"I love you, Rasha," Nagad 'Nana' Hussein said, and the young Somali Muslim woman gently wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. Rasha Singh beamed at Nana, moved to tears by her words. The two young women stood in the middle of the quad at Canada's Capital University, hugging tenderly and enjoying each other's company on an unseasonably warm night in late November.
"Life would suck without you, Nana, I love you too," Rasha replied, and she took Nana's lovely face in her hands, and kissed her on the lips. A long time ago, Rasha, who'd been born and raised in the Punjab region of India, would have felt too ashamed to show affection to the gal she loved in such a public setting. Not anymore. She'd come a long way since she met Nana, that's for damn sure.
When Rasha first met Nana, she was mesmerized by the young woman's confidence and uniqueness. Rasha, who grew up in a very conservative part of India, didn't think that women like Nana existed. A Hijab-wearing Muslim woman who was openly lesbian, attended Friday prayers at the local mosque every week, and had the support of her family. Like a unicorn, that's how Nana seemed to Rasha, at first.
"Let's go home," Nana said, and she proudly clasped Rasha's hand in hers, and the two of them walked from the quad to the tunnel system linking the entire university campus. As they made their way through the tunnels, heading for the university center building, Nana and Rasha saw quite a few fellow students, some of whom they knew. Happily they greeted their fellow students, unashamed to show their love.
As they reached the Atrium, Nana smiled, remembering that this was the place where they met. It was almost five years ago. Rasha was dancing in the atrium with a group of fellow South Asian students, and Nana couldn't take her eyes off the short, curvy, brown-skinned and raven-haired young woman in the brightly colored Sari who moved with a grace that Beyonce couldn't match. Only five-foot-six, Rasha carried herself with the confidence of an Amazon.
"Hmm, I remember how you looked in that Sari, girl, that booty was popping," Nana said, and Rasha giggled. Nodding, she flashed Nana a bright smile. She remembered that fateful day when she and a group of fellow Indian students, Muslims, Sikhs, Tamils and others, teamed up to form their own dance troupe. They practiced in the Atrium at school because they couldn't afford to do it anywhere else. On that day, sensing someone's gaze on her, Rasha turned, facing Nana. Their eyes met, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Nana Hussein, the deeply conservative, Hijab-wearing Muslim daughter of a Somali immigrant family, felt stirrings deep inside when she looked at Rasha. Are you like me? Nana wondered silently. Rasha, the turban-wearing, proud Sikh daughter of Indian immigrants originally from the State of Punjab, felt her heart skip a beat when she looked at Nana. The six-foot-tall, curvy, dark-skinned, Hijab-wearing Somali Muslim gal's smoldering gaze set her on edge for reasons that she did not quite comprehend in those early days...
"Yeah, you came over to holler, supposedly under the pretext of joining our troupe, but I knew what you wanted," Rasha replied, and Nana grinned, then gave her girlfriend's plump ass a firm squeeze. Rasha, who was wearing a bright red tank top and yoga pants under her burgundy fall jacket, jerked up awkwardly. Rasha shot Nana an almost reproachful look, and the Somali gal grinned and shrugged. Shaking her head, Rasha burst out laughing. She couldn't get enough of her naughty, freaky Nana...
"Hey, Rasha, I'm a sucker for a gal with a nice ass, I think it runs in my family, all my brothers got big-booty wives, I'm just following tradition," Nana said, smiling innocently, and Rasha snickered, then pursed her lips. As they got ready to exit the Atrium, a trio of young black men came toward them, talking loudly. Rasha smiled at them, and kept right on holding Nana's hand.
"Salaam, my brothers, how are you?" Rasha asked, smiling pleasantly, and the three young black men, all of whom were wearing traditional Islamic clothing, nodded gently and returned her greeting. They nodded respectfully at Nana, and then continued on their merry way. Nana looked at Rasha and smiled. In that moment, she couldn't be prouder of her beloved Rasha. This woman is amazing, Nana thought.
Nana remembered how her first girlfriend, a blonde-haired butch lesbian gal named Alexis, originally from the City of Calgary, Alberta, reacted whenever they were out together and ran into some black folks, especially black males. Alexis acted majorly uncomfortable, looking at the black males in the vicinity with a mixture of distaste and suspicion. Alexis behaved in much the same way when Nana introduced her to her brothers Ali, Musa and Suleiman.
Nana noticed Alexis subtle dislike of black males, and queried her on it. This led to a major fight, and they ended up splitting. This was the day that Nana realized that there was racism in the lesbian community, and she couldn't be with someone who hated the men of her race simply due to their skin color. Alexis never acted uncomfortable when she and Nana ran into white males, so it wasn't maleness that she minded, but blackness.
"I love their outfits, and the tall one reminded me of your older brother Ali," Rasha said, smiling at Nana, who grinned and nodded. The two young women took the stairs, and then arrived at the parking lot. They made their way to the O-Train Station, and boarded the train, which arrived a couple of minutes after they reached the platform. They sat in the first car, in the seats closest to the conductor's booth, their favorite spot, due to the privacy it afforded.
"I love your outfit and can't wait to rip it off you," Nana whispered into Rasha's ear, and then she kissed her. Rasha kissed Nana back with all the passion she could muster. It was astonishing how much she loved this fiery young woman. They were so into each other that the train rolled past Carling Avenue and reached Bayview Station without them noticing. The train conductor, a tall, sturdy woman with bronze skin and short dark hair, cleared her throat loudly.
"Oh, thank you, ma'am, we're going," Rasha said, and she grabbed Nana's hand and made a beeline for the train door while the conductor lady stood there, smiling faintly as she watched them go. Young women nowadays, she thought, utterly mystified by them. Hand in hand, Rasha and Nana made their way up the hill. They caught a 95 bus heading to Barrhaven, in the west end of the City of Ottawa, Ontario. It was packed, and they ended squished against each other, which they didn't mind at all.
