One life to live, ladies and gentlemen. That's basically all we've got. My name is Sagal Jawari and I'm a young black Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Toronto, Ontario. I study criminal justice at the University of Toronto, and these days, life is too hectic for words. It's not easy being a brown-skinned female and a Muslim in Canada. Even in a town as racially and culturally diverse as Toronto, there are a lot of bigots. I don't let them stop me, though. I do my own thing regardless of what the haters throw at me.
Now that I'm living away from my family and friends, I'm experiencing a lot of new things. In the past, I lived under many restrictions. My parents, Aden and Choukri Jawari are Somali immigrants who moved from Mogadishu, Somalia, to Ontario, Canada, in the summer of 1988. Three years later I was born, a Canadian citizen by birth, and the daughter of two very different worlds. Canada and Somalia are as different as day and night. One is a democratic nation, and the other is a religious dictatorship masquerading as a republic. I have a foot in each world, and that makes for tough living, let me tell you.
To the few friends I have made at the University of Toronto, I am simply Sagal, the quirky chick in the Hijab and traditional Islamic long robes. To my parents, I'm a rebel who refuses to live at home and instead dwells in a two-bit apartment near the University of Toronto campus. My folks live in York, and I came to the City of Toronto specifically to get away from them. What can I say? A gal needs to breathe!
The truth is that I wanted to be on my own. The way I figure it, university is a time for growth in a young person's life. I don't regret moving out because I was chafing under my parents authority. If you've ever visited a Somali household, then you know what I'm talking about. My older brothers Bilal and Yousef, both of whom were born in Somalia, enjoy absolute freedom. My parents don't care what they do. Yousef is studying business at York University and Bilal is taking accounting at Seneca College. Both of them are dating white girls. Me? I'm forbidden from dating guys.
I chuckled to myself as I wrote those lines. If my parents only knew. There's a reason why I was such a well-behaved, pious and chaste gal while living under their roof. My father often praised me as the ideal daughter, a Koran-reading and modestly dressed Islamic darling who never showed any interest in the opposite sex. Somali fathers, and Muslim men in general, worry themselves into bad health over the sexual behavior of their unmarried daughters. My dad never had to worry about my sneaking around with guys in high school because, well, I am not interested in guys.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you read right. I, Sagal Jawari, born on November 9, 1991, at the Baycrest Hospital in Toronto, Ontario, am a lesbian. Hijab-wearing and conservatively attired Somali Muslim girls like myself are human, like everyone else, and we have sexual desires and sexual identities. I swear, the moment a gal decides to wear the Hijab and Islamic clothing, people forget that she's human.
I stand five feet nine inches tall, a bit chubby, with dark brown skin and long curly black hair that I always tuck under my Hijab before leaving the house. I am a lesbian, and a Muslim. I have known about my sexual identity ever since I was young, but I always kept it to myself. You have to understand that in the Muslim community, gayness and lesbianism aren't just frowned upon, such behavior could get you killed if people found out.
Whenever I do research about Somali lesbians, or GLBT Somalis in general, I don't like what I find. Let's see, the only even remotely positive story about Somali lesbians involves Amal Aden, an openly gay Somali woman living in Ringerike, somewhere in Norway. In the various articles on her, Amal Aden discussed the death threats that she received from fellow Somalis and other Muslims, and the loneliness plaguing her life since she came out. Watching videos of this butch-looking gay Somali broad, I smiled and shook my head.
The Somali detractors must have had a field day with this Amal Aden chick. Indeed, Miss Aden is a masculine Somali lesbian, anyone can tell what she is thanks to her short haircut, tomboy style and masculine mannerisms. I am not a masculine chick. I am not a tomboy. I don't have short hair under my Hijab. And I don't wear pants. I am a traditional gal. I wear my Hijab and long skirt proudly, and carry a copy of the Holy Koran everywhere I go. It's always in my backpack or in my purse. I go to Masjid every Jummah ( Friday ) and I can recite by heart any passage of the Quran.
I bet I am not what most people think of when they envision a lesbian. Without a doubt, they think of those short-haired, masculine chicks they see at the mall or on the bus, or those overly girly gals in bright dresses who have gay pride buttons on their backpacks and walk around with teddy bears. Femme lesbians is what they call them, I guess. I am not butch. I am not femme. I am only me, and I happen to be a Somali woman, a proud Muslim and a lesbian. Not an easy thing for me to be, trust me on that one.
In the City of Toronto, Ontario, far from my parents and friends, I can more or less live life my way. The life of a Somali Muslim lesbian can be a lonely one, and I can honestly say I know of no other like myself. Fortunately, fate provided me with companionship, and a much-needed outlet for my sexual frustrations. One day, while walking inside the Toronto Public Library downtown, I met someone. Laila Khan. A six-foot-tall, raven-haired and brown-eyed cutie from the City of Swabi, northwestern Pakistan. The moment our eyes met, my heart skipped a beat, for I knew immediately that Laila Khan was like me. A woman who loves women.
