Somali Empress in Ottawa
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A Somali Queen In Ottawa free porn video
A lot of people are surprised when they meet me. I guess that’s because they’ve all got preconceived notions about what it’s like to be me. My name is Azizah Khalif, and I’m a young Black woman of Somali descent living in the City of Orleans, in provincial Ontario. I recently graduated from Carleton University with a Master’s degree in Computer Science and I presently work for the National Gallery of Canada in downtown Ottawa, as part of tech support personnel. I have a good job, and a very interesting life. I’m a modern woman in every way, even though how I got there wasn’t easy.
I was born in the town of Bosaso, northern Somalia, and moved to Ontario, Canada, with my family in 2000. To say that we experienced a lot of culture shock when we moved from Somalia to Canada would have been an understatement. Still, we adjusted fairly quickly, I’d say. Thirteen years later, the Khalif family is still going strong. My parents, Mohammed and Barihah live in the City of Kingston, and my younger brother Washim lives in Toronto. He’s at Seneca College, studying business administration. My family and I are like many in the Somali Canadian community, but people don’t believe Somalis like us exist. Somali males are thought to be socially maladjusted and criminally inclined, while Somali females are taught to be strange, ill at ease in the gender-egalitarian society of today’s Canada, since we’re from a conservative Islamic nation and all. I’m here to break that stereotype once and for all, or at the very least put a dent on it.
At first glance, what most people notice about me is my height. I stand six feet two inches tall, slim but curvy, with light brown skin and long curly black hair. My eyes are almond-shaped and a golden brown hue. My father is half Somali and half Tuareg, and they’re a tall people. I think I get my great height from him, because my mom is only five-foot-eight. My brother is five-foot-ten and always teases me that he should have been the giant in the family, not me. I tell him that Allah gives His blessings as He sees fit and I’m thankful for what I have, and he should do the same. Washim is somewhat of a whiner, and he’s seldom content about anything.
A man who doesn’t appreciate what he has is sure to lose it unless he’s careful. Case in point? Consider my little brother Washim. He was dating a beautiful Jamaican gal named Melody Thompson last time I visited him in Toronto but from what I heard, she dumped him recently because she got tired of his controlling ways and insecurity. Can’t say I blame the gal. Hey, Washim is my brother and I love him but I know what he’s like. He can be a bit much, to say the least. A lot of Somali brothers born in the motherland have trouble letting go of the old ways. Sisters living in Canada and elsewhere in the West aren’t meek and submissive like the ones back home. They don’t put up with men who waste their time. It’s a brand new world, ladies and gentlemen. Those who can’t adapt to it will be left behind, simple as that.
I was reading my copy of Black Enterprise, an American magazine geared at Black people, when I came across an article which I found infuriating. Something about the dearth of mates of the same race for college-educated and gainfully employed Black women. I have seen so many clips about this issue on YouTube and on CNN. Why is Western society fixated on the love life of the Black woman? They don’t love us so why do they care? Granted, Black Enterprise’s article and the clips about Black women and their dating woes were primarily aimed at Black women living in the United States of America but as a Somali-Canadian woman, the issue resonated with me as well. If you ask me, the White media needs to stay out of the affairs and bedrooms of Black women and Black men. Who we date or marry, and what we do behind closed doors, that’s none of their damn business. They’re always quick to point out the negative stuff about the Black community. If a Black man built a school or if a Black woman came up with a new medical discovery, they’d never put that stuff on blast on CNN, MSNBC or Yahoo News. Bunch of bigoted simpletons if you ask me.
After reading this article, I found myself a bit incensed. Alright, I was downright pissed. I thought about all the young Somali men I saw in the City of Ottawa. Many of them were wasting their lives doing menial jobs or smoking weed instead of going to university and applying themselves. The Government of Canada has done all it could to help the Somali community, starting with welcoming tens of thousands of us into Canada in the 1980s and early 1990s, but today, many of our young men just don’t give a damn. When I visit the various institutions of higher education around Ottawa, from my alma mater Carleton University and the University of Ottawa to Algonquin College, Saint Paul University and La Cite Collegiale, I see quite a few Somali women but not a lot of Somali men. Where are the young men of my community? They’re wasting their time and their lives. And that’s a damn shame. I’m starting to see a lot of young Somali women with Arab men. This certainly irks some Somali men but I don’t blame my sisters for dating outside the community. Somali women love Somali men, but they’re letting us carry the burden of the family and fighting for our place in today’s racist Canadian society all by ourselves while they smoke weed, work lousy jobs and commit petty crimes instead of supporting their families and going to university.
