From Yemen with Love in Ottawa

A lot of people say that Islam is violent, the religion of extremists and dangerous people. To back up these words, the haters point out to the worst examples of Muslims that the Ummah has to offer. Among all races, all religions and all cultures, you will find both the good and the evil. I am Muslim, but I have many friends who are Christian, Jewish and even Buddhists. I do not consider all my Jewish friends to be Zionist creeps like Israel's very own Benjamin Netanyahu, the great killer of Arabs, nor do I compare my friendly and well-meaning Christian pals to Adolf Hitler, the great killer of Jews. Why then must they compare the average Muslim to that creep, Osama Bin Laden?

I say that these sayings are false, and I would like to use my own husband's life as an example. My name is Faiza Suleiman, and I was born in the City of Thila, on the western bend of the Republic of Yemen, to a Yemeni father and Somali mother. My parents Ali and Fowziya Suleiman moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, in the fourth summer of my life, in 1993. We've been living here ever since. I consider myself a proud citizen of Canada and I love this country. I am loyal to it to my dying day, this I swear before Allah. I just want my fellow Canadians to stop making wrongful assumptions about my great religion.

I've always been a devout Muslim, not an easy thing to be in the secular world of Canada's Capital region. I barely remember Yemen, the land of my birth. It's been so long since I set foot there. Also, being half Somali and half Yemeni has given me a unique appreciation for race and culture, for I am the daughter of two worlds. My skin is dark bronze, my hair is long and kinky, like an African's, and my eyes are golden brown. Many don't know what to make of me. People often assumed that I was Hispanic when they met me, back when I went around sans hijab. I always told them the truth, that I have an African mother and an Arab father.

My parents often told me that their parents opposed their marriage, but they ran away to be together. Somalia is right next to Yemen, and although our peoples have historically gotten along, and share ties of blood as well as faith, Arab/African relations can be tense at times. The noble Quran itself decries racism, and proclaims that the African, the European, the Arab, the Asian and all other races are all descended from Adam and Eve, the first people created by Allah, the one true God.

In Islam, the only way one man may be considered better than another is through piety and good conduct. Any man who claims to be Muslim and believes himself superior to another based on his skin color is going against the very foundations of Islam. My parents raised me to be proud of myself, but they also instilled within me the belief that all human beings are Allah's offspring. When my family and I first arrived in Ottawa, we were in awe of the beautiful Capital and the land that welcomed us in the name of multiculturalism and tolerance. And then we learned better.

I saw a lot of racism in Ottawa, as a young woman of color I couldn't evade it. Many young white men I saw had nothing but hatred in their hearts and spewed hateful slurs about those different from themselves. I've been harassed, teased, and even assaulted. I tried to never let them get to me. I'm only five-foot-six and weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet but I carried myself like a queen. You've got to remember that you're made in God's image and that you have worth when you're dealing with white racism and white privilege. You can't let the person making fun of you because of your color or culture get to you. You've got to be strong.

After high school, I attended Carleton University, where I earned a bachelor's degree in criminology. I originally wanted to study law, but Carleton doesn't have a law school and the only law school within Ottawa is at the University of Ottawa. At first I was intimidated at the prospect of attending Ottawa U since I don't speak French and they're a bilingual institution run by French Canadians. You've got to understand that historically, the French Canadian community has been quite hostile to us Muslims.

In Quebec, they're enacting laws to make life very hard for those who follow our religion. Nevertheless, I decided that I would meet this challenge head-on. I am a servant of Allah. I do not fear racists. I do not fear bigots. I do not fear sexists. I fear only Allah, the one true God, Creator of everything we see and everything we don't see. Let the French Canadians come at me if they must. Allah sometimes sends tests to His believers, and we must prove ourselves. I applied to the University of Ottawa School of Law after acing the LSAT the summer after I graduated from Carleton University, and I got accepted. Masha'Allah, it was a happy moment!

My parents took me to East Side Mario's restaurant to celebrate. I was happy, and my parents were proud of me. My little brother Hassan bought me a rose with money from his plastic piggy bank. Such a touching gesture for a lad of only eight summers! As I dined and celebrated with my family, I was aware of people staring at us. An Arab man, his Black wife, and their son and daughter, that's what the mostly white crowd patronizing the restaurant saw. We're the cultural other, because of our skin colors and our Muslim faith. I wear the hijab, but my mother does not. So what? We're just a family like any other, having a good time.

