2 comments/ 4598 views/ 0 favorites Saudi Girls for Haitian Boys By: Samuelx The first time I laid eyes on Adam Guillot he was yelling at some old white guy in the swimming pool at school because the guy had something to say about his athletic abilities in the aquatic realm. I should mention that Adam is the only black member of the university swim team and he's used to people coming at him with various stereotypes but that day, he, um, kind of lost it. With good reason, I might. I overheard some of what the old white guy said to him and the dude was definitely on the obnoxious and condescending side. Like the helpful soul that I am, I stepped in to diffuse the situation. Stepping between Adam and the old guy, whom I recognized as a McGill University alumnus, I told them both to chill the fuck out. As a lifeguard at the pool, it's my duty to keep things running smooth. The old guy looked at me smugly and had the nerve to claim that Adam was harassing him. Shaking my head, I told the old guy that I wasn't there to take sides. Then I dismissed him. Sulking, he walked away from me and walked down the stairway leading to the men's locker room. Loser. Privately, I agreed with Adam. A lot of old white guys seem to have a problem with visible minorities excelling in areas previously thought to be the domain of white males. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. My name is Manal Bin Sultan and I'm a young woman of Saudi Arabian descent living in the City of Montreal, Quebec. I was born in the town of Taif, Saudi Arabia, to Abdul and Shira Bin Sultan. My parents and I moved to Canada in the fifth summer of my life. We've been living here ever since. I hold dual Saudi/Canadian citizenship, but I doubt I'll ever feel at home in either place. In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, I would have no real life because women are worthless over there. I'm sure you've heard all about the ban on female driving, and the fact that Saudi women can't be in public without wearing the damn burka. Since I left the Kingdom when I was so young, I don't remember what life was like over there. Most of my time was spent indoors in my parents hillside villa, that much I remember. In case you're not picking up on it, I'm in no hurry to go back there. I like my life in Canada, with my friends and my school. There's been some tension between the Arab immigrant community, which is predominantly Muslim, and the French Canadians, who are predominantly Christian, but for the most part, I feel happy and safe in Montreal. I don't think I could say the same in the Kingdom. My parents and I have had endless arguments about my views on religion and society. Although I was raised in a strict Muslim household, I consider myself a secular human being. I stopped wearing the hijab after moving out of my folks townhouse in Laval and into an apartment near the McGill University campus. That didn't go over too well, as you can imagine. Among the vastness of the Ummah, we Saudis are the most conservative of all. In the heartland of Islam, my homeland, our great religion is supposedly practiced in its purest form. Exalted Saudi clerics proclaim this every chance they get, and hold the fact that we Saudis are custodians of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina as proof. I was raised a world away from all that, and although Quebec is far from perfect, it's definitely a step up from Saudi Arabia. I'm studying business administration with a minor in journalism at McGill University and when I'm done, I want to work for the Quebecor Media Corporation. We need more Arab women in western media. Besides British-Iranian journalist Christiane Amanpour and Lebanese American activist Brigitte Gabriel, can you name any Arab or Middle-Eastern women who are on TV regularly? Yeah, that's what I thought. I want to be a fresh face on TV, and I want to make a difference. I know it's an uphill climb. I'm five-foot-ten, bronze-skinned, dark-haired and chubby. My hips are wide, my legs are thick and my bum is big. Not the western world's ideal of beauty by any means, that's for damn sure. While at Saint Marie Academy in Montreal's west side, I was the only female athlete on the men's varsity rugby squad. And I proved myself by being one of their toughest players. I did so while wearing specially made sporting sweatpants and my hijab, by the way. For my father wouldn't let me leave the house without it in those days. I had to prove a lot of people wrong, because they didn't believe I could be a Hijabi and a sportswoman. I hurt a lot of guys on opposite teams while on the rugby team. So much for the myth of the Saudi woman as soft and sweet, eh? I work out extensively, and have reached a healthy weight. I am fit enough to be a lifeguard at the McGill University swimming pool, that's something, right? I still have a ways to go but the way I figure it, Rome wasn't built in a day. After my shift at the pool ended, I got dressed and went to my Business Ethics class, and then went home. While on my way to the bus stop, guess who