadian government thought my family had too much money. That's why I still lived at home. My father's death drove a wedge between my mother and I. You see, I've always been what you'd call rebellious, and my dad and I often clashed because of it. Since I came to Canada while still young, I had an easier time adapting to our new country. I made friends with my age mates at school, and I developed a passion for Hip Hop music and a fascination with everything African-American. There are a lot of Americans in the environs of Toronto, and I found the African-Americans radically different from the African immigrants I saw every day in Canada's biggest metropolis. For starters, African-Americans are louder, bolder and more in-your-face about everything. The Africans, especially the Muslim ones among them, seem to kowtow to us Arabs, mainly because of the Arab influence on Islam. African-Americans aren't the type to bow down to anyone, especially in the Age of Obama. Piss them off and they'll get in your face. This shocked a lot of people in Toronto, that's for sure. I can't tell you how much I admired them for it.
Like any visible minority living in Canada, I was used to "the phrase". What is the phrase? Anyone who isn't Caucasian and happens to be in Canada will get asked at least once a week "where are you from" usually by someone white. I absolutely hate the phrase, to tell you the truth. Okay, I get it. I wasn't born in the Confederation of Canada but I am a naturalized citizen of this great nation. That means that I'm as Canadian as any asshole of French or English descent, at least on paper. I salute the red and white flag and the old lady in England and all that jazz. A lot of my white friends don't get it when I tell them that I find it annoying to get asked about my origins. I think it's because it never happens to them. It's a very subtle way for white Canadians to remind us visible minorities that this is their land. I think it's the reason why that dickhead, Prime Minister Stephen Harper is closing the door on immigration. He's afraid that in the world of tomorrow, whites might not be the majority in Canada. Fuck him and the narrow-minded imbeciles who elected him.
Anyhow, I was dealing with a lot of stress these days. Studying business at York University while working as an overnight security guard on different sites wasn't easy. I was basically running on coffee, red bull and cigarettes, and it's not the healthiest diet in the world. I still found time to follow my passion, and that's Hip Hop. I was a proud member of the Hip Hop Society at school. Most of the members were black, but there were whites and Hispanics among them. I was the only Arab chick. When most people find out that I'm really into Hip Hop, they're surprised. As an Arab woman, I'm supposed to be totally religious, quiet and pious. I don't wear a hijab or conservative clothes. I like my skirts short, my shirts tight, and I often braid my long raven-colored hair. I'm five-foot-nine, curvy and sexy, with light bronze skin, and almond-shaped brown eyes. People say that I remind them of Salma Hayek, only younger and a bit lighter. I tell them that I don't look like Salma Hayek, she looks like me!
Anyhow, one day at school, my girlfriend Susan Thompson, a pretty Jamaican chick with bleached blonde hair, introduced me to her cousin Darwin Thompson. The gentleman in question was tall, easily six-foot-one or more, with broad shoulders, a muscular body, dark brown skin and wavy black hair. Darwin was born in the City of Chicago, Illinois, to Jamaican immigrant parents, and he came to study civil engineering at the University of Toronto. Like I said before, I've always found black guys sexy and I've dated a couple of them before, much to the chagrin of my Arab guy friends, but Darwin Thompson was in a category by himself when it came to sexiness. He could have been the twin of that black actor from that old show, The Famous Jett Jackson. When I shook his firm hand and looked into his eyes, I felt something. No, it wasn't my inner lust talking. I felt that Darwin and I might have a connection, and for once, my hunch would prove to be right.