My parents came to Canada with Washim and I while they were in their twenties, and I saw what they endured to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. My father worked as a security guard while going to university at night, first to learn how to speak English and French, then he got his police foundations diploma from Algonquin College. Dad became one of the first Somali men to work for the Ontario Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services as a corrections officer in Kingston, Ontario. Yeah, my father works in law enforcement. My mother went back to school for Nursing, earned her Master’s degree in Nursing at the University of Ottawa and nowadays she works at the Hotel Dieu Hospital in Kingston. When we were younger, my brother Washim showed signs of being lazy and inclined to mischief like so many young Somali brothers, but my father told him that if he ever got in trouble with the law, he’d shoot him himself. When my father talks like that, he’s not joking. He’s a strong Black man who survived the lawlessness of Somalia. He wasn’t about to let his only son become a hoodlum in Canada. Washim learned his lesson, and that’s why he’s in school right now. Making something of himself. Because if he doesn’t, our father will hunt him down.
I love my father, and I consider him one of the last of a dying breed. The media often talks about those Black men who abandon their families, become criminals and treat Black women like shit. They never put the spotlight on good Black men. My father is a hard-working and God-fearing family man. He’s not a control freak or an abuser, which is what the media makes many Muslim men out to be, since incidents of honor killings and intercultural violence have been reported among Muslim communities all over North America and the United Kingdom. My father always encouraged and supported me, his darling daughter. If anything, he doted on me while showing some tough love to my younger brother Washim. When I was in high school, I wanted to play rugby and the secular administrators of the school made a fuss about the hijab, so my father told me that I didn’t have to wear my hijab while playing rugby. Many Muslim families would have been outraged and pulled their daughters from the team, but my father is very flexible and understanding.
My dad is a very progressive man in his views. He always taught me to respect people of different backgrounds and faiths, especially Christians and Jews, even though many Muslims strongly dislike them. To my father, we’re all God’s creations, and only The Most
High can judge the souls of men and women. A Muslim who hates those different from him and thinks he’s doing the Will of Heaven is a fool. God doesn’t hate anyone. God is love. God spoke His Word to Moses for the Jews, to Isa Al Masih ( the Arabic name of Jesus Christ the Messiah ) for the Christians and to our prophet Mohammed for us Muslims. No true Muslim should ever allow himself or herself to hate the Christian or the Jew. In fact, God loves and man kills, something my father is fond of saying. This man shaped my views in many ways, and I can’t thank him enough for that.
At work, I met someone truly interesting recently. A tall and broad-shouldered, well-dressed brother who came to the National Gallery with his son, a light-skinned, curly-haired brat of about seven. I was eating lunch in the cafeteria, solo since the other girls working there, all of them white, aren’t exactly friendly towards me. That’s daily life in the workplace for the Black professional in Canada for you. Just because you’re there doesn’t mean you belong, or that you’re made to feel welcome. The sight of the tall, well-dressed brother and his son made me smile. They were both so beautiful. Imagine my surprise when the brother walked up to me, smiled and greeted me. I looked at him, wondering if I knew him from somewhere. His son waved at me, and I waved back weakly.
The brother extended his hand, called me by name and when I stared blankly after shaking his hand, he introduced himself as Aziz Khaled. I was still drawing a blank as to who he was, and he told me we knew each other back at Carleton University. Freshman year at Southam, he said with a grin. I smiled, and realized that he did look vaguely familiar. Of course, Aziz, the nerdy brother from Djibouti! Man, he sure has changed over the years, I thought as I gave him the once-over. Aziz asked me if he and little Bashir could join me for lunch, and I nodded happily. It’s not every day that a tall, gorgeous and well-dresser brother with an equally beautiful son joins a sister like me for lunch. At the National Gallery, I’m the only person of color with a university degree and a job that doesn’t involve working security or cleaning floors. You’ve got no idea how lonely I feel. Aziz and his son ate some soup, and I caught up with my fellow Carleton alumnus over lunch.
Aziz told me he changed his major from computer science to accounting after freshman year, and earned his bachelor’s degree in accounting from Carleton University before heading to York University for his master’s degree. He proudly showed me his Canadian Revenue Agency badge, and told me he started working for them six months ago. I smiled and told him I was happy for him. I glanced at little Bashir, who ate his soup silently. A gorgeous, educated brother with a good job and a son. He must have a wife somewhere. I smiled at Bashir, who waved at me meekly, and asked him where his mommy was. Bashir smiled and told me his mommy was in Toronto, and he was spending a few days with uncle Aziz. Upon hearing that, I brightened up considerably. He’s your nephew? I asked Aziz, who grinned and nodded. Aziz told me that his older brother Mohammed and his wife Kareema were enjoying a second honeymoon in Barbados, and they left little Bashir in his care for a week. It hasn’t been easy, Aziz confessed, as he ran his hand through Bashir’s hair.
