"The myth about all Saudi Arabian people being rich is just that, a myth, I mean, if you believe that, then explain to me how come everyone in Canada isn't rich," Fawza Fetieh said, and the young Saudi woman tried not to roll her eyes as she and her co-worker Ali Diallo cleaned the CRA building located on Laurier Street in downtown Ottawa. It was after hours, and the two of them bantered as they cleaned the whole place, floor by floor.
"Oh, I think it's because every time I meet a Saudi person, they're either an international student whose every expense is paid for by their government, or a rich businessperson, and then there are those Saudi royals who spend a million bucks while shopping in Paris in just one weekend," Ali Diallo replied, and a look of amazement creased the six-foot-tall, wiry and muscular young Guinean Muslim's dark, handsome face.
"Ali, stop daydreaming," Fawza said, smiling as she snapped her fingers mere inches from Ali Diallo's face, and the young man smiled and shrugged. Fawza continued to roll the cleaning cart on the seventh floor, and paused upon reaching the washrooms. Ask any cleaner from here to the end of the world, and they'll tell you that female washrooms are usually infinitely dirtier than the male ones. Fawza still had nightmares about the last time she cleaned the ladies room in this particular office...
"Alright, Fawza, no need to faint, I'll do the ladies room, but you'll owe me," Ali said with a wink, and Fawza sighed in relief as he dutifully knocked on the door, even though it was after hours. No reply came, and Ali Diallo began humming a song as he pushed his car into the washroom, and began cleaning up. What a man, Fawza thought, smiling in amazement.
If someone told Fawza Fetieh three years ago that she'd leave her old life in the City of Tabuk, Saudi Arabia, for an uncertain new existence in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, she would have laughed. Born to an upper-middle-class Saudi family, and educated at Brunel University in the City of London, England, Fawza came to Canada to escape the tribal conflict which pitted her family, the Fetieh clan, against the Al-Amoudi clan, which happened to have the backing of the Al-Saud family, which rules the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
As various men and women of the Fetieh Clan were put to the sword for their complicity in a plot against the Al-Amoudi Clan and their allies the House of Saud, Fawza was forced to flee the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The execution of her father-in-law Amir Al-Fetieh had been a wake-up call for Fawzia. Thirty five years old at the time of the incident, on the verge of being repudiated by her philandering husband Wazir Al-Fetieh for her apparent barrenness, Fawza was already leading a precarious life when her whole world went to hell.
"If you ever return to Saudi Arabia, you will be put to death, the blood feud between these two great houses will not end until every last member of the Fetieh clan is dead," said Mohamed Fakir, the seedy government official who helped Fawza Fetieh escape from Saudi Arabia. Fawza nodded at her benefactor and took the government documents he'd secured for her at considerable risk to his own life. Silently Fawzia thanked her lucky stars to have a friend like Mohamed Fakir...
"Thank you for helping me, my friend, I will not forget this," Fawzia said, and Mohamed Fakir nodded gravely, and then walked her to the King Khalid International Airport, the crown jewel of metropolitan Riyadh. From this spot, tons of tourists, including wealthy American and European business types, arrived in the Saudi Arabian capital every day. As Fawzia boarded the plane, she looked out the window, at her homeland. Closing her eyes hard, Fawzia Fetieh said goodbye to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia forever.
When Fawzia Fetieh arrived in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, she thought life would get better. After all, this was western society. Fawzia had never been to the Capital of Canada before but imagined it wasn't that different from London, UK, where she lived for a time while studying business management at Brunel University. Didn't Canadians maintain close ties to British society, particularly the British royals? Fawzia imagined that Canada was like Britain, only geographically bigger. Time would prove Fawzia dead wrong, and then some...
Three years after arriving in the Canadian Capital, Fawzia managed to convince an immigration judge not to send her back to Saudi Arabia. They'd accepted her refugee claim and granted her protected person status, but her permanent residence application was still in processing. The permanent residence card was key. Even though Fawzia held a British university degree, no Canadian institution worth her time would hire her due to her whole status-in-limbo thing. Canadian bureaucracy at its finest.
In the meantime, Fawzia worked as a cleaner in a downtown office building to pay her rent and groceries, preparing for the day when she'd get her permanent residence card and finally be able to lead a better life. More than once, Fawzia caught herself lamenting her old life in the City of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. She lived in a villa, and had servants catering to her every whim. Now look at her life...
"I hate my life," Fawzia muttered to herself, as she dutifully cleaned the men's washroom. As she cleaned the washroom, she put on her headphones, and listened to her favorite song, Numb. The lead singer of the band behind that timeless song died recently, shocking the hell out of millions of fans, Fawzia Fetieh among them. As Fawzia fell into the groove of the song, she began to do the bump and grind, like she'd seen so many young women do while out and about on the streets of Ottawa.
"Hot damn, never thought I'd live to see the day when a Saudi mama shook her big booty," Ali Diallo shouted, as he tapped Fawzia on the shoulder, nearly causing the startled woman to jump out of her skin. Fawzia looked at Ali Diallo as though she'd seen a ghost, and fright gave way to anger as the tall, dark-skinned and handsome young Guinean Muslim stood there, laughing merrily at her.
"Ali, wipe that smirk off your face or I'll slap you," Fawzia said, shaking her head and trying not to laugh as Ali Diallo stood there, hands on his hips, a smug smile on his face. Fawzia had known Ali for some time, and grown used to his antics. The brother hailed from the Faranah region of the Republic of Guinea, and had been living in Ottawa for the past two years. Like Fawzia, Ali Diallo applied for permanent resident status. The government had yet to answer his request, and in the meantime, he worked as a cleaner while taking classes at Algonquin College.
