Qualities one looks for in a husband, now that's easy to define, Maryam Marid thought to herself, smiling. Looking at her lover, Paul Saint-Germain, she ran her hand through his short, kinky hair. All I need is you babe, Maryam said contentedly. Taking her small, delicate hand in his, Paul brought it to his lips. You are my world Miss Yemen, he grinned, appreciatively glancing at her small, lovely form. The two of them lay on the couch inside Maryam's apartment on Bronson Avenue, five minutes from metropolitan Ottawa's very own Carleton University campus. It was a Saturday night and the two of them were relaxing at home, watching a rerun of Star-Gate Atlantis on the Space channel.
Maryam Marid leaned her head on Paul broad shoulder, and he gently wrapped his huge arm around her. The dark-skinned stud hugged her tightly, just the way she liked it. I love it when you squeeze me big bear, Maryam teased, pinching his bicep. You feel so good in my arms, Paul replied, which caused Maryam to blush. Hard to believe that when they met a year ago neither of them could have imagined themselves as they were now, not only dating but practically living together. To say that they came from different worlds would have been the understatement of the century. Maryam Marid moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from her hometown of Al Bayda, central Yemen, three years ago. Her mind wandered across time, flicking back to the events that brought her to this place, and this man...
Her parents, Mahmoud and Soraya Marid were sent to Canada's Capital region by the Yemeni Government. We're part of the diplomatic mission and must represent our beautiful Yemen to the best of our ability, Maryam's father Mahmoud Marid cautioned her as they prepared to board the Air Canada plane in London, England, having flown there from Sana'a, the Capital of Yemen, the night before. The Marid family didn't get to see much of London but Maryam marveled at the tall buildings she saw in Europe's oldest town. Simply magnificent, she whispered while gawking through the window.
I can't wait to see Canada, Maryam said excitedly, leaning back against her seat in the first class section of the Air Canada plane leaving London, England. Patience young grasshopper, her mother Soraya laughed. Mother and daughter exchanged a look. For ages Maryam had been praying that her father would get the assignment to Canada, for the young woman desperately wanted to avoid the unenviable fate of having to marry Ali Osman, a lecherous old man her uncle Kader considered a trusted friend and advisor. Appearances are everything in Canada and being seen with your wife and daughter will help your image a long way in the eyes of the westerners, Mahmoud's boss, the sheikh Ahmed Jabir, warned. Thus the patriarch of the Marid family declined an old family friend's request for his daughter's hand in marriage. Mahmoud Marid would need his daughter Maryam and his wife Soraya by his side for his stay in Ontario, Canada.
Maryam Marid wasn't sure what she expected at first but the City of Ottawa, Ontario, blew her away. The sprawling metropolis was bigger than most places she'd ever seen or imagined. And only one million souls called it home. Growing up in rural Yemen, she was awed by big cities. Even Sana'a, the Yemeni capital which she visited for the first time when departing the country, dwarfed the tiny desert town where she grew up. At the Ottawa International Airport she was surprised to see women wearing hijab among the throngs of western women in provocative clothing.
For some reason, Maryam was surprised to see members of the Ummah among the Canadians. Of course, she should have known better, for Islam was everywhere these days, in every country and region across the globe, including almighty North America. Walking through the streets of Ottawa with her parents a few days later, she was surprised to run into Somalis, Lebanese, Turks, Nigerians and Omanis. People from her part of the world, Arabs and Africans and so many others. Maryam expected the Canadian capital to be lily-white and uptight. It seemed that she was wrong on one assumption.
The Yemeni Government provided decent accommodations for her family, partly because they had some help from the Canadian Government. Of all the Arab nations out there, Yemen was the poorest. Situated between the Somali-dominated Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, it wasn't an oil-rich nation by any means. Imagine Maryam's surprise when she found out where she and her parents would live. A four-bedroom townhouse in the Jockvale area of Barrhaven, an affluent suburb of Ottawa. Oh, and they had two cars and two professional drivers at their disposal, compliments of the Canadian Government's Office of Foreign Aid, which helped foreign diplomats in the Capital. Wow was all Maryam could say when she saw her room. It was bigger than her old house in Yemen. I think I'm going to like it here, she thought, feeling optimistic about her move to Ontario for the first time in ages.
