Blac Prince and Arab Goddess

Hi, everybody. Nash Winters is in the house. Kind of an odd name, isn't it? Well, it's the only one I got so a big fuck you to anyone who finds it weird! I was born and raised in the Bagley neighborhood of metropolitan Detroit, in the beautiful State of Michigan. These days, I live in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. You might wonder what an authentic African-American like myself is doing in the Capital region of Canada. What can I tell you, man, life sometimes takes some funny turns. I got some people after me. These roughneck Jamaican guys really lack a sense of humor. All I did was take some of their money and bang some of their big-booty island women. Considering how much cash they flaunt and how many thick Afro-Caribbean bitches they got, you'd think they'd get over it. Nope. They've sworn to fill me with bullets. You can understand why a brother had to high-tail it out of there, right?

In the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario, I found myself bored as hell. I wish I could stay in Toronto because it's bigger, livelier and more diverse but there are way too many frigging Jamaicans in metropolitan Toronto. Odds are one of them might know about those motherfuckers in the City of Detroit who want me dead. I still found ways to have fun, even in a dull and boring little town like Ottawa. For starters, I've got one hundred and seventeen thousand dollars U.S. with me. It's the biggest payday I've ever had in a long career of grifting. I'm twenty seven years old and have been getting in and out of trouble for the past ten years. Most of the time it's fun but sometimes it can be downright dangerous. I don't mind the danger and the occasional bloodshed, as long as the blood isn't coming out of me.

I've been an enforcer for the Jamaican mob, yes there is such a thing, for the past six years. I got the physique for it, too. I'm six-foot-four by 260 pounds. Not that being a mob enforcer is strictly a physical thing. Being a twisted son of a bitch really helps in this line of work. I quit in the winter of 2011 because these Jamaican fools were never going to let me rise in the organization. Even among Black folks there's a lot of discrimination. Jamaicans in Detroit hold the drug trade down and they muscled their way into African-American territory. They don't like to share the goods. If you ask me, it's only a matter of time until these fools piss off some big-time Black American mobsters and get themselves killed. These fools got a small-time crook's mentality. Even the Italian mob guys in New York sometimes hire Black and Hispanic gangsters to work for them and give them a share of the profits because that's the way the business world works. You scratch my back and I scratch yours. I'm glad I took the money. Serves these punks right, you feel me?

I decided to adjust to life in Canada since it looked like I might be here for a while. I tried to stay out of trouble because the last thing I wanted to do was run afoul of the authorities and get my ass sent back to the State of Michigan. I found the ultimate hiding spot. The last place where anyone would think to look for me. A college campus. And not just any college campus. The Carleton University campus in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I decided to enroll in school. It was easy enough. I graduated from Cass Technical High School in Detroit, Michigan, nine years ago. The funny thing is that I graduated with honors. I fell into a life of crime after graduation. I even had a scholarship over from Wayne State University. I botched it all by getting arrested for fighting with some punks the summer after my high school graduation. When the school found out about this, they rescinded the scholarship offer. And my life went downhill from there.

I always wondered how different my life might have been if I hadn't gotten into trouble that summer. Anyhow, no use crying over spilt milk, isn't that what they say? I contacted the registrar's office at my old high school in Detroit, Michigan and asked them to forward my transcripts to Carleton University in the region of Ontario, Canada. I applied to Carleton University as an international student through the Ontario Universities Application Center or O.U.A.C. Amazingly, I got in. The day I received the acceptance letter from Carleton University was one of the happiest days of my life. I went to visit the campus. It was really nice, and far more diverse than I thought it would be.

I saw a lot of Black folks, and Arabs and some guys and gals who looked like Mexicans. I even saw Native Americans, though they prefer to be called Aboriginals in Canada. The lady giving the campus tour was this tall, fine-looking Persian lady who had an ass that would put African-American porn star Cherokee D'Ass to shame. Hot damn. Her first name was Aziza, and her last name was some deep Arab-sounding stuff I couldn't pronounce or remember. Wait a minute. I think her last name is Al-Fatah. Yeah, it's Al-Fatah. She was all smiles as she led me and the other international students on a tour of the various buildings at Carleton University. Naturally, I had a lot of questions. I wanted to know a lot of things about the school, and Ottawa in general. Aziza seemed quite eager to answer them. She noticed my accent and asked me where I came from. I proudly told her I came from Michigan. Upon hearing that, a lot of the other international students looked at me. Apparently, they don't get a lot of American students at colleges and universities in Canada. Hmmm. Interesting. Aziza looked at me and grinned. I winked at her and thanked her for being so patient with me.

