Let me be your hero, I thought as I gazed upon her as she slept in the Montreal-Nord apartment, on the bed we shared. How lovely she looked. Only five-foot-seven, slim, with light bronze skin, long black hair and light brown eyes. After gazing upon her countless times, I knew every part of her. Every strand of hair, every inch of skin, every touch and every smile. My Ayten. The first time I gazed upon her, I knew she was special. I still remember the two of us walking through the halls of Concordia University together, hand in hand. A young Somali-Canadian man and a young lady from Turkey, studying at one of Canada's top universities. Back in those days when anything seemed possible.
In case you're wondering who this is, my name is Rashid Abdullah, and I'm a gentleman ( among other things ) with a story to tell. I was born in 1986 in Somaliland, and about a decade later, I moved with my parents to the City of Montreal, Quebec. I'm a Canadian citizen of Somali descent, and I embraced both sides of my identity. I have led a very eventful life, considering my short years. I grew up in metropolitan Montreal, in a neighborhood populated by Somali immigrants along with Arabs and a few Chinese people. My father, Kasim, is a bus driver and my mother, Anisah, works at Wal-Mart as a sales manager. As for me, I work as a security guard while attending Concordia University, where I study Law.
Since I'm a Somali and there are so many stereotypes, both cultural and religious, about my people, I want to make certain things perfectly clear. Not every Somali person is ill at ease in North American society. My family and I, we've done alright for ourselves in this land. We respect other cultures and religions, by the way. We're not a very religious bunch in my family, and honestly, sometimes I was glad of that. A lot of Muslim immigrants don't adapt too well to life in Western societies. Of course, adapting and integrating to a new society doesn't mean giving up everything you are and everything you believe in just to fit in. Honestly, it shouldn't mean that either. Considering how bad things are for my people in Somaliland, a lot of us should be thankful to Canada for welcoming us with open arms in our time of need. My family came to Canada in 1995. I still remember the wars and the famine back home, some shit you just can't forget.
Anyhow, I was just a guy living my life in the metropolis until the day everything literally went to hell. Things were finally starting to look up, man. I was making fifteen bucks per hour working security for Hydro Quebec at various sites around the City of Montreal. I could finally afford to move out of my folks house in Laval, and found myself an apartment in Montreal-Nord. The commute to Concordia University was nothing to laugh at since I didn't have a car, but that's alright. When something matters to you enough, you do what you have to do. I was in Law School, pretty close to getting my Law degree too. I'd be the first lawyer in the Abdullah family. I'd become a high-powered attorney with an office downtown, make the big bucks and take care of my parents. Got to take care of my own, you know? A man who forgets where he comes from isn't a man. The places you've been and the people you've known, especially family and friends, they helped make you who you are, whether good or bad. That's my view of this life, you feel me? When you are who and what I am, you've got to navigate so many contradictions in your daily life it's not even funny.
At the start of this tale, I was entering my second year of Law School, and things were finally looking up. While walking around campus, I met this absolutely gorgeous young woman named Ayten Batur. She was an international student at Concordia University, hailing straight from the City of Ankara in Turkey. We met while I was in line for Tim Horton's. someone bumped into me and I dropped my money. The person who bumped into me apologized profusely and bent down to help me gather my loose change. I always carry up to ten dollars in loonies and toonies in my pocket. I don't like using my debit card for small purchases like some people I know. That's just me. Anyway, I looked at the gal who just helped me gather my stuff and found myself mesmerized. I mean, she was beautiful with a capital B, man! I smiled weakly and told her it was alright. Since I had never seen her around before, I asked her if she was new. As it turns out, she was. I promptly introduced myself, and wished her a warm welcome to Concordia University, the best school in Canada.
I had seen beautiful ladies of all hues before. The City of Montreal is full of them. From stunning Caribbean ladies like the Haitian, Jamaican and Trinidadian divas you see around the mall, strutting their stuff to sexy Latin American women from places like Brazil, El Salvador and Mexico. You'll also find lots of women from India, Pakistan and China. The ladies of southeast Asia are gorgeous, alluring and mysterious. Not to be outdone, the white women from the French Canadian community were in a class by themselves. If you're walking around in Canadian town and you see a white woman with a booty, odds are she's French Canadian. Quebec women are all that and the proverbial bag of chips, ladies and gentlemen. Ayten Batur was in a class by herself. The face of an angel, the gorgeously bronzed body of an Olympic athlete and the kind of booty that a Black woman would envy. If I knew there were women who looked like that in distant Turkey, I would have gone there a long time ago!
Now, given how gorgeous she was, you'd expect Ayten Batur to be at the very least aloof in her dealings with men. Well, I'm happy to say this wasn't the case. This gal was genuinely friendly and outgoing. Gorgeous, smart, and actually friendly and easy to talk to. I didn't meet too many women like that, so I knew this chick was pretty special. Is it any wonder that I fell in love with her? We'd been hanging out for about six weeks when I finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. We were sitting inside the cafeteria, eating some Chinese food, when I smiled and told her I had something important to share with her. When I finally told her how I felt, Ayten paused for a long moment without saying anything. Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips, shocking the hell out of me in the most pleasant of ways. What took you so long? Ayten asked, laughing. I shrugged and smiled.
Ayten Batur and I became an item, and we were inseparable. We went to movies, restaurants and museums together. Ayten was new to Canada and was curious about the wonders of Montreal. I was delighted to be her guide in the metropolis. Yeah, everything was fine, until the day I was approached by this weird Arab dude while chilling at the mall with my buddies Jean-Pierre and Leo. I'm friends with a lot of Haitian guys. Some Somalis don't like them because of the differences in our cultures and faiths, but not me. The way I see it, the whole world hates us Black guys. Why would I hate on a brother just because he's from another country or another religion? If Black people showed more love and respect to their own, we'd all be better off.
Anyhow, I was walking around the mall when this short, bearded older dude approached me. He started shouting in a language that sounded like Arabic but wasn't. I speak Arabic, and whatever jargon this dude was sputtering in, it sounded older than that. He came closer, and I told him to back off. That's when he pulled a flask from his pocket and hurled the contents at me. I found myself drenched in oil. I just froze, stunned. I mean, shit like that doesn't happen to me every day, you know? Even for a rough and tumble area like Montreal-Nord, this was too much. I took a step toward my attacker, determined to kick his ass. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he produced an ornate-looking dagger, and made a move to stab me with it. I leapt back, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the gut, then struck. I hit the dude with all of my might...and he went flying. I mean, when I hit him he went flying like a rag doll, and collapsed about twenty feet away. Standing next to me, Leo and Jean-Claude looked at the guy, who lay still, then at me. I looked at my friends then at my hands. What the fuck?