Lebanese Girls Into Blac Studs

When people speak of race and add the volatile term "purity" to the mix, the normally kinky hairs on the back of my head always prick up. I've always been the consummate outsider wherever I go, too much of a "Spic" for the purebred Arabs I meet, and too much of a "towelhead" for the Latin American community as a Muslim Latina. Know what I say to both of them? A gigantic fuck you with an extra serving of up yours, that's what! I choose to be me! The name is Cristobel Aisha Rafiq, and I was born in the City of Esperanza, Dominican Republic, to a Lebanese Muslim immigrant father, Abdullah Rafiq and an Afro-Dominican mother, Christina Dorvil-Martinez.

Sometimes, I feel ashamed of my Dominican nationality, seriously. The shit that my people do sometimes boggles the mind. Take the current Haitian-Dominican conflict for example. I don't know what Dominican president Danilo Medina was smoking when he declared that the descendants of Haitian immigrants who'd been in the DR for generations would face mass-deportation back to the island of Haiti but it must have been some powerful shit. Now, there's always been some racism against Haitians living in the DR but never to that extent. Not since the dark days of the Parsley Massacre has there been such anti-black sentiment across all segments of Dominican society.

If you were to look up stats on the Dominican Republic, you'd learn that everyone down there is seventy three percent mixed race, eleven percent sub-Saharan African and sixteen percent European. The average Dominican has Native American, African and European blood running through his or her veins. Our people are the descendants of three groups, the Native Americans who inhabited the various Caribbean isles before the arrival of the Europeans, the Spanish conquistadors who went around pillaging and raping everything in sight since 1492, and lastly, the Africans who were forcibly brought to the New World as a labor force by cruel Europeans.

No Dominican is pure anything, this I know for sure. My father Abdul Rafiq is Arab, having moved to the Dominican Republic from his hometown of Baalbek, somewhere in Lebanon, in the 1980s. My mother, Christina Martinez has mixed ancestry. Black and Hispanic blood are part and parcel of my family's history. My grandfather on my mother's side, Grandpa Joseph Dorvil, was pure Haitian and my grandmother Arianna Martinez was Hispanic. See? We're a mixed nation! Unfortunately, my people have been brainwashed to think of themselves as Europeans and to embrace Eurocentric thinking and adopt Eurocentric standards of beauty.

Let me clarify things a bit please. The average Dominican woman has dark skin, wavy hair, a curvy body, full lips, a big butt and other classical African traits. It doesn't matter if she's an olive-skinned chica or a dark-skinned sista. Take me for example. I'm five-foot-nine, chubby and busty, with wide hips and a big round ass. Yes I have light bronze skin and greenish eyes, but my hair is more than a bit nappy, my lips are full and luscious, and oh yeah, I've got a huge ass. Anyone with good sense can tell I've got a bit of black in me! The Haitian people have lived among us from day one, and aside from atrocious incidents like the Parsley Massacre of almost a century ago, and the Haitian invasion and occupation of the Dominican Republic in the 1800s, our history has been largely peaceful.

I left the Dominican Republic in 2011 to study abroad, having won a coveted international scholarship to study chemistry at Carleton University in Ontario, Canada. My family was beyond thrilled that I was able to get such an opportunity. Aside from my father, who studied at the University of Paris in France in the early 1990s, I'd be the first person in my family to complete university. My mother went to trade school, it's education but not at all the same thing as going to university. When I first set foot in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, in August 2011, I was beyond ecstatic. I'd heard so much about Canada and as an impressionable eighteen-year-old on her own for the first time, I drank it all in.

I became fascinated by all things Canadian. Indeed, I made lots of friends in my enthusiastic first days at Carleton, literally going from room to room on my residence floor, introducing myself to random guys and girls. My fresh face and enthusiasm charmed my new Canadian friends, especially this tall gal named Marjorie Vincent. Marjorie and I would end up becoming best friends. This tall, dark-skinned and curvy young black woman was born in Montreal, Quebec, to Haitian immigrant parents. Growing up in the Dominican Republic I had lots of Haitian friends. I spoke Haitian Creole as fluently as I spoke Spanish or the Lebanese Arabic I learned from my Padre.

