Come to bed my love, I whisper to Malusi's ear, wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders. Turning to face me, Malusi's dark brown eyes bore into mine. What we've done is wrong, he says simply. I close my eyes hard, and try not to think of last year's events. Try as I might, I can't forget the night when Malusi and I killed a man, my abusive former husband Jawad Al-Abbasi. His blood is on both our hands, but I do not mourn his passing. The day Jawad died is the day I began to live.
We're far away from Saudi Arabia now, hiding away at a house near a resort on the island of Saint Lucia. My name is Ghayda "Gaga" Al-Abbasi and I am originally from the City of Tabuk, northwestern Saudi Arabia. My father Kamal Mahamat was Saudi, and my mother Sana was half Arab and half Ethiopian. Being the issue of such parentage made me exotically beautiful, something both prized and shunned in the complex world of Saudi Arabia. You see, Saudis like to breed with other races but prize their own above all others even as they lust for those different from themselves. It's odd, to say the least.
Mother nature and my family lineage blessed me with the good looks that were to be my curse. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy and firm, with light bronze skin, long curly black hair and light brown eyes. My features are a beautiful blend of African and Arabian. I have large breasts, strong legs, and big, round buttocks that have made me the envy of the other women ever since I could remember. My height doesn't hurt either. While many men prefer women shorter than themselves, quite a few have an affinity for taller women like myself.
My father granted my hand in marriage to his old friend Jawad Al-Abbasi, whom he met at King Faisal University, a long time ago. I had met Jawad when he came to our house in the City of Khobar, and found him charming. At the time I was but a young girl, what did I know of marriage and family? I married Jawad in a lavish ceremony, and became his third wife. As a wealthy man, he could afford to marry more than one woman. Islamic law permits a Muslim man to marry up to four women as long as he can provide for them. It's not a pauper's game.
Thus, at the end of the holy month of Ramadan in 1999, at the age of eighteen, I married Jawad. I bore him no offspring, for apparently there was something wrong with me. They often blame the woman in these situations. Given the fact that Jawad had three sons and a daughter by his other wives, Jamila and Aria, perhaps the fault lies with me. For better or for worse, I never quickened. No offspring came from our union. We tried and tried, but to no avail. Jawad grew tired of me, and threatened to divorce me. He often beat me whenever he felt like it, for he was a short-tempered man.
Between 1999 and 2009, Jawad's finances took a nasty downward turn. He'd invested heavily into Saudi Aramco, and made several million but gambled it all away on trips to places like Las Vegas, and Toronto. Jawad was fond of traveling to America and Canada, and sometimes took me with him. I fell in love with the western world the first time I laid eyes on it. This was North America, the land of the infidels, loathed by Muslims worldwide. And yet, I found myself enamored of the place. The people were so loud and vibrant, so free, it was...intoxicating.
On those trips abroad, Jawad often indulged himself with wine and women. Along with Aria and Jamila, I followed him. Not because he wanted us there but because he liked to show us off to his North American friends. A lot of people from the West are curious about Muslim women, especially the ones from Saudi Arabia. Jawad liked to show us off, his obedient Muslim wives. His American friends, those rich oilmen who often got fleeced in divorce court by the greedy gold diggers they wedded were amazed by us. We were the types of women that western men didn't know exist. Women who absolutely believed it was God's will that men ruled over women.
While on one of those trips, I met the one destined to change my life forever. Malusi Dosi, a handsome young man of Sudanese and Lebanese origin. Malusi was born in the City of Toronto, Ontario, to a Lebanese Christian immigrant mother, Elisabeth Safadi, and Hassan Dosi, a Sudanese father. He studied business administration at Carleton University and later earned his MBA at the University of Toronto. He'd also worked for an oil company in Alberta, Canada, and another one in Al-Jahrah, Kuwait. The guy spoke several languages fluently including English, French, Spanish, German, Russian, Arabic and Mandarin Chinese. Impressive, huh? My former husband Jawad certainly thought so, for he hired Malusi Dosi to revitalize his businesses in Saudi Arabia and invited him to stay at our villa in Tabuk.
Wealthy Arabs hire contractors from the United Kingdom and North America all the time, but they're usually white. The sight of a tall, well-dressed Black man in business attire made heads turn in rural Tabuk, Saudi Arabia, that's for sure. Jawad drove to the airport to pick up Malusi Dosi, and greeted him joyfully. Then he introduced him to us, his wives, forgetting that at least one of us had already met the gorgeous Mr. Dosi. I couldn't forget the handsome black Canadian businessman if I tried. He was easy on the eyes but also friendly and humble. In the heartland of Islam, humility is a rare quality among men.
And so it came to be that Malusi Dosi stayed in the thirteen-room villa inhabited by Jawad, his other wives, their sons and daughters, and myself. I was intrigued by the handsome visitor from the get-go. As luck would have it, he noticed me as well. Now, in a country with cultural restrictions woven into the norm of everyday life like Saudi Arabia, women and men are kept apart. Only inside the home, surrounded by family, can a woman show her face. Otherwise we must wear the burka. It's the law in Saudi Arabia.