When the visit ended, I chatted with the other international students. I thought I'd stick out like a sore thumb being a 27-year-old Black guy but there were a lot of students in their twenties in my group. I met a fine-looking Brazilian chick named Suzannah and a burly Arab guy named Abdullah. A Chinese chick named Ming seemed to stare at me a lot. I couldn't tell whether she was into me or if she was staring because she'd never see a brother before. Whatever. I only had eyes for Aziza. I chatted with her a little bit. I learned that Aziza came from the City of Baalbek in the Republic of Lebanon, and had been living in Ontario for the past eight years. She was in her third year in the Criminology program at Carleton University. When she asked me what my major was, I told her I was undecided.

At that point, I had yet to make up my mind about a lot of things. However, I quickly decided. If there's one thing I know, it's making money by any means necessary. So I chose business administration as my major. Aziza congratulated me on my choice. She also reminded me of the deadline for tuition payments. I smiled and told her I had it covered. She nodded, and wished me good luck. I shook her hand, and promised her we'd see each other again. Aziza smiled and handed me her card. It contained her email address and phone number. She told me to contact her in case I needed help with anything. I smiled wolfishly. This was too good to be true. I assured her I'd be in touch, and watched her fine, sexy ass practically sashaying from side to side as she walked away. Hot damn. I didn't know Arab women were that fine. We don't have many in Detroit. They tend to stay in small towns like Dearborn.

I took my car and drove back to my spot. I live in this spot called Vanier. It's kind of rough spot but some parts of it are alright. I didn't want to stay anywhere too pricy where people would ask too many questions. I rented a three-bedroom apartment from this old French-Canadian guy named Kyle Tremblay. I paid the first six months in advance. It cost me four grand. I didn't mind. I decorated the place really nicely, though. I had nice furniture, a sound system that Snoop Dog would be proud of, and a TV longer and wider than my whole frigging body. I might live in a raggedy-ass neighborhood but I still live in style. I also went to the nearby Saint Laurent Mall and bought a kick-ass wardrobe. Lots of T-shirts, hooded sweatshirts and jeans and also four business suits. Got to look good, you know?

I suddenly remembered Aziza's advice about paying the school fees. I still had fourteen hundred dollars on my Bank of America account but I couldn't access it. For all I know those Jamaican mobsters in Detroit were monitoring my account. They might trace any transaction to me and then I'd be fucked. Nope. I couldn't use my American banking system. I had to create a new one, in Canada. I went to the Royal Bank of Canada office in downtown Ottawa, and spent an hour with this pretty fly-looking Black female account manager. Her name was Rose. I would have hit on her for sure but there was a picture of her hugging up some white dude on her desk. I figured she was married or some shit like that and she was definitely not into the brothers. So I was strictly business with her. We set up my account. I didn't have Canadian documents like a health card or a social insurance number but using my American passport and Michigan State driver's licence as identification documents, we were able to set up the account.

Rose assured me that I would get my permanent Royal Bank of Canada debit card in the mail within a week. In the meantime, she gave me this temporary blue card to use. I had eleven hundred dollars in cash on me so I put half of it on my account right away. She seemed surprised to see my U.S. dollars but I couldn't care less. I had a lot of shit to get done before school started in September 2011. And we were already at the beginning of August. After leaving the RBC office, I went to the bank across the street. The Toronto Dominion Bank or TD Bank. I created an account with them as well. I also loaded my Toronto Dominion Bank debit card with cash right away. I drove back to Vanier feeling real good. I poured money into both accounts and used them to pay for school. I opted to take three classes as a first-year student in the business administration program at Carleton University in September 2011. Then I went on campus and had a student ID card made for me. The chick at the Carleton University Student Association office seemed to be feeling because she let me take three pictures and chose the best of them as my ID photo. I look real fly on my Carleton University student card, man. Like a player.

