If you're Somali, and happen to be gay, lesbian or bisexual, it's probably a good idea to keep it to yourself. Well, if you want to live, that is. Sometimes, I wonder what brings more pain into my complex life, my sexual orientation or, ahem, the other thing. That which marks me as different from the rest of humanity. What am I talking about? I'll get to that shortly.
The name is Bilal Abdullahi, and I'm a young Black man of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. This is my true story of learning to accept myself. All of me, that is. In an effort to blend in and avoid persecution, I've been known to ignore my true nature and my desires. Now I can no longer afford to do that.
"Bilal, you filthy Qaniis ( the Somali word for gay ), get your half-Bantu ass out of my house!" Shouted my aunt Jamila Abdullahi, the woman who raised me after my parents, Salim and Fartuun Abdullahi died under mysterious circumstances when I was little. I was coming home after a long overnight shift at Loblaw's where I work as a shelf stocker. I've been working long hours since I owe the University of Ottawa a lot of money, and I was in no mood for a fight, but fate apparently had other plans.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, and my aunt waved a copy of Brazilian Chicks With Dicks, a 32-page porn magazine I bought online a few months ago. My heart sank, and at once I realized that I was doomed. My aunt Jamila Abdullahi is a very religious and deeply intolerant woman. At once she tossed the magazine at my face, and I had to duck to avoid that incoming missile. There's always some drama happening in Vanier. My turn finally came.
"Damn," I mumbled to myself as I grabbed my backpack and ran out the house. Having missed the OC Transpo bus, I walked a couple of miles to my aunt's house, dog-tired after a long shift, and a blistering heat was choking the City of Ottawa. I ran out the house, which began my journey of trying to make it into this world as best I could.
I grabbed my bright green Presto card and used it to board the first bus I saw. I rode the bus to Saint Laurent Mall, and from there I grabbed another bus, one bound for downtown and headed to the Ottawa Main Library on Metcalfe Street. I sat at a public computer, and checked my CIBC account online. I had six hundred bucks, which I intended to use for a weekend getaway to Toronto but hey, life gives us changing priorities.
Three nights until the full moon. I could already feel the change coming. I couldn't be homeless when it happened. Detection leads to extermination, which leads to extinction. That's a mantra all of us the wolf people live by. I had to find something pronto. I looked on Kijiji and browsed the endless ads, looking for a room. Finally, I found a promising ad, one which advertised a one-bedroom spot for four hundred and forty bucks a month. I called the number on the ad and a female voice answered immediately.
"Hello, ma'am, my name is Bilal, and I'm a university student who is interested in the room," I said, as politely as I could. The lady at the other end chuckled softly, and told me the room was available for viewing that very afternoon. I arrived at the library around ten in the morning and by three, I was ready to leave. I went to check the room, which is located at a house near Algonquin College on Baseline Road, and liked it immediately.
"If you like it, let me know immediately, it's first come first serve," said the landlady, a plump Latina named Mercedes. I smiled and nodded, and then pretended to think about it. Like I had a choice. I signed the lease right then and there, and came by the next day to give the lady the first month's deposit. I had to wait until next week's pay to get the remainder.
"Brother, you can always stay with me when you're in a bind," said my good friend Suleiman Nahas, a young Lebanese dude I've known since my high school days. Suleiman works as a security guard downtown, and like me, he's queer. His parents threw him ages ago when they caught him in bed with Jacob, a Jamaican dude Suleiman used to kick it with in the old days. Of all my friends, Suleiman is the only one I've always been able to count on.
I stayed at my buddy Suleiman's place in Nepean, and moved into my new place a week later. I was broke, but at least I had a place to stay. Little did I know my problems were just beginning. Ladies and gentlemen, there's no way to escape what you are. You cannot run from it. You cannot hide from it. Sooner or later, you must face it.
All of us are little more than the sum of our bloodlines. We may think of ourselves as self-made men and women, but what those who came before passed down to us, for good and for ill, has a way of influencing what we become. As a Somali man raised in the Islamic faith, I felt cursed because I felt lust toward both sexes.
Add to that the fact that I am tall, gangly, and not particularly attractive, and you can understand why this brother has some issues. My father was an ethnic Somali but my mother was Bantu, and their inter-ethnic marriage wasn't something that my father's proud Somali family was thrilled about. All my life I've been told that I wasn't Somali enough, and my being outed as queer wasn't going to help me any.
The only escape I have from my problems is my other side. When the full moon came, I discretely exited Suleiman's place, and then went into the nearby woods. The Change came over me, and at once my body changed. I went from a six-foot-one, skinny and dark-skinned male to a wolf-like, humanoid monstrosity covered with grayish brown fur. My eyes turned yellow, and my teeth elongated and sharpened. My smooth fingernails turned into claws. My bestial self came to the surface, and I raced through the night.
I absolutely love being morphed and free. Seriously, when I am in my wolfish form, I can let go of all these problems of mine. My human side is submerged, subdued and almost completely gone. I remain my capacity for reason, deduction and problem-solving, but in a cold, practical way, one so very distant from the emotionally clogged way of human reasoning and thinking. I absolutely love having such clarity.
Moving at speeds exceeding those of cars, I race through Nepean. Drivers on the road might see a blur as I whiz by, that's about it. Soon I reach the woods, for much of the west end of Ottawa is nothing but wilderness. I reach the woods, my domain, and at once I feel at peace. Here, among the trees and the animals, surrounded by mother nature, far from the dreaded humans, I am supreme. Too soon dawn comes, and when the first rays of sunlight touch me, I once more return to my human form.
I awaken in a field, near the place where I left my clothes. Quietly I put them back on. At once my problems return. How I hate being human just for that. By now, I figured that the whole Somali community had heard about my sexuality thanks to my motor-mouthed aunt Jamila, so I steered clear of my people. I have always been a recluse, with few friends, and by and large, my life didn't change all that much. Until I went to a house party in Kanata. My buddy Suleiman always knows of some cool gay party, with plenty of hot Black guys and sexy Arab guys, and I figured that was just what I needed to get out of this funk.
