Meet Tabassum "Taba" Amajan, a lovely lady living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Born in the environs of Kandahar, Afghanistan, Taba moved to Canada with her family a long time ago. After her parents Mahmoud and Fareeda Amajan passed away, Taba began making her way into the world as best she could. For a long time, Taba was loyal to the dictates and limitations of her proud Pashtun heritage, until she enrolled at Carleton University. While studying business there, Taba learned much about the world and about herself.
Taba found a place to rent on Bronson Avenue, within walking distance of her new campus. The Carleton University campus was friendly and diverse, even though the admin and the security staff were lily-white and politely hostile to those they didn't deem to be Canadian enough for their liking. Passive aggression and fake smiles are the way of things in Canada. Overt hostility and frank honesty are more of an American habit than a Canadian one. Taba was a smart gal, so she adjusted accordingly.
One day, while reading black erotica by Zane in a corner of the campus library, Taba was approached by a white dude named Conroy. The bespectacled, mustachioed white dude walked around with a copy of Nietzsche's Will To Power tucked under his arm. Taba met Conroy during a course on Canadian multiculturalism and found him to be something of a blowhard. The kind of polite racist who claims to know so much about other cultures, and yet believed Eurocentric ways to be superior to all.
"Taba, you're a Pashtun Muslim woman, why are you reading black erotica by Zane? Isn't it haram?" Conroy asked as he accosted her. Taba looked up from her book and sighed. For a long time now, Taba had grown fond of African American literature, especially the likes of Zane, E. Lynn Harris and Eric Jerome Dickey. The curvy, bronze-skinned and dark-haired young Pashtun Muslim woman looked Conroy up and down. This fool was going to get it...
"Listen up, white boy, don't ever presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, the days of European colonial bullshit are over," Taba said angrily. Conroy turned red and mumbled something. Sighing, Taba got up and headed for the elevators. She went downstairs, then exited the campus library. While striding through the quad, which led to the University Center Building, Taba was accosted by a familiar figure.
"Salaam, Taba, what's good?" said Mustafa Diallo. The tall, dark-skinned and handsome African Muslim student smiled and waved at Taba. The young Pashtun Muslim woman smiled and waved. Mustafa, an astute young man, detected a note of discomfort in Taba and politely inquired about it. Mustafa is a newcomer to Ottawa, Ontario, by way of metropolitan Kissidougou, Guinea. Are there big cultural differences between Guinea and Canada? Absolutely. Some things are universal, though. Like when a woman is upset, for example...
"I just ran into a racist Canadian imbecile who thinks his whiteness and pseudo-intellectualism make him an expert on Muslim women and minorities in general," Taba said, shaking her head. Mustafa bit his lip and stroked his goateed chin. Like a gentleman, Mustafa offered Taba his arm, and politely listened as she shared her tale of woe with him. They sat on a wooden bench near the administration building. It was an unusually warm day in late September, so they were alright.
"I am not making light of your experience with Conroy, but virtue signaling and performative diversity are part and parcel of our Canadian friends, I am not surprised by their behavior," Mustafa said gently. Taba looked at Mustafa and laughed while nodding in agreement. The two of them sat on the bench, bantering while sharing stories of awkward moments with Canadians, the most polite racists in the world. Some of it was funny, some of it was cringe.
"My first year on campus, I had a roommate named Beatrice, a white chick from a small town, she asked me if I showered in my Hijab, and whether or not I could drive in Canada," Taba said, shaking her head. Mustafa smiled and nodded. Evidently, this Beatrice gal must have read somewhere that Saudi women weren't allowed to drive, and even though the Saudi government changed that policy a while ago, she equated it to be applicable to all Muslim women. What a world...
"I went on a date with a white chick named Karen, and she asked me if African Muslim guys had BBCs like black American guys do, um, not the news channel BBC, the other one," Mustafa said, grimacing in disgust. Taba looked at Mustafa, whose handsome face was contorted in disgust. The young Pashtun Muslim woman tried to commiserate with her fellow Muslim. As a black Muslim man, Mustafa endured things that Taba, being a fair-skinned female, probably was spared. Still, the whole BBC thing was funny...
"You should have told her that African Muslim men are bigger than the black American guys, you know? Really scare her," Taba said, laughing. Mustafa grinned and then burst out laughing. As the two friends laughed, folks walking by gawked at them. A nerdy white guy with his obligatory Asian girlfriend seemed uncomfortable with the visuals presented by a fair-skinned Muslim woman and a dark-skinned black man enjoying each other's company. When a black guy with dreads walked by with a plump, red-haired white chick, the nerdy white guy scowled. What a world...
"You're funny, Taba, wish I were there when you told off that Conroy guy," Mustafa said, smiling. Taba nodded, and brushed her hand against his. Mustafa looked at Taba's hand, and then looked into her eyes. Taking a deep breath, Mustafa clasped Taba's hand in his. Taba looked at him and smiled. She'd known Mustafa for some time now. They were in three classes together this year, Criminology, Legal Ethics and Canadian Constitutional Law. The brother was smart and handsome, though perhaps a bit too gentlemanly with the ladies...