Marjorie had been in metropolitan Ottawa a few months longer than I had and was delighted to show me all the cool spots in my new town. We went clubbing in places like the Living Room Lounge, Maverick and Mansion. We added each other on Facebook and sent each other Instagram pictures. We hung out in each other's dorms on weekends, smoking and talking about the cute guys on campus. Marjorie introduced me to her boyfriend, a tall, red-haired and green-eyed guy named Sean O'Neill. An international student from Galway, Ireland. Marjorie and I have very different tastes when it comes to men. The lovely Haitian-Canadian diva whom I considered the sister I never had is addicted to white guys. She's got pictures of Paul Walker, Channing Tatum and that dude from Twilight on her wall, all of them shirtless. Need I say more?

As for me, I like the tall, muscular and dark-skinned African guys I ran into on campus. They reminded me of the flirtatious Haitian guys I grew up with in the town of Esperanza. One day, Marjorie and I went to a Haitian party in the town of Gatineau, a few blocks from the Ontario/Quebec border, and I met the cutest guy I'd seen in a long time. Ralph Dumont. Six feet tall, lean and muscular, with dark skin, a shaved head, and a small goatee. Like Marjorie, Ralph was born and raised in Montreal, and was of Haitian descent. My sister-from-another-mother saw me eyeballing the tall chocolate stud and saved me from my shy self by introducing us. Hello senorita, Ralph said, winking at me.

Sakapfet zanmi mwen, I said, looking Ralph in the eye. Upon hearing me speaking Creole, he did a double take. I smiled and told him I'm from the DR, so I know my Haitians. Ralph looked me up and down, and smiled. For the rest of the evening, he didn't leave my side. We exchanged numbers that night, and added each other on Facebook. I don't usually give my number out like that, but I had a good feeling about Ralph. See, a lot of Haitian guys act like they're players because it's what's expected of young men their age in Caribbean culture. I do love their swagger, plus they're snappy dressers and smooth talkers. However, I could tell there was more to Ralph than that.

Three days after we first met, Ralph invited me to go see a movie with him. We went to the Silver City movie theater in Ottawa's east end, and saw the flick REAL STEEL. I've been a big fan of Australian actor Hugh Jackman ever since I first saw him as Wolverine in the first X-Men movie, a LONG time ago. I had fun in the theater, and Ralph was a true gentleman, even if I did catch him checking out my butt. After the movie, he took me to a neat little Haitian restaurant called Soleil Des Iles and we ate some delicious Haitian food. Over dinner, I got to know him better. It turns out that my first impression of Ralph was true, there was more to him than being a well-dressed, smooth-talking player. He was studying civil engineering at the University of Ottawa. When I asked him why he left Montreal for boring-ass Ottawa, Ralph smiled and told me he had enough of the party life in MTL.

Well I'm glad you chose our fair city, I smiled at him. Ralph winked at me. Just how glad are you? he asked with a seductive grin. I gently touched his arm. Yon jou kap vini mwen pral montre ou, I said. Translation? One of these days I'll show you just how glad I am that you're in town. Ralph nodded and licked his lips, a gesture that registered with a certain part of my womanly anatomy. Alright mamas, he smiled. We left the restaurant about an hour later, and took a nice walk around Vanier before returning to the Saint Laurent Mall. Ralph put me on the bus heading to Carleton, and wished me goodnight. See you soon pretty lady, he smiled. Spreading his arms, he tried to give me a hug. I stepped forward, and instead of hugging him I planted a kiss on his cheek, in the Haitian manner. Na we pita, I said, wishing him goodbye in Creole.

And just like that, I smiled at ralph and confidently walked into the bus, leaving the player-ish Haitian stud standing there, mouth agape. Ralph waved at me meekly as the bus drove away. I smiled to herself. Oh yeah, I got him right where I want him. I picked up my Blackberry and called Marjorie, filling her in on every detail of my 'date'. Sounds like you've got this Haitian kompere ( buddy ) wrapped around your little finger, Marjorie laughed. Not yet but soon, I said confidently. My best friend laughed some more, and told me to watch out for Haitian guys. They're all players that's why I switched to white guys, Marjorie said. I got a good feeling about Ralph, I countered.