The white people in that restaurant gawked at us, but we refused to let them get to us. Each Muslim knows himself and herself to be a creation of Allah. We have a purpose. We are righteous. We're God's people. How can bigots stand against us? The Persians once believed themselves superior to Muslims, but Islam conquered them. The pre-Islamic Turks also believed themselves superior to Arabs and others, and we taught them humility after conquering them in the name of Islam. We've conquered much of supposedly invincible Europe itself, and even today, many Albanians, Kosovars, Bosnians and other white men and white women living in eastern Europe follow the path of Islam. Let these Canadian bigots smirk at us. God will grant us victory over their bigotry and racism.

When I began my legal studies at the University of Ottawa in September 2013, I experienced a brand new world. Law school is a highly competitive, at times treacherous environment. A lot of the white students have a hard time with the presence of so many Arabs, Africans and Asians in their classrooms. Oh, they're not too vocal about it but I have a talent for observation and discernment. If you look at me with a smile on your face and hatred in your eyes as you gaze at my hijab, I can spot you for the hypocrite you are. And if you passive-aggressively 'bump' students of color by 'accident' in the hallway, or shut an elevator when you see us coming, I know what you are. I don't hate you. Nor do I pity you. I know that I will triumph over you. Not because I'm stronger, smarter, faster or more ruthless than you. But because Allah commanded it so. Know this, Islamophobic racist creep, one who kneels before Allah can stand up to legions of enemies. Fear one thing in all there is, dear friends. Fear Allah. And nothing else.

My first semester was off to a nice start. Small class sizes are a definite plus. In one of my favorite classes, Legal Ethics, we've got thirty five students. Seventeen of us are minorities, including nine African students. Among the black students, one of them caught my eye. Victor Saint-Guillaume is big, tall and dark-skinned. And he's always wearing red and blue. Since he's one of the most outspoken students in class, a lot of us talk about him. I learned from my friend Nadine Joseph, a short dark-skinned gal with stylish braids, that Victor is of Haitian descent.

I don't know much about the Haitian people, except that there's a LOT of them in Canada, especially the major cities like Montreal, Quebec City and Toronto. Oh, and if Vincent is any indicator, then they're a lively, loud bunch. I accepted Nadine's invitation and joined the Black Students Association at the law school because I always wanted to connect with my people. I consider myself a person of color. African blood mixed with Arabian flows through my veins. I consider myself Afro-Arabian, though people mistake me for Mexican or Moroccan, depending on the days and who's doing the noticing. On my cell phone I've got pictures of my family, and I always show them with pride to my friends. It's also a good way of shutting up those ( few ) naysayers who dare question me when I say that I am part black.

I mean, yes I know my skin is kind of pale but I've got long kinky hair, a curvy body, full lips and a big round butt...not to sound stereotypical but dammit, I've definitely got some black in me! Afro-Arabian peoples are found in Morocco, Somalia, Sudan, Ethiopia, Mauritania, Egypt and many other places in the Middle East and Africa. Africans and Arabs have been intermarrying for thousands of years. Did you know that Anwar El-Sadat, the former President of Egypt, was an Afro-Arabian man who married an Egyptian Arab woman? Yeah, people like me have made history in recent times. Deal with it!

At the Black Student Union, I finally felt like I belonged. I met students from all over the places, from Somalia to Haiti, from America to Ivory Coast, from Ethiopia to Jamaica. African-descended peoples of all stripes and backgrounds. A few of them, like a tall, plump young gal named Martine Jean-Pierre, were mixed like me. Martine is originally from Montreal, Quebec. Her father Raphael Jean-Pierre is black and her mother, Janice Scott, is white. Janice and I became close friends, sharing stories of growing up mixed-race in the outwardly friendly yet subtly racist world of urban Canada. Even though I'm Muslim and Janice is Catholic, we bonded, and could totally relate to one another.

