A Good Christian Girl

When most people think of racism, they usually think of white folks oppressing Blacks and other ethnic groups, they overlook the vast history of exploitation between Arabs and Africans. Long before the first European colonist ever set foot in the continent of Africa, the Arabs were mistreating my ancestors in the sub Saharan regions. Today, a lot of black Muslims are proud to associate with the Arabs, as if they are blissfully unaware of the fact that these desert bozos hated us long before the trans-Atlantic slave trade began. In Arabic, the word "Abeed" indicates both black and slave, and the two are apparently synonymous. What does that tell you about the Arab mindset?

My name is Khadija Khaled, and I'm a young Black woman living in the City of Ottawa, province of Ontario. On October 29, 1987, I was born in the City of Baalbek, in southern Lebanon, to an Arab father and Nigerian mother. My mother Amina was a domestic servant in my father's household, and he got her pregnant. I grew up in the Republic of Lebanon, and while it's touted as one of the few stable places in the Arab world, it's also one of the most racist. I was brought up in the Islamic faith, but given how I saw the Arabs treat my fellow Africans, I quickly made up my mind that Islam was a religion by the Arabs, for the Arabs and about the Arabs. I still believe in God, but the Arabs can keep their prophet and their gender-biased rules, thank you very much. Of course, I kept that to myself since Muslims aren't exactly tolerant of dissent within their ranks, especially when the dissenter is female.

In 1999, my mother and I applied for refugee status in Canada and it was actually granted to us. We moved to the Capital region, and began building a life for ourselves. I began attending school with guys and gals from various cultures, and it was a most rewarding experience. I made friends with a tall, feisty gal named Melissa Harris, and we remained friends throughout our school days. Melissa was there for me when my mother Amina Khaled died of breast cancer. You wouldn't think that Melissa and I would be friends, considering how different we were. Melissa was tall and tomboyish, with short red hair, alabaster skin and pale green eyes. She was born in Sussex County, somewhere in the vastness of England, and moved to Canada the same year I did. The daughter of proud British Christians and an orphaned biracial Muslim chick, destined to be best friends and more. They say that opposites attract. Whoever coined the term must have been thinking about Melissa and I when they came up with it.

Anyhow, after losing my mother to breast cancer while I was in my second year at Saint Augustine Catholic High School, I bounced around from foster home to foster home. The only people willing to take me in permanently were Jonathan and Marion Harris, Melissa's parents, and they had to fight the Ontario youth agencies to do it. You see, the province of Ontario has become so politically correct that they bend over backwards not to offend Muslims. Hell, they're even allowing Muslim prayer rooms inside Christian schools, something which offends me, though I was brought up Muslim. No Muslim school would ever allow a prayer room for Christian students within its facilities. Hell, they wouldn't admit Christian students at all, since they consider Christians and Jews to be infidels.

Western society's capitulation in front of irate Muslims who refuse to assimilate is dangerous. It's like they're creating a state within the state, wherever they live. That's dangerous, because Muslims living in American, Canadian, European, Australian or New Zealander societies are loyal first to Islamic ideology and few of them feel any loyalty or attachment to the country they live in. You can't tell that to Canadians, though. They're digging their own graves by bending over backwards to please Muslim immigrants who wouldn't hesitate to betray and destroy the country they live in if some charismatic and radical cleric from the desert ( or the local neighborhood mosque ) incited them to do it. I fell in love with Canada because I saw it as a nation of good people. Sure, there are a lot of racists here, but they're nothing compared to the Arab bigots I used to deal with as a dark-skinned gal in the Republic of Lebanon.

