Yemeni Girls Into Blac Guys

As Salam Alaikum, dear readers. Happy new year 2015! Got something that I, as a Muslim woman feel the need to share with you. I wear the Hijab because I want to, not because anyone forces me to do it. My name is Laila Al-Ahmar and I'm a young Yemeni-Canadian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I am a good Muslim, a proud Canadian citizen and a devoted student in the civil engineering at Carleton University.

I am sick and tired of having to explain to otherwise intelligent white folks that my faith matters to me and I am not the oppressed and clueless entity that they think I am. That's just another fact of life in provincial Ontario, man. Canadians think that women in the Islamic faith are dull, submissive and oppressed, and nothing can convince them otherwise. Damn shame if you ask me.

There are stereotypes about every racial, ethnic and religious group on this planet, except maybe white people, and that's part of the problem. White privilege prevents white folks from seeing people of color's plight in this world. Kind of makes me mad but at the present time, there's very little that I can do about it. Perhaps when Islam becomes the dominant religion in Europe, white folks will get off their high horse and realize that they're in no way superior to their fellow human beings.

As much as I find non-Muslims annoying, I must admit that sometimes, just sometimes, they do fascinate me. Dangerously so. How else could you explain the fact that I'm dating a young Jamaican guy named Eugene Thompson? The tall, burly and dark-skinned, dreadlocked brother makes my heart skip a beat every time he looks my way. How we met is definitely one for the ages, ladies and gentlemen. I am a fighter, but the day I met Eugene, I had definitely bitten more than I could chew.

I was on the OC Transpo bus heading to my house in Vanier from the Rideau Shopping Center, when a trio of bald-headed, angry-looking white guys started harassing me because of my appearance. As a five-foot-six, chubby and bronze-skinned female in a world that worships skinny white girls, I am definitely not most Canadians ideal of beauty. Still, I fought for my rights whenever I felt they were being infringed. That's why I faced these three racist white bullies with all the chutzpah I could muster.

Go back to Arabia, one of the racist white bozos said. This one was taller and larger than the others, and had a scar on his face. He appeared to be in charge. I looked him in the eye and told him that I would go back to the Arab world the day after him and his pale, racist buddies went back to Europe. That was clearly NOT the answer they were looking for.

The bus was full of people of all hues, mostly whites and Asians, but the only person who stood up for me was a tall, burly black guy. Placing himself in front of me, the tall black guy with the dreads and deep voice told the three racist white guys that he'd break their necks if they laid a single hand on me. The brother's deep voice and masculine presence had quite an effect on the three racist white dudes. They looked at each other, then at me. Go to Hell, one of them said, and then the three of them got off at Lee's Station, the very next stop.

Sorry about these bozos, the tall, dark-skinned brother said gently, looking into my eyes. I looked at him and smiled. Masha' Allah I thank you for this, I said evenly, and nodded gratefully to my apparent savior. Smiling, he nodded and went back to his seat. I sat down and discreetly watched him until his stop came. The brother got off at Saint Laurent Station, as did I.

With a determined stride, the tall brother made his way through the throngs of people exiting the OC Transpo bus and entering the east end mall. I watched him for a moment, and then headed upstairs. From there, I caught the number eighteen bus headed into the heart of Vanier. I live in the Prince Albert Street area, a place full of Arabs, Somalis and other Muslim immigrants. The only place in Canada that's ever felt like home to me.

Why is that, you may ask? I love Vanier because I'm surrounded by people from my religion. I don't feel strange. I don't feel like the cultural other. I feel like one of the folks. When I got home that day, I greeted my parents, Ahmad and Nadia Al-Ahmar, happily. I love my family, and after a trying day, it felt good to be in their loving arms. I had tears on my face and my mother asked me what happened. I sat my folks down and told them what happened on the bus.

Allah sent an angel to protect my daughter, my father said, and that night, during evening prayers, we gave our thanks to the one true God for keeping me safe. That night, as I lay on my bed, I thought about the tall, dark and handsome stranger who stood up for me when the racists were about to hurt me. What a man, I thought with a smile, and fell asleep.

I figured I'd never run into my savior again, but guess who I saw walking through the Carleton University library the very next day? My heart skipped a beat when I saw him. The tall young black man from the previous day. I saw him standing with a group of other students, in line for coffee at the Tim Horton's on the fourth floor. Excitedly I walked up and lined up right behind him.

As Salam Alaikum, I said, gently tugging at his long, dark overcoat. The tall young black man turned around, and his soulful brown eyes went wide when he saw me. I am Laila Al-Ahmar, I said, smiling at him. The brother smiled, and extended his hand for me to shake. I'm Eugene Thompson, he said. I looked at his hand and hesitated.

Fourteen centuries of Islamic traditionalism and cultural conditioning warred within my fast-beating heart. Typically, observant Muslim women like myself don't shake hands with men we're unrelated to. Today was definitely not an ordinary day, and these circumstances were anything but ordinary. That's what I told myself silently as I shook Eugene's hand, and told him I was happy to meet him. We looked into each other's eyes, and I swear, something passed between us.

Eugene Thompson of Jamaica and I became friends, and I added him on Facebook, and even introduced him to my folks the day my dad came by campus to bring me my Diabetes medicine, which I'd forgotten at home. My tradition-minded and strict Yemeni father was overjoyed to meet the young man who saved his daughter from a trio of white male racists. They shook hands, and talked for a bit, then Dad left, for he had to get back to running our family's bookstore on Rideau Street.

Eugene Thompson and I began hanging out a lot at school, and the more I got to know the tall brother from the island of Jamaica, the more I liked him. Eugene was born in the City of Kingston, Jamaica, and came to Ottawa five years ago. A newly minted permanent resident of Ontario, Canada, Eugene was studying neuroscience at Carleton University prior to a career in medicine. The brother is tall, sexy, smart and aspires to become a doctor. How could I NOT fall in love with him?

We fell in love, slowly but surely, while hanging out, and studying together, and I must say, I've never been happier. Eugene and I shared our first kiss while coming out of the Silver City movie theater in the east end of Ottawa after seeing The Hunter Games : Mockingjay. There we were, on the theater steps, facing the freezing winds that often slam Ottawa in January, when Eugene suddenly pulled me close and took my face into his hands.

Kiss me, Eugene Thompson whispered, and I smiled, my heart thundering in my chest. This was the moment I'd been dreaming of for ages. For all women, even chaste and pious Muslim sisters like myself, dream of our first kiss. I stood on my tippy toes and kissed Eugene, and just like that, we shared our first kiss as a couple. Grinning like a couple of idiots, Eugene and I left the movie theater and headed to the nearby Blair Shopping Center, hand in hand.

I felt proud as I held Eugene's hand while we made our way to the mall, to grab a bite at the food court. This was the man I was destined to marry, and the father of any offspring I would have. For, a year later, Eugene Thompson would embrace Islam and take on a new name, and we would get married, with the blessing of my father, after graduating from Carleton University. The one true God sent me a husband, and he's my hero, a good Muslim, and the father of my brood. I am a happy woman. Insha'Allah, fate is a funny thing!