Amina Sultan, a pretty young woman with short, spiky black hair, bronze skin and emerald eyes came to the Marid residence the next day and offered to help Maryam get into University. Seeing a young Muslim woman in a T-shirt and jeans ( and no hijab ) surprised Maryam but she took it in stride. Canada was a strange country after all and the local Muslims would surely prove just as strange ( to her foreign eyes ) as she assumed she would seem to them. You're nineteen years old it's high time you got started, the young woman smiled.
Thrilled at the prospect of continuing her education, Maryam felt like jumping for joy. After she finished secondary school back home she wanted to go to University but her parents ( mainly her father ) felt it was time for her to get married. For over a year Maryam tried her best to delay and discourage any attempt at matchmaking. And then, Allah be praised, her father got the assignment to Canada! Sitting in the living room with her parents and Amina, Maryam waited for her parents to drop the death knell on her higher education aspirations.
Surprisingly, Maryam's parents had no objections, they'd spend most of their time at the Yemeni Embassy anyway or traveling across North America to meet dignitaries and foreign functionaries. Yemen was indeed coming up in the world, ever since the new government decided to cooperate with the U.S. Government in the fight against Al Qaeda. The Yemeni government also opened up trade relations with the U.S. and Canada, along with Great Britain. Probably the only reason why the wealthy foreigners decided to be so nice to a Yemeni government functionary and his family.
With Amina's help, Maryam Marid began her higher education journey. First she had to have her secondary school transcripts translated into English then faxed from Al Bayda, Yemen, to the Ontario Universities Application Center. Once that got under way, she registered with the O.U.A.C. website, then selected a school. Since she didn't speak a lick of French, the University of Ottawa was out of the question. Maryam opted for Carleton University, since it was English-only and she'd been taking English classes for the past six years back home. The day Maryam received her acceptance letter from the Carleton University admissions department, she felt elated. Her mother took her to celebrate at Shawarma Kingdom, a nice Lebanese restaurant in downtown Ottawa. Afterwards, mother and daughter went to visit the campus for the first time.
Standing five-foot-four and a whopping one hundred and seventeen pounds, with her light bronze skin, long black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes, Maryam Marid was one of the most innocuous-looking people ever born. Clad in her long-sleeved green T-shirt, long black skirt and emerald hijab, with a Gucci handbag tucked under her left arm, Maryam Marid and her mother Soraya made their way to Carleton University by public transit. The school was huge, and there were tons of people walking in every direction. The first person they asked for directions to the admin building, a short white guy with red hair, shrugged and walked away after giving them a dirty look. Infidel pig, Soraya Marid muttered under her breath. Come mother, Maryam said, linking her arm with her mom's. The two women made their way to a large brownstone building near the OC Transpo bus stop.
A tall, broad-shouldered and strongly built young black man with dark brown skin and wavy hair strode toward them. This one looks Somali, Maryam whispered to her mother in Arabic. The Somali people had been Yemen's neighbors and allies since time immemorial. In sharp contrast to other Arab countries histories of conflict with the Africans, such as Egypt's ongoing conflict with Sudan, the Yemenis and the Somalis had always been friends and allies. Indeed, a sizeable number of Yemeni men married Somali women.
Hello brother, Soraya greeted the Somali-looking young man in the guttural Somali tongue. The guy shot her a puzzled look. Hello ma'am, he said hesitantly. Maryam looked at the dark-skinned young man, who fixed his wide-eyed gaze on her. For some reason her heart skipped a beat. Are you not Somali? Maryam asked. The young man smiled. I'm not Somali but I get that a lot, he grinned. You look like our Somali neighbor's son Aden, Soraya smiled. The young man grinned, then introduced himself as Paul. You must be looking for the University center, he said.
Yes we are, Maryam replied, filled with hope. The young man looked from mother to daughter, then nodded. I am going this way so I shall take you ladies there, Paul said. Along the way, he got both their names, and didn't appear surprised that neither woman would shake his hand. I know a thing or two about Muslim culture ladies, Paul smiled. Soraya beamed at him. Where are you from, brother? the Marid family matriarch asked. I am from Haiti, Paul said proudly. It's a shame what happened to your country during the quake, my people prayed for you, Maryam said hopefully. Thank you kindly, Paul said, his expression unreadable.