Marjorie went on and on about the last black guy she dated, a Haitian guy named Jean Louis whom she met at church, and how she caught him in bed with a white woman. I kept saying 'yeah' and 'uh huh' as she went on, but I didn't really listen. I kept thinking about Ralph, how great he looked and how wonderful he smelled. A cute black guy who's smart and definitely going places, and he's single. Ha! Not for long. If Marjorie wants to forsake black men, that's more than fine by me. More delicious chocolate studs for yours truly. Let her have all the white guys. They don't do Jack for me, except maybe Aussie stud Hugh Jackman but a guy that fine has got to be married or gay. After listening to Marjorie for about half an hour, I stifled a yawn, told her I had a paper to write and then wished her goodnight. I love Marjorie like a sister but he's quite the talker and if you don't tell her you've got to go she'll talk your ear off. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about.

That night, I lay on my bed thinking about the handsome Ralph Dumont. I've got to have that man and what I want I usually get. Three weeks and several movie and restaurant dates later, I pretended to be surprised when a very cute but nervous Ralph asked me to be his lady. I accepted, of course, and we've been going out ever since. November 17, 2011, that's the day we officially started going out. It's been a wonderful couple of years. I'm happy to say that I'm satisfied with virtually all aspects of our relationship. Ralph isn't just easy on the eyes, the brother is packing some serious heat between his legs and he knows how to use it. Even if he could use some direction in the bedroom. He knows how to make my toes curl, and that's that.

Like any couple, Ralph and I have our ups and downs. The differences between our faiths have proven to be tough to get over but it's not an insurmountable obstacle. Yes, I'm a Muslim woman and my boyfriend Ralph is a Christian. I've never been really religious, and neither is my father. Indeed, my very Catholic mother Christina Martinez refused to convert to Islam when she married him and he never pressured her. I've gone to church, mosque and synagogue with my family. I believe in Allah, the same God that Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Jesus and the prophet Mohammed prayed to. The one true God, worshipped by the Jews, the Christians and us Muslims. I'm open-minded, and respectful of the traditions of other faiths. I honestly don't think God wants us ordinary mortals to fight in His name. I think it's Satan's idea. And as a believer in the one true God, I rebuke evil.

That's why I've got no problem going to church with Ralph Dumont on Sundays. Indeed, what a lot of Christians don't realize is that loving and respecting Jesus Christ the Messiah as a Messenger of God is a requirement in Islam. If you don't respect Jesus and all of God's prophets, then you're not really Muslim. Myself, I am fond of the Christians, even though I often remind them that Jesus never told anyone to worship him, indeed he told everyone he met to follow his example if they want to win God's love. Never mind, that's a conversation for another time. I like many Christian holidays, especially Christmas. I've gone caroling during the Christmas season with Marjorie, Sean and Ralph. What an oddly interesting quartet we made, that's for sure. People must have seen us walking down Bronson Ave with our Santa hats, singing loudly and thought we were drunk or something. Ha!

I have grown to love my new life in Canada, though I often miss home. My parents came to visit us last December, and I happily introduced them to Marjorie, Ralph and Sean, my new friends in Canada. Ralph was a bit nervous about meeting my parents, especially my father but I told him to relax. My mom is half black and half Hispanic, and my father is an Arab immigrant. They're the last people who would have a problem with their daughter dating interracially. I am equally proud of my Lebanese and Afro-Dominican roots, and I know that I am definitely a person of color. People in Ottawa keep asking me if I'm Moroccan or Brazilian. I've never been to either of these places but I'm told I look like I'm from there. Weird.

My boyfriend Ralph and I now live in an apartment together, a few blocks from campus. I didn't want to live in Gatineau even though rent is cheaper down there because I don't speak a lick of French. Ralph thought learning Quebec French would be easy for me since I already spoke Spanish and Haitian Creole but he was wrong. Quebec French is the hardest language in the world to understand. I swear learning Klingon or Martian would be easier. Life is alright for ralph and I, or was, until the messy conflict between Dominicans and Haitians erupted after the Dominican president wrote into law his racist new policies. The man thoughtlessly rendered hundreds of thousands of Haitians who'd lived in the DR virtually stateless. There's been rampant violence against Haitians since President Danilo Medina's racist policies became the law of the land.