I ran into? None other than Adam Guillot, the tall and handsome young man who made history as the first black swimmer at McGill University. He was waiting for the bus, and casually checking his watch. Hello, I said hesitantly, looking at him and wondering what kind of reception I'd get after the swimming pool encounter. Adam Guillot is definitely one of the more famous faces on campus. Typically, guys that hot don't notice the existence of girls like me. Looking at me, Adam stroked his chin and nodded. Bon après-midi, he said evenly. I smiled and introduced myself as Manal Bin Sultan, A.K.A. The Pool Chick. Adam smiled and shook my hand. Dude had a nice, firm grip. Not crushing but really firm. Either he works out or he's been polishing his tool...often. Sorry about the old creep back at the pool, I said sheepishly. Adam smiled and shrugged, then told me not to worry about it. Just as I was about to add something, the bus came. Adam nodded at me, and it took me a moment to figure out he wanted me to go first. I thanked him in a mock-British accent, and we both laughed. Let's sit together, Adam said as we made our way inside the crowded bus. Sounds good to me, I added cheerfully. We sat together in the back of the bus, and over the course of the forty-minute bus ride, Adam and I got to know each other a bit. Adam was born in the town of Longueil, Quebec, to a Haitian immigrant father, Jean-Pierre Guillot and a French Canadian mother, Muriel Guindon. He told me a bit about his life in Longueil, which he described as an idyllic small town, albeit one lacking in racial diversity. I couldn't wait to leave, Adam said wistfully. I nodded, for the place my parents call home is one I hope to never return to. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia isn't my kind of place. Adam stared at me blankly when I shared this with him. Shrugging, I asked him what was up. Adam shook his head and said he'd always dreamed of visiting the Republic of Haiti, ancestral homeland of his family. I wish you the best with that, I said with a shrug. For several somewhat uncomfortable moments, Adam and I rode in silence. I kind of thought I'd gone too far but apparently I didn't, for he began talking to me again. One doesn't solve one's problems by running from them, Adam said in the same even tone he'd used before. And I so was not trying to hear it. You know nothing about the life of a Saudi woman, I retorted, with more than a bit of anger. Adam considered that. I'd like to learn more about your culture sometime, he said, and as I sat there simmering, he wished me goodnight, then got off at the next stop. I sat there, looking out the window as Adam left the bus. Standing on the sidewalk of a suburban street, he had the nerve to wave at me as the bus left. Shaking my head at his nerve, I found myself smiling. Some of what he said rang true, but you won't catch me admitting it aloud. I went home, and after eating, doing homework, and showering, I went on Facebook and looked up a certain swimmer. Adam wasn't hard to find. The dude had about a hundred pictures of himself with friends, mostly shirtless, and about a thousand friends, most of them collegiate females. Yeah, he's that kind of guy. I browsed through his profile, and sent Adam a friend request. Imagine my surprise when he accepted it like a minute later...and invited me to chat with him. Good evening Miss Manal, Adam typed. Hello night owl, I replied, a few seconds later. I didn't mean to offend you earlier, Adam said, with a sad face attached at the end of the message. No need to apologize, I said, adding a smiley face for good measure. Adam and I continued talking, discussing everything from Montreal's terrific nightlife, to the disastrous Shawarmas that Greek restaurants copying the Lebanese come up with. I'd love to take you to a real Shawarma restaurant sometime, Adam wrote to me. For several moments I didn't answer. I was surprised, and kind of gushing. Was he asking me out? I mean, it's not every day that things like that happen to me but damn, that's what it seemed like. Impulsively, I typed my number without answering. Sixty seconds later I got a phone call from Adam. Speak to me, his deep, masculine voice stated. Smiling, I said hello, and then just like that, we made plans to grab a bite together at a nice little Lebanese restaurant not far from the McGill University campus. I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face...well, it wasn't exactly nighttime when I finally fell asleep. Adam and I kept each other up, into the wee hours of the morning. I think it was three in the morning when we finally said goodnight and clicked off. Thoughts of Adam swirled through my sleep-addled and decidedly lusty mind. How about that? I just made a date, sort of, with one of the cutest guys on campus. Supposedly to talk about the upcoming swimming season and Saudi culture. Yeah, right, whatever is clever. I want to get close to that sexy body of his. If I have to regale him with half-remembered stories about my long-forgotten former homeland, so