Janice told me about her ex-boyfriend Charles Sanders, a tall white guy from Calgary whom she met during her last year of undergrad at the University of Ottawa. Lots of mixed girls are drawn to white guys, and Janice was no exception, but Charles was the wrong one. When his friends would say racist jokes about minorities, he would laugh and then tease Janice when she said she was offended. After three months of hell, Janice dumped him. Then he began stalking her, and even sprayed racist graffiti on her car. Janice's parents had to get involved and they went to the police. A restraining order ended my nightmare, Janice said, her pretty face filled with sadness.

I looked at Janice, and smiled faintly. He can't hurt you anymore, I told her, and gently touched her hand. Janice smiled and nodded. Later, she would ask me if I've ever had boyfriend trouble. I shrugged at that and just laughed. I refused to answer. I've learned that lots of girls just don't understand a Muslim gal like me when I say that I've never had a boyfriend. No, I'm not a lesbian. I simply haven't had the opportunity, that's all.

All the Muslim guys at my favorite Masjid prefer dating either liberal, westernized Muslim girls or gals from the Christian communities. Virtually any Muslim guy will pick a hot gal in a short skirt and tank top over a Hijabi like myself any day of the week. I'm considered boring. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't go to clubs. I don't like big parties. Oh, and I dress modestly and pray five times a day. Most young Muslim men my age are out there sowing their wild oats, as they say. I have never accepted or rejected an offer from a guy, because I've never had one. I'm the Muslim sister who walks with the Koran tucked under my arm. My parents and my Imam think the world of me. The guys my age are allergic to me. It's the pious woman's dilemma, you see.

I won't tell you how many times I cried myself to sleep, wishing I had a husband to love me and hold me in his arms. I felt invisible to the men of my faith. As I walked through malls, restaurants and movie theaters in Ottawa, usually flanked by my friends Nadine and Martine, I saw Muslim guys with blonde-haired white girls. It seems all Muslim men want blondes, doesn't matter if the Muslim brother in question is Arab, Somali, Turkish or Pakistani. They're like Tiger Woods or something. My heart bristled with jealousy as I sat in movie theaters, alone, as I watched Muslim guys make out with their Kafir girlfriends.

At times, I felt like there was no justice in the world. Allah knows best, that's what I told myself. One day, through some rather strange circumstances, my prayers were answered. I was walking through Vanier, on my way to my favorite Masjid, when I was accosted by a pair of tall white guys in baseball caps. They looked at me with malice in their eyes. I stood my ground, and told them to leave me alone. They laughed and taunted me. What could I, a woman alone, do to them? Not for the first time I wished I had a man's strength. I'd make short work of these two if I did.

My situation looked dire, but fortunately, the Most High sent an angel to save me. Out of nowhere a big and tall black man came, and stepped between me and my aggressors. Leave the sister alone or I'll beat your motherfucking asses, the burly brother bellowed. I could only see his back but he was very tall, large and dark-skinned. His sudden appearance seemed to unsettle the white guys, they who had been so cocky moments before. One seemed ready to bolt, but the other hesitated. The brother pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, and told them he'd cut them if they stepped closer. That did it, the two white guys took off like rabbits seeing a wolf.

My savior turned around, and I gasped when I saw his face. It was Vincent Saint-Guillaume, the loud black guy from my Legal Ethics class. He looked at me, a curious look on his face. I know you lady? he asked, stroking his bearded chin. I smiled at him. I am Faiza from school thank you for helping me, I said breathlessly. Vincent looked at me, realization dawning on him. No worries I'm Vince, he said, extending his big hand for me to shake.

I looked at him, a big and tall young black man wearing a Tupac Shakur T-shirt, blue jeans and boots, with a Montreal Canadiens hat on backwards. Usually, pious Muslim women don't shake hands with men they aren't related to. It's an ancient tradition that goes back to the days of the Prophet Mohammed himself. I'm as pious as Muslim women get, sorry if that sounds less than humble. Yet for some reason, I shook Vincent's hand. Good to meet you my brother, I said, laughing nervously.

Vincent Saint-Guillaume put his knife back in his pocket, and walked me to my destination. The Masjid sat atop the hill, right next to a church. Who says Muslims can't get along with other faiths? He looked past me, at the nondescript building and asked me what type of place it was. My mosque, I said with pride, then I nodded courteously at him and made my way through the Masjid's parking lot, toward the sisters entrance. Man, I had a BIG story to share with my Mom, Dad and little brother when I got home after prayers that night!