I can't tell you how bad I feel when I read this stuff on the Facebook posts of my Haitian friends. Pictures of a Haitian man tied to a wooden post, tortured by Dominican authorities. Recently, two Haitian men died because a mob of angry Dominicans blamed them for the death of an elderly Dominican couple. They killed these men for being Haitian, with no trial or proof of guilt or anything like that. That's not right and that's not fair. I am a citizen of the Dominican Republic and I've got the blood of Haitians running through my veins on my mother's side, the blood of Arabs through my father and I've definitely got Hispanic blood in me. None of the racist bullshit that's going on in the Dominican Republic is okay by me.

This conflict has brought problems into my relationship with Ralph. You see, Ralph's grandmother Regina Dumont lives in Dajabon, a town located right on the border between the Republic of Haiti and the Dominican nation. It's been the epicenter of racist violence as Haitians and Dominicans clashed after Dominican president Danilo Medina's racist edict against Haitians and Afro-Dominicans. Ralph was in tears when they told him that his grandmother was hospitalized after being attacked in her own home, where she'd lived for three decades, by her Dominican neighbors. I hate those Dominican bastards, Ralph said angrily, tears streaming down his face.

We were in the living room, watching YouTube videos posted by Haitians in Canada and around the world, their reactions to the racist violence perpetrated by Dominicans. Not all Dominicans are like these racist creeps, I said meekly, looking at Ralph. He looked at me, a dark look in his eyes, and for a moment, those lovely eyes of his which I loved looking into as we made love, they were cold, like the eyes of a stranger. I need some air, Ralph said, and got up. I went to him, and put my arms around him. Talk to me sweetie, I begged. Ralph pried my hands away. I need to get out of here before I say something I'll regret, Ralph said, then he took off.

I sat in the darkened living room, silent. All alone with my thoughts. Outside, a snow storm raged but I didn't care. The look in Ralph's eyes, I simply couldn't get it out of my head. He's never looked at me like that before. It was as if he were looking at an enemy, or someone he strongly disliked, instead of me, the woman he professed to love. The woman who'd shared his bed for the past two years. Surely he knew that I wasn't like the others. I mean, I love Ralph and made no bones about letting him know it. I introduced him to my family and friends as my amigo de Corazon. I deserved better than what he dished my way just now, but his people are having a rough time so I understand if he's a little emotional...at least that's what I told myself.

A couple hours later, Ralph returned, his eyes red. We need to talk, he said. I looked at him and smiled nervously. That's my line, I said, biting my lip. Ralph put his arm around me and we went to the couch. He looked into my eyes, and gently stroked my chin. Sorry I took my frustration out on you earlier, he said. I looked at him, and all the love I felt for this knucklehead came flooding back. Honestly, when he told me we needed to talk, I thought he was going to dump me or something. I thought that maybe he saw me as the enemy, after all I am a Dominican woman at the end of the day. Well, a Lebanese-flavored Dominican woman with some African roots anyways.

It's all good zanmi mwen, I told Ralph, putting my arms around him protectively. Sometimes I love this lad so much I wish I could protect him from the world. Ralph kissed me, then told me he'd just gotten some good news. His grandma was going to be okay, and relatives from Cap-Haitien were coming to Dajabon's Ramon Matias Mella Hospital to pick her up. Thank God for that, ralph said, tears of joy streaming down his face. I'm glad your grandma is okay babe and I want you to know I'm your side, I said, kissing him again. Ralph smiled, and next thing I knew, he lifted me bodily and carried me to the bedroom.

This Haitian warrior wants to invade the DR, he said, licking his lips lustily as he laid me on the bed. I hastily slipped out of my tank top and sweatpants, and Ralph feasted his eyes on my curvaceous, naked body. Just so you know I'm not the type of chick who wears underwear, except when I've got my monthly visitor. I looked at my tall, dark and handsome Haitian stud and grinned. Come and get this pussy my Haitian warrior, I teased, winking at Ralph and spreading my legs invitingly. Ralph leapt into my arms, and we began making love. Fuck the world and its bigotry and intolerance, when we're together, only love reigns.