Walking down the street wearing my hijab, I'd get groped and verbally bashed by Muslim men, that's what life was like for me as a young woman of partial African descent in Lebanon. The racism that all Arab societies display toward Africans is appalling. You can't tell that to black Muslims, though, especially the ones from places like Somalia, Djibouti and Gambia. They're in love with everything Arabic. What a bunch of idiots. Anyhow, I was glad to be free of them when I began living with Melissa and her parents. They were devout Christians, but they never pressured me to join the Christian faith. I became fascinated by Christianity because I saw the kindness that Christians displayed toward one another. The first time I visited a church with the Harris family, I felt so welcome there. I saw men and women of various ages and ethnic backgrounds sitting together, side by side, as equals as they prayed to God. In mosques, men and women are kept separate from each other because the Arabs, who dictate the rules of Islam to all Muslims, have quite the phobia when it comes to women and men mixing it up. They're practically sex-o-phobic. By sharp contrast, the Christian church was far more open and tolerant. The place was lively, and vibrant. I think my fascination with all things Christian began that day and without being prompted by anyone, I began reading the Bible to find out more about Christianity and its progenitor, the one they call Jesus Christ.

One day, during family dinner, I told Melissa, George and Marion Harris that after due consideration, I decided to become a Christian. They were overjoyed but also cautious, because, like everyone, they knew what the Muslim community did to any Muslim who left Islam for another faith. In Islam, anyone who leaves the faith is considered an Apostate and has to be killed, according to the rules set by the prophet Mohammed himself. I told them that being a Christian was what I wanted, and I'd take whatever risks were necessary to embrace my new faith. Thus I was baptized before the Word of Truth Evangelical Church in the east end of Ottawa. And just like that, I had gone from unhappy Muslim to proud Christian!

After high school, I thought about my future. I wanted a career in law enforcement, because I think a woman like me, with my knowledge and cultural background, might do some good there. I speak so many languages, from English and French to Spanish, Arabic, Farsi, and even some Mandarin Chinese. I'm not just intellectually ready for the job, I've got the physique for it too. I'm five-foot-eleven, neither fat nor thin, but comfortably curvy at 160 pounds. I'm brown, foxy and hot, thank you very much. I applied to Carleton University and got accepted. Melissa went to the University of Ottawa. I moved into my own little spot, a nice apartment in the east end. I still visited Marion and George every week, but I also wanted my independence. Melissa still lived at home, because the fierce tomboy I cherished was still a daddy's gal at heart.

Understand that Melissa and I have always been close, like sisters, really, but we were never more than that, until her parents went to New York City on their second honeymoon for three weeks. Melissa got bored staying home alone, and she asked me to come over. We stayed up all night watching TV, eating Shawarma and just talking about old times. We were sitting on the couch, just like old times, except there was something different. I was wearing an old T-shirt and my blue panties while Melissa wore her old Toronto Blue Jays jersey and boxer shorts. And, um, she kept brushing up against me. I told her to quit doing it and she laughed, and did it again. Grinning, I leapt at her and we wrestled fiercely on the couch before falling on the floor. I was on top of Melissa, and neither of us were laughing. I swear what happened next surprised both of us. One minute we were just looking at each other, one on top of the other and the next...fuck, how did THAT happen?

How did I end up naked, rolling around on the carpet, kissing Melissa as she fondled me? I don't know, but I sure as hell loved what she was doing to me. I loved the feel of her soft lips on my tits, and her firm hands spreading my thighs as she began exploring my pussy with her fingers. The two of us moaning and writhing on the carpet as we made love for the first time. The sheer joy I felt when Melissa spread my legs and licked my pussy. The amazing taste on my tongue as Melissa guided my hungry lips to her own pussy, and I ate her out like a starved woman. Melissa putting me on all fours, spanking my big butt before munching on my pussy. Melissa clutching me to her body in her strong arms as I cried out in orgasmic delight. Hot damn. What a night!

In hindsight, Melissa and I have always had feelings for each other. Neither of us showed any interest in the opposite sex growing up. I was focused on my studies and my passion for art and music, and she was fixated on playing rugby and hanging out with other tomboys. I think I've always known I was a lesbian, I just didn't voice it aloud. In our talks after that memorable first time, Melissa told me she felt the same way. When her parents came home and found us asleep in each other's arms, they really weren't surprised. So when's the wedding? asked George Harris, my future father-in-law. Melissa and I smiled at other and winked at her mom Marion before we kissed each other.