My name is Samuel Clarence Marcelin, and I am a young man of African-American descent living in the City of Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. Like many men the world over, I find Arab culture fascinating...especially the ladies of that culture. I came here at the behest of my employer, Magyar Ltd, a Hungarian-American civil engineering company that does a lot of work with the Gulf States. How I got there is a story in and of itself...
How does a 27-year-old African-American male land himself an executive position with one of the world's largest companies? Well, it has much to do with my intelligence and charm, as well as my ability to talk people into doing things for me. Oh, and I made sure I knew the right people, of course. In this world, it's as much who you know as it is what you know. Never let anyone tell you different.
"Dude, you should totally come work for my uncle," said Randy Magyar, as we grabbed lunch together inside the Copley Mall food court in downtown Boston. I looked at Randy, a short, stocky white dude with reddish brown hair and smiled while looking right into his green eyes. I waited a moment and sipped on my Pepsi, then chewed on the delicious Chinese food we were eating before answering him.
"I'll think about it, bro, I like to keep my options open," I replied, and Randy nodded, then continued wolfing down his plate of fried rice and orange chicken. We met at the Boston Public Library during my sophomore year at Harvard University, and have been best buds ever since. I've basically carried Randy Magyar through his business classes. And it's about time I got a return on my investment. Exactly six weeks after graduation, I got hired by Magyar Ltd.
"Marcelin, my nephew speaks highly of you, and your credentials are impeccable, welcome to the team," said Jonathan Magyar, a tall, silver-haired patrician clad in a stylish dark blue Brooks Brothers suit. I smiled and shook the elder Magyar's hand, then nodded at Randy, who smiled at me.
The three of us were sitting inside the Club Café in Boston's trendy Back Bay Area, and I must say, I was having trouble not gushing as the elder Magyar showered me with praise. Randy's uncle was definitely no fool, and he knew that I basically did his nephew's homework for him for years. Largely thanks to me, Randy got to graduate from Harvard University, the family's alma mater, thus sparing the Magyar clan much embarrassment, and the old man thanked me accordingly.
"Thank you for this opportunity sir," I said with a smile, nodding earnestly at Jonathan Magyar, who sipped on his tea, and then abruptly changed the subject. Sitting in this neat little café, one of a thousand quaint places frequented by the stiff upper crust in Boston, I felt a strange feeling of exhilaration. I've certainly come a long way from my humble beginnings, that's for sure...
I was born in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, on February 7, 1989. My father, Travis Marcelin was a Haitian-American immigrant, and my mother, Elisabeth Conrad, was white. Both died from gunshot wounds sustained during a drive-by when I was only a few months old, and my maternal grandmother Harriet Marcelin raised me.
Life in the so-called City of Champions wasn't easy. In a town teeming with minorities of all hues, from Cape Verdeans to Haitians, Jamaicans, Mexicans and Chinese people, I was the odd man out. Half black and half white, and orphaned to boot. I used to get teased in high school for my caramel-hued skin, my curly black hair and my lime-green eyes. I grew up hearing that I was too black or too white. Made me mad as hell, but I fought against the haters the best way I knew. I ignored them.
In the summer of 2006, I graduated from Brockton High School and won an academic scholarship to Harvard University. How about that? From the school of hard knocks to the Ivy League. Movies get made about shit like that. Now, even in liberal Boston, with Deval Patrick as the State of Massachusetts first African-American Governor, there is a lot of prejudice. It's subtle but it's ever-present, folks.
Wealthy white kids at Harvard University weren't exactly warm and welcoming towards people like me. To be fair, the few wealthy African-American, Hispanic and Asian youths I met at school weren't sure what to make of me either. Race and class divided me from everyone else. I was exception with a capital E. I didn't come from a wealthy household. My parents didn't own yachts, nor did they own summer houses in the Hamptons or Martha's Vineyard. I was just a broke mixed dude from Brockton with a Genius-level IQ, a vicious streak the length of Mississippi, and an appetite for the finer things in life. Needless to say, the rich white brats at Harvard didn't know what hit them!