August went by really fast, and I started school eagerly come September 2011. I went by the International Students office and chatted with Aziza. The gorgeous Arab chick seemed really happy to see me. I kept getting lost in the various buildings on campus and she offered to be my guide. I found Aziza really friendly. We became friends, of a sort, and I learned a bit more about her. Aziza was born in Lebanon but she grew up all over the place. Her wealthy Lebanese family had business holdings in the Caribbean, Europe and North America. This gal has lived in the town of Kingston, Jamaica, and also the City of Melbourne, Australia. Not to mention Sussex in the United Republic.

Prior to moving to the region of Ontario, Canada, Aziza lived in the City of Johannesburg, in the Republic of South Africa. And before that, she spent a summer in the Home Islands in the Japanese Archipelago. Hearing her speak of these places was fascinating. I only know Michigan, and even then, Detroit is all I know. I visited other towns like Racine and Dearborn but that was way back. I barely remembered those places. This is my first time setting foot outside the United States of America, and I didn't exactly do it willingly. I left Michigan and came to Ontario because my life was in danger. Speaking to Aziza and hearing about her travels and her amazing life reminded me that I hadn't done enough living. Not good, clean living anyway. I promised myself to appreciate life more. Aziza had a lot of questions for me. She wanted to know about my family and friends. I was hesitant with my answers.

Shall I tell her about my father, Michigan State Police officer Nathaniel Winters, the man who tried everything to save me from myself and failed miserably? Or do I tell Aziza about my mother Arianne Saint-Jerome, an immigrant from the island of Haiti who came to the United States a decade before my birth, studied Nursing at Wayne State University and always gave the best of herself to my father, myself and the rest of our family? I told Aziza that my parents were in Michigan and they were doing just fine. Truth be told, I hadn't spoken to my parents in months. Even before I moved to Ontario, my parents and I weren't talking. I imagined that I was dead to them. And honestly, I couldn't blame them for the way I turned out. My older brother Jacob Winters graduated from the University of Detroit Mercy with his civil engineering doctorate's last year. He's happily married to a lovely Haitian-American woman named Nadine Joseph. They have a son together, my nephew Little Joey. My sister Jasmine Winters is currently at Wayne State University, the school I should have gone to. She's engaged to this mixed dude named Ernesto Gomez. He's half Black and half Puerto Rican or something along those lines. To hear my sister speak of him he's an okay guy, a Probation officer with the Metro Detroit Municipal Court system. See? My family is a wonderful family. They're all doing good. I'm the Black Sheep. I got no excuse for what I've done. I can only blame myself for how I turned out.

I couldn't tell Aziza all this. From what I know of the Arabs, they form really close-knit family units. Love and honor above all. This fine Persian goddess couldn't understand my dysfunction. Best I let think I'm exactly what I appear to be. A young African-American taking up higher education in Ottawa, Ontario. Aziza seemed to like me. And I was glad, because I liked her too. In the past, I mainly dealt with Black chicks and Hispanic women. The sisters in Canada didn't appear to be feeling a brother like me. A lot of them, like Rose the RBC account manager, got 'white man fever'. I would have been bummed about that if I didn't have Aziza. I invited her to dinner to thank her for all her help. Smiling coyly, Aziza asked me if this was a date. I grinned smugly. Of course. She smiled, and assured me she wouldn't miss it for the world. And just like that, we had our first 'date'.

Aziza Al-Fatah and I met at this quaint little Italian restaurant inside the Saint Laurent Mall for our first 'date'. She looked really lovely in a shiny red dress. I looked alright in a navy blue silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black Timberland shoes. We sat there, eating some delicious pasta while talking about...anything and everything, really. Aziza regaled me with tales of her travels and her life in multiple parts of the globe. She spoke fluent French, English, Farsi, Arabic, Spanish and even some Swahili, which she picked up in Africa. Wow. I speak two languages, English and profane. That's about it. Aziza laughed when I said that. She wanted to know more about my life in Michigan. I told her that I did odd jobs here and there, and moved from place to place all over Detroit and beyond. She found that odd but didn't press me for details. Looking her in the eyes, I told her that I had a life-changing experience recently and decided to change my ways. I wanted to focus on the things that mattered such as education, friends and family. I also told Aziza that I was loving my new life in Ontario, and I was quickly growing fond of some of the locals. Aziza smiled at that. I winked at her. Cheesy, right? I know. But hey, chicks are chicks, man. You got to tell them what they want to hear.