Allah put this young man on your path to help you, my father said to me as I shared my story with the family at supper time. My mom looked at me with worry in her eyes. If I were there I would have kicked their butts, little Hassan said angrily. I rubbed my little brother's head and laughed. He's going to be a strong man someday, he's already protective of his sister. May he not grow up too fast. After supper, I went to the family computer and did my homework, then I checked my Facebook messages. Out of curiosity I typed Vincent's name on the Facebook search page, and was surprised to see that we had a friend in common, Nadine. I sent him a friend request, along with a short message thanking him from the bottom of my heart for saving me. That night, I went to bed with a smile on my face. What an amazing day!

The next time I saw Vincent, he was at the school library, working on a paper for his Common Law 101 class. He smiled when he saw me, and pulled the chair next to him. We talked about last night's incidents, and he asked me if I was okay. I nodded, then quizzed him about something that had been bothering me. Why was he carrying a knife? Vincent shrugged and told me Vanier was a dangerous neighborhood. I had to concur. My family and I live in Orleans, and it's quiet, diverse and affluent. Vanier is the "hood". Lots of nice people, to be sure, but also quite a few unsavory characters. There's gangs and shootings in the area.

I pray for your safety, I told Vincent, who smiled and nodded. Not for the first time I noticed that Vincent was quite handsome, especially when he smiles. Big, tall and brawny, he looked like he should be playing for the Canadian Football League, yet he was one of the sharpest minds in our classroom. This goes to show you that stereotypes are useless. I was about to say something else when one of those creepy library people who likes to shush others shushed us. Grinning, Vincent got up. Follow me sister, he said. I hesitated, then got up and followed him.

We went outside, and Vincent grinned. Let's grab a coffee, he said, and I nodded. We went to a nearby Tim Horton's, and sat down. There, we talked....for two hours. I don't know why but I felt comfortable talking to Vincent. Something about him made me feel safe, like I could tell him anything. We learned a lot about each other that day. Vincent was born on the island of Haiti, and his parents, Angeline and Francois Saint-Guillaume moved to Ottawa, Ontario, in the eleventh summer of his life. Like me, Vincent is a naturalized citizen of Canada, and he's always felt like the son of two worlds. Forever at odds with Canadian society because of his skin color and foreign heritage.

Vincent told me about the white students who used to tease him at Notre Dame Academy, his old high school. I learned to fight back because God made me black and our Lord doesn't make mistakes, Vincent said with conviction, his already deep voice rising an octave. People walking near our table inside the Tim Horton's looked at us, but I ignored them. I was utterly captivated by the man sitting across from me. He's tall, dark and handsome. A God-fearing man, even though he still believes the sweet inconsistencies of Christianity. He's educated, smart and ambitious. Oh, and he's utterly fearless in the face of danger and protective of sisters. I smiled to myself. I am going to convert that man and he's going to be mine, I told myself.

At the end of our tête-à-tête Vincent and I parted ways, but not before exchanging numbers. It's an uncharacteristically bold move for me, given how shy I usually am around the opposite sex, but dammit, it felt like the right thing to do. And that's how it began, ladies and gentlemen. I called Nadine and Martine, and told them what happened. Go for it my sister, Nadine squealed. I smiled at that. Since Nadine had known Vincent since their high school days, I drilled her with questions about him. And I must say, I liked what I heard. Nadine described Vincent as a strong, outspoken brother who's proud of his African heritage, his faith in God and he's very protective of his sisters.

Apparently, Vincent has one brother, Jeremy, and three sisters, Alexandra, Francesca and Vanessa. Damn. Small wonder he jumped to my rescue. I checked Vincent's Facebook, and was amazed. The dude had a big family. Oh, and his father Francois Saint-Guillaume is a Constable with the Ottawa Police. His mom Angeline teaches web design at Herzing College. I was impressed. Vincent's parents have done well for themselves. Haitians are an industrious bunch, that's for sure. We Muslims are new to Canada and although we've made some headway, we've got a ways to go. The Mayor of Calgary, Alberta, is one of us. That's something, right?