Saudi Girls for Haitian Boys

The first time I laid eyes on Adam Guillot he was yelling at some old white guy in the swimming pool at school because the guy had something to say about his athletic abilities in the aquatic realm. I should mention that Adam is the only black member of the university swim team and he's used to people coming at him with various stereotypes but that day, he, um, kind of lost it. With good reason, I might. I overheard some of what the old white guy said to him and the dude was definitely on the obnoxious and condescending side.

Like the helpful soul that I am, I stepped in to diffuse the situation. Stepping between Adam and the old guy, whom I recognized as a McGill University alumnus, I told them both to chill the fuck out. As a lifeguard at the pool, it's my duty to keep things running smooth. The old guy looked at me smugly and had the nerve to claim that Adam was harassing him. Shaking my head, I told the old guy that I wasn't there to take sides. Then I dismissed him. Sulking, he walked away from me and walked down the stairway leading to the men's locker room. Loser.

Privately, I agreed with Adam. A lot of old white guys seem to have a problem with visible minorities excelling in areas previously thought to be the domain of white males. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. My name is Manal Bin Sultan and I'm a young woman of Saudi Arabian descent living in the City of Montreal, Quebec. I was born in the town of Taif, Saudi Arabia, to Abdul and Shira Bin Sultan. My parents and I moved to Canada in the fifth summer of my life. We've been living here ever since. I hold dual Saudi/Canadian citizenship, but I doubt I'll ever feel at home in either place.

In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, I would have no real life because women are worthless over there. I'm sure you've heard all about the ban on female driving, and the fact that Saudi women can't be in public without wearing the damn burka. Since I left the Kingdom when I was so young, I don't remember what life was like over there. Most of my time was spent indoors in my parents hillside villa, that much I remember. In case you're not picking up on it, I'm in no hurry to go back there. I like my life in Canada, with my friends and my school. There's been some tension between the Arab immigrant community, which is predominantly Muslim, and the French Canadians, who are predominantly Christian, but for the most part, I feel happy and safe in Montreal. I don't think I could say the same in the Kingdom.

My parents and I have had endless arguments about my views on religion and society. Although I was raised in a strict Muslim household, I consider myself a secular human being. I stopped wearing the hijab after moving out of my folks townhouse in Laval and into an apartment near the McGill University campus. That didn't go over too well, as you can imagine. Among the vastness of the Ummah, we Saudis are the most conservative of all. In the heartland of Islam, my homeland, our great religion is supposedly practiced in its purest form. Exalted Saudi clerics proclaim this every chance they get, and hold the fact that we Saudis are custodians of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina as proof.

I was raised a world away from all that, and although Quebec is far from perfect, it's definitely a step up from Saudi Arabia. I'm studying business administration with a minor in journalism at McGill University and when I'm done, I want to work for the Quebecor Media Corporation. We need more Arab women in western media. Besides British-Iranian journalist Christiane Amanpour and Lebanese American activist Brigitte Gabriel, can you name any Arab or Middle-Eastern women who are on TV regularly? Yeah, that's what I thought.

I want to be a fresh face on TV, and I want to make a difference. I know it's an uphill climb. I'm five-foot-ten, bronze-skinned, dark-haired and chubby. My hips are wide, my legs are thick and my bum is big. Not the western world's ideal of beauty by any means, that's for damn sure. While at Saint Marie Academy in Montreal's west side, I was the only female athlete on the men's varsity rugby squad. And I proved myself by being one of their toughest players. I did so while wearing specially made sporting sweatpants and my hijab, by the way. For my father wouldn't let me leave the house without it in those days. I had to prove a lot of people wrong, because they didn't believe I could be a Hijabi and a sportswoman. I hurt a lot of guys on opposite teams while on the rugby team. So much for the myth of the Saudi woman as soft and sweet, eh?

I work out extensively, and have reached a healthy weight. I am fit enough to be a lifeguard at the McGill University swimming pool, that's something, right? I still have a ways to go but the way I figure it, Rome wasn't built in a day. After my shift at the pool ended, I got dressed and went to my Business Ethics class, and then went home. While on my way to the bus stop, guess who I ran into? None other than Adam Guillot, the tall and handsome young man who made history as the first black swimmer at McGill University. He was waiting for the bus, and casually checking his watch.