I smiled at Aziz and Bashir, shaking my head. Damn, who says all the good ones are taken? I was about to say something when my phone rang. I excused myself and checked. It was my brother Washim. What does the fool want now? I texted him that I’d call him later, then got back to Aziz and Bashir. Before my lunch hour was over, Aziz and I exchanged numbers. Let’s meet for dinner and a movie, he said with a grin. I nodded, and gave him a hug. I gave little Bashir a peck on the cheek before I wished them both a good day, and went back upstairs. My lunch hour was over ten minutes ago, but for some people, you just have to bend the rules because they just might be worth it. I breezed through the rest of the day, my mind filled with daydreams about Aziz. Damn, he was fine, and seemed to have his stuff together. I definitely wanted to see more of him. Much more, in fact, judging by how sexy he looked in his well-tailored business suit and tie.
When I got home that night, I was still on cloud nine. Aziz texted me, asking me what I thought of grabbing a bite with him at the Heart and Crown restaurant before going to see Django Unchained on Saturday. Sounded heavenly to me, so I texted back a resounding yes! I took off my coat, and turned on my living room light. What I found, I’ll never forget until the day I die. My brother Washim, looking drunk and haunted, a bottle of pills in his hand. What are you doing here? I yelled as I snatched the bottle from his hand. Damn it, I’m so tired of his screw-ups! Why can’t he just get his shit together? And how did he get into my apartment? Washim looked at me, and told me we needed to talk. It’s about Melody, he said soberly.
I sighed, then sat down next to my brother. Washim smiled weakly, then he told me the awful truth. Melody left me because she found out I’m bisexual, Washim said grimly. I rolled my eyes. The fact that my brother is bisexual wasn’t news. I found out he was bisexual the same way I found out he was into fat chicks. I caught him with one, in our old basement! Yep, I caught him getting a blowjob from Timmy, the red-haired white guy who lived next door. Luckily our parents weren’t home. Afterwards, Washim pleaded with me not to tell our parents. I told him his secret was safe with me. We hadn’t spoken about it since. I gently touched my brother’s cheek, and told him that he’d find someone new. Ottawa is full of women. There’s got to be at least one who would be okay with having a bisexual Black man as a boyfriend. That’s not all, Washim said glumly.
I stared at him. Even now, the bozo was hiding something. What else happened? I asked, feeling exasperated. Melody told me she was pregnant and wants an abortion, Washim said, swallowing hard. I shook my head. Abortion is a big no-no in Muslim communities, which doesn’t mean that Muslim women don’t do it. I’ve seen plenty of hijab-wearing Somali girls, Indonesian females and Arab women discretely walking into certain clinics near downtown Ottawa. Yet another dirty secret of the Muslim community. Many Muslim men have sex with other men, and many Muslim women have lesbian affairs, and some Muslim women even have abortions and keep it secret from their families.
Melody Thompson is a Christian woman from the island of Jamaica, she isn’t Muslim, so she isn’t bound by our rules and creed. Washim should have known better than to deal with someone like her. Muslim men love going out with and even marrying women from other faiths, especially Christian girls and Jewish women. Us Muslim women are forbidden from marrying men from other faiths so our dating options are kind of limited. Muslim guys enjoy the double standard. Serves them right when they get their hearts stomped by women from other faiths and backgrounds. They don’t appreciate their own Muslim sisters! Yeah, that’s what I thought of Muslim guys like Washim and their interfaith dating habits. Still, I couldn’t say that to him. Not in the state he was now.
Instead of criticizing my brother, I put my arms around him and told him everything was going to be okay. Just like when we were younger. My brother screws up, and then he runs back to me. I’m twenty seven years old. My brother is twenty. When is he ever going to grow up? Only Allah knows. Just like he did when were younger, Washim laid his head on my shoulder and wept. He was mumbling about his fears. If word got out that he was bisexual, he’d be shunned by the Somali community. Gays, lesbians and bisexuals aren’t tolerated in the Islamic community, even when living in North America. Certain deeply held views in our communities and cultures are hard to let go. Once, I would have been repulsed by a Muslim who identified as gay or bisexual, b
ut I know that these men and women are in our communities. We must acknowledge them.
I kissed my brother on the forehead and told him that I’d support him. I gently let him go, and he lay on the couch. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of hot chocolate, which I warmed in the microwave and handed to him. Washim took it and drank. He smiled and thanked me, then squeezed my hand. Looking me in the eyes, he told me I was the best sister in the world. I shrugged and smiled. I have to man up, Washim sighed, then added that he was heading back to Toronto in the morning. May God bless your path brother, Inch’Allah ( God willing ) I said, then I turned off the living room light and went to bed. What a day! If someone told me all these things were going to happen when I got out of bed this morning, I wouldn’t even want to know! I made a date with an awesome guy I met at work, and rescued my younger brother from his thousandth screw-up of the year. Yep, a Black woman’s work is never done. We hold up this world, y’all!
Julianne
- 16.10.2022
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