After dinner, Aziza and I went to the movies. We saw the movie Thor. It was pretty good. Afterwards, we walked together through the Carleton campus, which was bigger than I thought. It was actually pretty warm in the Fall in Ottawa, and I enjoyed walking with Aziza. My pretty Persian goddess linked her arm with mine while we walked. I smiled at that, secretly thrilled about it but I acted cool. We walked until we ended up at the University Center, and Aziza reminded me that was the spot where we met, months ago. I smiled at that. It feels like a long time ago but it was only sixty three days, not that I counted. Standing under the stars with this Persian beauty, I felt a burning urge to kiss her. Yet I was nervous as hell. It's weird, you know? I'm the kind of guy who stares down mobsters who are armed to the teeth and I routinely taunted them back in Michigan. I mocked a redneck cop in upstate Michigan while he had a gun trained on me at the end of a wild night involving me, lots of beer and some Puerto Rican honeys. In all those occasions, I wasn't nervous. Or even seriously worried. Yet here I was, standing in front of the deserted University Center with this truly beautiful young woman, and I was terrified.

Aziza looked at me and grinned. And then, without warning, she stood on her tippy toes....and kissed me. Yep. The gorgeous Persian goddess just kissed me...and I didn't even see it coming. I looked at Aziza and smiled. She cocked an eyebrow. Wow. She had really sweet lips. I told her as much. She grinned, and we continued walking in silence. This isn't the first time a chick has kissed me without warning. However, it was the first time someone as hot as Aziza had the hots for me. I walked her back to her residence, and said goodnight. This time, I kissed her. Just a quick peck on the lips. Aziza smiled, and told me she'd see me tomorrow. Before she left, she stood there and looked into my eyes. Suddenly, there was a shyness about her smile. She leaned closer to me, and told me she could see herself falling for me. Wow. I couldn't believe it. What's a guy supposed to say to that? I smiled and nodded graciously, and watched her amazing figure as she disappeared inside the building. I went back to the parking lot, smiling so much I'm surprised my face didn't split permanently like the Joker's. Man. She's really into me. Wow. She is something else, huh?

I went back to my apartment, feeling like a million bucks. Looks like everything is falling into place. New school? Check. New place to stay? Got it. New love interest? Hell yeah to the power of ten! Aziza is fine as hell. A five-foot-eleven, absolutely sexy and curvy Persian goddess with long, curly Black hair, light brown eyes and dark bronze skin. Not to mention she's got a derriere that sisters back in Detroit would envy. Hmmm. Folks, I'm starting to feel glad that I'm in Canada. I'm loving my new life in Ottawa, Ontario. I even got a new job as a librarian's assistant ( just ten hours a week on weekends ) on campus. Getting the job actually worried me, but I didn't have any felony convictions in Michigan, only a long list of misdemeanors. Nothing to prevent me from finding gainful employment either in the United States or Canada. Since it looks like I'll be in Ontario for a while, I might as well create an employment history for myself. I recently received my Ontario health card and social insurance card in the mail. I'm still using my Michigan State driver's licence, though. Like I said, I don't know for how long I'll be here.

I can't stop thinking about the lovely Aziza. And this isn't the usual me talking. Yes, she's lovely but I think what I'm feeling for her is deeper than what I usually feel for the women who come into my life. This gal is special. Aziza Al-Fatah. A Christian woman from the Republic of Lebanon. One thing she said to me kept coming back into my thoughts. Family is everything, Aziza always says. I smile. I think she's right. When I got home, I sat in front of the computer. I crept on family members on Facebook. My older brother Jacob, and his family. My sister Jasmine and her man Gomez. My parents, Nathaniel and Arianne Winters. Seeing them all almost brought tears to my eyes. Almost. I opened up Microsoft Word and began typing up a letter. Actually, I sat down and typed up several letters.