Hello, I said hesitantly, looking at him and wondering what kind of reception I'd get after the swimming pool encounter. Adam Guillot is definitely one of the more famous faces on campus. Typically, guys that hot don't notice the existence of girls like me. Looking at me, Adam stroked his chin and nodded. Bon après-midi, he said evenly. I smiled and introduced myself as Manal Bin Sultan, A.K.A. The Pool Chick. Adam smiled and shook my hand. Dude had a nice, firm grip. Not crushing but really firm. Either he works out or he's been polishing his tool...often.

Sorry about the old creep back at the pool, I said sheepishly. Adam smiled and shrugged, then told me not to worry about it. Just as I was about to add something, the bus came. Adam nodded at me, and it took me a moment to figure out he wanted me to go first. I thanked him in a mock-British accent, and we both laughed. Let's sit together, Adam said as we made our way inside the crowded bus. Sounds good to me, I added cheerfully. We sat together in the back of the bus, and over the course of the forty-minute bus ride, Adam and I got to know each other a bit.

Adam was born in the town of Longueil, Quebec, to a Haitian immigrant father, Jean-Pierre Guillot and a French Canadian mother, Muriel Guindon. He told me a bit about his life in Longueil, which he described as an idyllic small town, albeit one lacking in racial diversity. I couldn't wait to leave, Adam said wistfully. I nodded, for the place my parents call home is one I hope to never return to. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia isn't my kind of place. Adam stared at me blankly when I shared this with him. Shrugging, I asked him what was up. Adam shook his head and said he'd always dreamed of visiting the Republic of Haiti, ancestral homeland of his family. I wish you the best with that, I said with a shrug.

For several somewhat uncomfortable moments, Adam and I rode in silence. I kind of thought I'd gone too far but apparently I didn't, for he began talking to me again. One doesn't solve one's problems by running from them, Adam said in the same even tone he'd used before. And I so was not trying to hear it. You know nothing about the life of a Saudi woman, I retorted, with more than a bit of anger. Adam considered that. I'd like to learn more about your culture sometime, he said, and as I sat there simmering, he wished me goodnight, then got off at the next stop.

I sat there, looking out the window as Adam left the bus. Standing on the sidewalk of a suburban street, he had the nerve to wave at me as the bus left. Shaking my head at his nerve, I found myself smiling. Some of what he said rang true, but you won't catch me admitting it aloud. I went home, and after eating, doing homework, and showering, I went on Facebook and looked up a certain swimmer. Adam wasn't hard to find. The dude had about a hundred pictures of himself with friends, mostly shirtless, and about a thousand friends, most of them collegiate females. Yeah, he's that kind of guy.

I browsed through his profile, and sent Adam a friend request. Imagine my surprise when he accepted it like a minute later...and invited me to chat with him. Good evening Miss Manal, Adam typed. Hello night owl, I replied, a few seconds later. I didn't mean to offend you earlier, Adam said, with a sad face attached at the end of the message. No need to apologize, I said, adding a smiley face for good measure. Adam and I continued talking, discussing everything from Montreal's terrific nightlife, to the disastrous Shawarmas that Greek restaurants copying the Lebanese come up with.

I'd love to take you to a real Shawarma restaurant sometime, Adam wrote to me. For several moments I didn't answer. I was surprised, and kind of gushing. Was he asking me out? I mean, it's not every day that things like that happen to me but damn, that's what it seemed like. Impulsively, I typed my number without answering. Sixty seconds later I got a phone call from Adam. Speak to me, his deep, masculine voice stated. Smiling, I said hello, and then just like that, we made plans to grab a bite together at a nice little Lebanese restaurant not far from the McGill University campus.

I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face...well, it wasn't exactly nighttime when I finally fell asleep. Adam and I kept each other up, into the wee hours of the morning. I think it was three in the morning when we finally said goodnight and clicked off. Thoughts of Adam swirled through my sleep-addled and decidedly lusty mind. How about that? I just made a date, sort of, with one of the cutest guys on campus. Supposedly to talk about the upcoming swimming season and Saudi culture. Yeah, right, whatever is clever. I want to get close to that sexy body of his. If I have to regale him with half-remembered stories about my long-forgotten former homeland, so be it. Adam's got a cute butt, and I'm a sucker for those. What? Are you surprised by this? We Saudi girls can be naughty too!