be it. Adam's got a cute butt, and I'm a sucker for those. What? Are you surprised by this? We Saudi girls can be naughty too! Saudi Girls For Haitian Boyz The day I met Stephen Lemieux is the day my life changed forever. My name is Afaf Al-Rahman and I’m a woman with a story to share with you. I was born in the harsh environs of metropolitan Najran, Southwestern Saudi Arabia, and moved to the City of Makkah in the Al Madinah region during the eleventh summer of my life. My parents, Aref and Mona Al-Rahman worked for the Saudi government. In the summer of 2003, after I completed my secondary school studies, they sent me to study at the University of Toronto in provincial Ontario, Canada. Moving from Makkah, the Capital region of Saudi Arabia, to the City of Toronto, Ontario, absolutely blew me away. The Ontario region of Canada is nothing like I expected. The place is so big and diverse. At the University of Toronto, I saw lots of students of all hues. Africans. Arabs. Chinese. Hindus. The place was big, lively and fun. It became my second home. I fell in love with the campus the first time I set foot in it. At last, I was free. In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, as you have heard, women’s freedom of movement and expression is limited by draconian interpretations of Islamic law. Women cannot drive or work without male permission. Now, the Western media would have you believe that Saudi Arabia is a gigantic prison for women. The truth is much more complex than that. I love my country and it’s not the super strict and downright evil place that Americans and Europeans think it is. I, Afaf Rahman, am a proud citizen of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Nothing can change that. I love my people. I love my culture. I love my religion. Still, I must admit that in the Kingdom, we definitely have room for improvement, along social lines. Of course, the same could be said for the West. Nobody’s perfect. I have seen things in Western society that I find absolutely disturbing, such as rampant drug use, racial profiling, police brutality, and the breakdown of the nuclear family. So much for white people’s claim of perfection, eh? While at the University of Toronto, I made quite a few friends. One of them, Vanessa Adewale of Nigeria, became like a sister to me. We don’t look like we’d be friends, that’s for sure. I’m a short, round little woman from the Saudi Arabian desert and Vanessa is a six-foot-tall, dark-skinned and curvy woman from southern Nigeria. I’m a Muslim and Vanessa is a devout Christian. We’re from completely different worlds but that’s just it about the nature of friendships. All it took was a chance encounter on a bus stop and we became like sisters. I was lost, you see, and Vanessa, who’d been living in Toronto for a few years, helped me out. Later, when I ran into her at school, we ended up grabbing coffee and I added her as a friend on Facebook. We’ve been inseparable ever since. It’s thanks to Vanessa Adewale that I met Stephen Lemieux, a man whom the merest thought of makes my heart beat. Six feet two inches tall, lean and athletic, with light brown skin, curly black hair and lime-green-eyes, Stephen Lemieux is simply the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He was born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, to a Haitian immigrant father, James Lemieux, and a French Canadian mother, Christine Lalonde. The first time I laid eyes on Stephen, I was in the school café, having a drink with Vanessa, and the gorgeous stud with the easy smile and cute butt simply took my breath away. When Stephen’s eyes met mine, I smiled shyly while my heart skipped a beat. I should have known right then and there that we were destined for each other. I’m a five-foot-four, plump and bronze-skinned, dark-haired and brown-eyed Saudi Arabia woman of rather generous proportions. I have a plump body, large breasts and a huge butt. Since I am not very tall, it makes me look awkward as hell. I’m not anyone’s idea of beauty, even though I’ve been told that my face is pleasant to look at. I am average at best. Yet when Stephen looked at me, he made me feel like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. I think I was in lust mode because, well, I did something completely out of the ordinary when Stephen and I were introduced. You see, observant Muslim women don’t shake hands with men they’re not related to. In Islamic culture, it’s simply not done. I was born and raised in Saudi Arabia, the strictest of all Muslim nations. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is considered the Heartland of Islam. This is where the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him, first preached the Word of Allah to the local unbelievers. In the Arab world, it’s often said that whenever a man and a woman are alone together, Shaitan, the Devil, is the third person in the room. Well, after I giggled like a schoolgirl and grasped Stephen’s hand with both of mine, in a moment of uncharacteristic, well, everything, I tend to agree. Something about this oh so sexy biracial man of Haitian and French Canadian descent makes me forget myself. Still, I’m glad I met him. Stephen welcomed me to Canada, then hugged Vanessa goodbye and said he’d be in touch. Vanessa smiled at me wickedly and asked me what I thought of Stephen. I smiled and shrugged, then licked my lips suggestively while eyeballing Stephen’s oh so cute ass as he walked away. Seriously, this man has a sinfully sexy ass that looked just fine in his blue jeans. What? Does my reaction surprise you? Just because I’m a prim and proper, pious Muslim sister with my Hijab on, my traditional long skirt and my Koran tucked under my arm doesn’t mean I don’t have sexual feelings like all women. Alright? Sheesh! That night, I crept through Vanessa’s friends list on Facebook, found Stephen and sent him a friends request. The next time I saw him, we talked for a bit and then I feigned hesitation when he asked for my number, then smiled and gave it to him. That’s how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. The romance that changed my life. I fell in love with this gorgeous, exotic young man from another faith and culture who showed me worlds I didn’t know existed. With Stephen by my side, guiding me every step of the way, I discovered Toronto, a city unlike any other. We went to movie theaters, malls and restaurants, and he delighted in showing me new things. I learned much about Stephen, about his family and his way of seeing the world. Stephen is friendly, patient, charming, generous, easygoing and yet, quietly intense and quite mysterious. I found him appealing on so many levels. So much that I opened up to him like I had never done anyone before and since. At the end of the day, we’re all human and we need someone to care for us, and someone to care for. For me, that someone was Stephen. We bonded, you see. Finally, I found a man whom I could tell anything to. The wonderful thing about him is that he never pressured me. I told Stephen about my dreams and hopes. One day, I want to return to Saudi Arabia and encourage my fellow Saudi women to start innovative businesses and change Saudi society for the better. I am a proud Muslim and a Saudi Arabian woman by blood, but I believe every individual has something to contribute to the world. Changing Saudi society from within is one of my dreams…. The way I figure it, Western feminists are wrong to ask Muslim women like myself to try to be like them. I’m an Arab woman from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, not some skinny blonde-haired white chick in a bikini on the beach, smoking while watching half-naked guys go by. Western feminists don’t have a monopoly on female empowerment. Muslim women must fight sexism within our families, communities and places of worship. And we must do it our way. All this, I shared with Stephen. As I told him about my dreams and hopes, Stephen always listened attentively. He told me of his dream of one day becoming either a lawyer or a police officer. That’s why he’s studying criminal justice at the University of Toronto. Tenderly stroking Stephen’s chin, I looked him in the eyes and told him he was going to make an excellent cop or lawyer. Smiling, Stephen nodded. Then he took my face into his hands, and kissed me. Our first kiss, Stephen and I. Short and sweet, yet passionate, just like me. When we came up for air, Stephen and I smiled and looked into each other’s eyes. Grinning, the gorgeous biracial stud pulled me his arms and held me tight. I squeezed tightly against him, holding onto him as if for dear life. Stephen kissed my forehead and then whispered into my ear that he liked me. Grinning, I kissed him and told him I felt the same way. Hand in hand, we walked through the Eaton Center, our favorite mall, not caring who saw us. We officially became a couple. That was eleven years ago, ladies and gentlemen. We endured all kinds of hell to stay together. My parents disowned me after finding out I was in love with a Black man from another religion. Under penalty of death, I can never return to Saudi Arabia. If I ever set foot inside the Kingdom, I’m a dead woman. Fortunately, the Canadian government granted me asylum. It would be eight long years before I became a Canadian citizen. What a world! Stephen and I live together in the City of Calgary, Alberta, where he works as a patrol officer with the RCMP. I’m a manager with CIBC, the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce. We are doing alright in our respective careers but even more importantly, Stephen and I are married and we’re the parents of two lovely daughters, Amina and Fatima. You might wonder what role religion plays in our household since I’m a Saudi Arabian woman, from an Islamic background and all, and my husband is Christian. Well, these days, I consider myself a believer in the one true God, pure and simple, and last time I checked, God has no religion. For the sake of love, I had to make some tough choices. As I look at my husband and our two daughters, I thank the Most High for His blessings. Peace.