I befriended Randy Magyar, the loser son of a wealthy Hungarian-American family, and we became best buds. Opposites do attract, folks. Randy and I were both outcasts. Me because, well, I'm Black and male in the Ivy League and Randy because he's a natural-born shmuck. Through him I rubbed elbows with Boston's elite. Men and women whose families numbered among the United States of America's movers and shakers no matter how far back one goes.
Harvard University is a minefield if you're smart, talented, ambitious and not white. The same liberal white people with Obama T-shirts will turn on you in a second if they feel you're a threat to them. Black plus male plus intelligent equals threat in the eyes of white people. That's something I never allowed myself to forget, folks.
On the Ivy League campus, I made the right connections, befriending the right guys and dating the right girls. A social chameleon, that's what I was. In the end, my hard work and clever machinations got me a Harvard University MBA, and one hundred and twenty grand a year as an executive with Magyar Ltd. I was ready to take on the world, but nothing could have prepared me for the United Arab Emirates.
"How would you feel about going to Dubai to check out our operations there?" said my direct manager, Eileen Pimental. I looked at the tall, blonde-haired Latina in the sharp business and white blouse, and forced a smile. Truth be told, I'd been lobbying for a foreign assignment like crazy, but it was still a surprise when I actually got it.
Alright, I'll stop bullshitting you for a second. For any business executive working in America today, a foreign assignment is the chance to prove yourself. To walk with the big dogs, so to speak. My only competition ran into some problems. Rachel Slade, a tall, gorgeous redhead with a Yale University MBA, was a shoe-in for the Middle-East assignment, until our company's highly conservative leaders discovered that she'd had an abortion during her college days.
As for my other competitor, a sharp Japanese-American gentleman named Rupert Yasimoto, proud Wharton School of Business grad, let's just say that he had other problems. Rupert is one of those guys who seems just too good to be truth. Tall, smart, handsome, and impeccably dressed. I dug up into his personal's life, and found out that he had a penchant for young guys. I leaked that little tidbit to the higher ups, anonymously of course, and you can guess the rest.
Now, I felt kind of bad about exposing Rupert Yasimoto's gayness to the company's uptight managers. After all, I've got certain sexual secrets myself. I love BDSM, especially dominant women in leather outfits who, ahem, crack the whip. Still, unlike Rupert Yasimoto, I know how to be discrete while satisfying my cravings, and I know better than to get caught. Survival of the fittest, people.
"Thank you for the opportunity, ma'am, I won't let you down," I said to Ms. Pimental, who smiled and nodded. I've been dreaming of visiting the Arab world for ages. Long have I dreamed of traveling to other places. A lot of African-Americans think America is the be-all and end-all of all existence. Me? I want to see places like Paris, Johannesburg, Accra, Vienna, Sao Paolo and London. I want to experience life outside America, and become a truly global citizen. And I'll destroy anyone who tries to get in my way.
When I arrived in Dubai, the capital of the United Arab Emirates absolutely blew me away. Instantly I became fascinated with Emirati culture...and Arab ladies. Now, given what conventional wisdom and pop culture tell us about the state of gender relations in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the idea of a sexually liberated and downright dominant Saudi Arabian Muslim woman exploring the world of BDSM might shock the hell out of you. That's okay, because that was my initial reaction as well, ladies and gentlemen.
It's no secret that Arab societies are fairly conservative when it comes to sexual relations as well as the socio-cultural norms between men and women. Dubai, the crown jewel of the United Arab Emirates, is a place like no other. In the same mega-mall, you might see a tall blonde-haired white woman in a miniskirt and halter top and a Hijab-wearing brown woman of African or Arabian descent. That's the beauty of Dubai, almost anything goes.
There are so many foreigners living in Dubai, mostly Europeans but also sizeable numbers of Chinese and South Asians as well. Of course, like many Arab nations, a large number of Africans live in the United Arab Emirates as well. I came here for business, but I was also determined to have myself some fun. I didn't spend all those years at Harvard University, earning first a bachelor's degree in psychology then an MBA, to become a stiff.
