According to the most sacred of Islamic teachings, all mankind stem from Adam and Eve, father and mother of the entire human race. We all come from them, without exception. From the darkest African to the white man, the Arab, and all the races in between. It's a beautiful sentiment, too bad my fellow Muslims forget it all too often.
How else would you explain the fact that my wife Meryem and I live in fear of bigots spray-painting racist graffiti on the walls of our house, or worse, simply because many are angry that our skin colors don't match? Will the fools take things further? For the sake of our son Adam, we might have to move.
My name is Aziz Balewa, and I was born in the City of Kano, northern Nigeria, on February 2, 1985. My parents, Mamadou and Hawa Balewa left our homeland of Nigeria for the bright lights of metropolitan Toronto, Ontario, in 1990. I grew up in Canada, and consider myself as Canadian as anyone. Indeed, I barely remember anything about Nigeria, and haven't been there in decades. Nevertheless, the land of my ancestors is in my blood.
Nigeria has been in the news a lot lately, for two reasons. Oil has been found in Nigeria, and Western companies are circling the country like vultures. Oh, and those bozos from the terrorist group Boko Haram continue to wreak havoc, killing scores of Nigerian Christians as well as those Nigerian Muslims who oppose their tyranny.
What Boko Haram is doing goes against every principle of Islam, let me make that painfully clear. Nothing in the noble Quran authorizes any group of so-called Muslims to take up arms against their fellow Muslims or their Christian neighbors over questions of religious doctrine or territory.
As a Muslim, I condemn Boko Haram and hope the governments of the world take out these creeps, seriously. The incompetence of Nigerian president Goodluck Jonathan irks me. The bozo ought to mobilize the Nigerian Army, order them to take out Boko Haram and be done with it. Why isn't he doing that? Instead, President Jonathan lets them live. A big mistake if you ask me. They give Nigeria a bad name.
Most members of the Nigeria diaspora in North America are hard-working, highly educated and law-abiding people. It's too bad that most Americans and Canadians didn't know Nigeria existed until the country started popping up in the news, and for the worst reasons imaginable. As a Nigerian-Canadian, this makes me so sad. I work hard because I believe in myself and seek to uplift my community.
In 2003, I enrolled at Humber College, where I pursued a police foundations diploma, then I earned my bachelor's degree in criminology from the University of Toronto in 2007. I enrolled at York University's Faculty of Law in 2009, and since 2012, I have earned the right to call myself a lawyer.
I'm a proud member of the Ontario Bar Association and a junior executive with the Canadian Association of Black Lawyers. I work for Winston & Magyar, one of the largest law firms in the Bay Street area of Toronto. I've done fairly well for myself, wouldn't you say? My problems have nothing to do with my professional life and everything to do with my private life.
While doing my undergrad at the University of Toronto, I met the lady destined to change my life. Meryem Sazak, the six-foot-tall, raven-haired and brown-eyed Turkish Muslim beauty took my breath away the moment I laid eyes on her. I was attending a meeting of the Muslim Scholars Association at U of T, and the group's vice president spoke to us new members about upcoming activities.
"As salam alaikum, sisters and brothers, we've got a lot planned for Muslim Awareness Week this year, and hope to do it even bigger than last year," Meryem said, smiling at the small gathering of Muslim students, male and female, in a quiet room near the quad.
"Who is this lady?" I whispered to my buddy Mustafa Osman, a tall Somali dude I met in my Criminology Ethics class. Mustafa smiled and told me that Meryem was the group's most outspoken leader, and a human rights advocate on campus.
"Brother, this gal is from the Republic of Turkey, her family has money and she's way out of your league," Mustafa said to me, clapping me on the shoulder as I stared at Meryem, mesmerized by the tall Anatolian beauty. Silently I swore to myself that one day, Meryem Sazak of Turkey would be mine.
"As salam alaikum, sister, you're really good at public speaking," I said to Meryem, once I got her alone. At the end of the meeting, Meryem asked for a volunteer to help her with the chairs and I happily volunteered. Anything to get a closer look at Miss Turkey.
"Oh, public speaking is easy, I just imagine my audience in their underwear," Meryem replied slyly, and then she winked at me while bodily lifting a heavy-looking chair and stacking it on top of the pile she had already stacked.
"Oh my," I replied, and smiled shyly at Meryem. This Turkish gal wasn't what I expected. Bold, beautiful and fiercely independent, yet proud of her Turkish heritage and Islamic faith, Meryem Sazak was like Wonder Woman in a Hijab, Wallahi. I helped her with the chairs, and we were both sweaty at the end of it all.
"Sister, you're a brave woman, lifting all that stuff without breaking sweat, at least let me buy you a coffee," I said, and Meryem smiled and stood there, hands on her hips, smiling coyly. I withstood her imperious gaze, keeping my cool even though my heart was thundering in my chest.
