Turish Bride for Nigerian Stud

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.

"Brother Aziz, are you asking me out?" Meryem said, and I froze. Seriously, I wasn't expecting that response from her, to tell you the truth. Typically, Hijab-wearing Muslim sisters are a soft-spoken and rather demure bunch, and Meryem's directness was both disturbing and kind of refreshing at the same time.

"Yes ma'am I am," I said, dead serious, and saw a sparkle in Meryem's lovely eyes. The Turkish beauty smiled and nodded, and then, just like that, the two of us left the room and headed to the nearby Starbucks where, over coffee and bagels, we got to know each other...for three hours. At the end of that first meeting, I was smiling from ear to ear. I was fascinated with Meryem, and wanted to get to know her better. Well, I'm happy to report that the feeling was mutual. Meryem and I exchanged numbers, and began seeing each other shortly after. When it's right, you feel it in your bones...

Meryem and I had a lot more in common than I could have imagined. We're from different worlds, yet our worldviews were at times almost disturbingly similar. How we ended up together is a miracle. I was born in the City of Kano, northern Nigeria, as I said before, and raised in the City of Toronto, Ontario. I am firmly rooted in Canada, and this country is my home, now and forevermore.

Meryem was born in the City of Erzurum, somewhere in eastern Turkey, on November 7, 1987, and raised in the City of Hamilton, Ontario. Her parents, Atik and Belma Sazak fled the Republic of Turkey in the 1990s. Apparently, the Sazak clan felt persecuted in Turkey because of their religious and political beliefs.

Turkey's then-secularist government was waging a quiet war against the traditionalists and the Islamists, effectively neutralizing them, and Meryem's parents were targeted for their religiosity and their stance against the secularists who ruled Turkey.

"Islam is part of Turkey, we're not like other Europeans, we're Muslims, but many in Turkey would rather we become an atheist nation," Meryem said hotly, as we discussed religion and politics, among other things, at The Suya Spot, a trendy Nigerian restaurant located on Bradstock Road in Toronto.

"Meryem, I am as proud a Muslim as you are but I'd rather secularists rule Turkey than Islamists," I replied, and Meryem shot me a look. I looked at her, smiled wanly, and then carefully explained my reasoning to her. "Islamists are burning down my beloved Nigeria right now, and what they do goes against Islam and I disapprove of their mistreatment of all human beings, whether Muslim or Christian," I added, and Meryem sighed deeply, and narrowed her lovely eyes.

"Aziz, an Islamic government can rule a people justly, if they do things right, such a government doesn't have to be made up of extremists or barbarians," Meryem said, and I gently took her hands in mine, then brought them to my lips. Meryem blinked in surprise, clearly this wasn't what she was expecting.

"Meryem, you're the only Islamist I'd let rule over me," I said, grinning mischievously, and Meryem rolled her eyes. This gal is so serious sometimes and I like to joke around, even in danger zones like religion and politics.

"What am I going to do with you, with your sweet naïvete?" Meryem said, licking her lips. I shrugged, trying to think of something clever to say, but Meryem actually beat me to the punch, so to speak. The bossy Turkish gal took my face in her hands, then she kissed me.

"Sweet lips you've got there, Meryem, and that's one helluva way to settle an argument," I said, grinning from ear to ear once Meryem and I came up for air. Meryem smiled, and just like that, we left the Nigerian restaurant together, hand in hand.

Meryem and I headed to her residence on Chestnut Street, one of the better dormitories of the University of Toronto. Once we got there, the Turkish gal unleashed a hurricane of passion upon me, and we had an evening to die for. Our first night of love, ladies and gentlemen.

Once we got to her room, Meryem and I didn't waste any time. We kissed passionately, and undressed each other hastily. My eyes drank in the sight of Meryem's gorgeous body as she eased out of her long-sleeved T-shirt and traditional Islamic skirt. Clad in a bra, panties and Hijab, Meryem looked lovely.

"Guzelsin," I said, complimenting Meryem's almost ethereal beauty in her native tongue. Meryem smiled, and finally took off her Hijab, and I marveled at her long, curly black hair. I gestured for her to come to me, and Meryem joined me on the bed.

"Make love to me," Meryem whispered urgently, as if a brother wanted or needed any more encouragement. I drew her to me, and kissed her, and then we began making love. I hadn't been with a lady in a long time, for this Muslim brother takes celibacy seriously, but Meryem was definitely worth breaking my vows...

"You're amazing," I whispered to Meryem as I licked her from her head to her toes. Tall, raven-haired, large-breasted, curvaceous and big-bottomed, Meryem had a body that was simply to die for. I delighted in exploring every inch of her, sucking on her tits, kissing her throat, and finally, burying my face between her shapely legs.

"Beni yalamak," Meryem whispered urgently, and I saw an intense need in her lovely eyes. I smiled and heeded the lady's urgent plea, and licked her pussy as she commanded. A world of woman opened up to me, and I licked and probed and tasted Meryem's womanly essence to my heart's content.

Afterwards, Meryem and I got our freak on. Passionately, we did our thing. There's something about making love with someone for the first time. A certain awkwardness which can be either sweet and endearing or annoying as hell. For Meryem and I, we just skipped all that because the lady just told me what she expected me to do, and I just did it.

Meryem knelt before me and stroked my dick, which was long and decently thick though not porn star material, then she winked at me and began sucking on it. I sighed happily as Meryem worked her magic on me. Didn't take me long to get hard as hell, and Meryem told me she wanted to feel me inside of her.

"It's been forever for me," Meryem whispered, and I grinned and kissed her, then rolled a condom on my dick and entered her with one swift thrust. Meryem wrapped her arms around me, and welcomed me inside of her.

"Me too," I replied, and gently kissed Meryem's lips. I kissed her throat softly, and licked first her left breast then the right one while thrusting deep into her womanhood. The warmth and tightness I felt all around me was wonderfully thrilling, and I couldn't get enough of it.

That first night, Meryem and I made love until exhaustion claimed us. We didn't want to stop, but eventually, our bodies gave out, many hours after we'd first begun. Lying beside this unique, fierce and yet sweet young woman, I felt happy for the first time in ages.

"You are mine," I said, looking at Meryem, who grinned, and rested her head against my chest. A lot of guys say all kinds of things to women before, during and after sex. I'm not one of them. I meant what I said to Meryem, every word of it. In our relationship, Meryem and I faced a lot of obstacles, to tell you the truth. Yes, we're both Muslims but let's face it, even though there's several Hadiths against racism in the Holy Quran, lots of Muslims discriminate against people based on race.

The sight of an African Muslim brother holding hands with a Turkish woman definitely isn't something the students at the University of Toronto were used to. Quite a few members of the Muslim Scholars Association were irked to see me with Meryem, the pretty gal none of them had the balls to go after. Oh, well. Too bad for you, losers. Meryem chose me, get used to it.

Meryem's parents weren't exactly thrilled to meet me when she introduced us, but Meryem made it clear to them that I was her chosen one, and even though my future in-laws had quite a few misgivings about us, they eventually came around. Meryem and I were going to get married, and that was that. My parents were another story.

I wish I could say that my mother and father were far more open-minded and tolerant than the Sazak clan, but that would be a lie. My mother wanted me to bring home a nice Nigerian gal and if not, then I'd better bring home a Muslim sister from some kind of African descent. Well, mommy dearest wasn't thrilled when I introduced her to Meryem.

I explained to my mother that Meryem was Turkish and not white, and that Turks had been Muslims for centuries. My mother still calls Meryem "white devil" whenever she gets mad at her, and although I always side with my wife when there's an argument between her and my mother, both of these women, whom I love, cause me to spend a small fortune in Advil.

Things changed in 2013, when Meryem got pregnant with Adam, our first. My mother finally came around, delighted to become a grandmother. By then I was working as a lawyer on Bay Street, and Meryem had her double bachelor's degrees in business administration and human rights from the University of Toronto and was considering going for her MBA later.

"Our son will be born into a brand new world, I am proud of you," a very pregnant, Meryem said to me as we walked out of the clinic, having done some prenatal checkups, and I told her about the real estate agency I'd contacted about finding us a place. I smiled at my wife, and thanked my lucky stars that I found a woman like her.

Meryem and I bought a five-bedroom, two-story house in the Bedford Park area of Toronto. Nice, quiet, a perfect place to raise a family. Oh, and it's fairly diverse. A mixture of white Canadians along with Africans, Arabs, Asians and others. Middle-class area, and there's a mosque and a fleet of churches not too far from it.

I thought Meryem and I had found the perfect place to raise our family. Our son Adam was born in that house, and Meryem is now pregnant again, and we're hoping for a daughter this time. Meryem already has her name picked out, and it's Dilara, which means heart adorner in the Turkish language.

Yet, someone in this racially and religiously diverse, middle-class Canadian neighborhood has a problem with Meryem and I because we're an interracial couple raising a family. They spray-painted racist graffiti on our wall, and they did it in Arabic and Turkish. The police think whoever did it is either a Muslim, or someone pretending to be Muslim. Either possibility is disturbing. Should we stay or should we go?

My wife Meryem and I prayed on this, and decided that we, along with our son Adam and our soon-to-be born daughter Dilara will stay in our house in Bedford Park. We will not give in to fear. The racists will not prevail. I've installed a top notch security system at our house, along with special heat-activated and all-season sprinklers in the event of a fire, and even better, I got a pit bull for our protection.

When we saw him at the pet store, Meryem instantly named him Seytan, the Turkish name for the Devil. Seytan is only a pup now, non-neutered so to say in prime aggressive mode, and man, he's growing up fast. I will train him to protect the family when I'm at work. Yes, my wife and I are those Muslims who actually love dogs. Don't like it because it doesn't fit your view of how things ought to be? To hell with you!