4 comments/ 12557 views/ 1 favorites When Arab Girls Love Black Men By: Samuelx Loving him is ill-advised, she told herself for the thousandth time as she looked at the picture of herself standing next to the one she loved the most. They were too different, she reminded herself. Yet from the first time she laid eyes on him in that Sociology class in September 2011, she couldn't stop thinking about him. In the eyes of most people, she was strange and she knew it. The quiet and fun Carleton University campus in Canada's capital was quite diverse. Lots of students from places like Africa, the Caribbean, Latin America, Southeast Asia and the Middle East. Yet Nabeela Marzuq was painfully aware of the stares she got everywhere she went. Simply because she was a short, slender Arab gal wearing a modest hijab along with her T-shirt and jeans. To most people, she would never be more than that. So many people seem to forget that Muslim women who dress conservatively are still women. Nabeela was used to being invisible, or, to put it mildly, her hijab was visible and she wasn't. Not the person she was underneath. And she was resigned to her apparent fate, until she met...him. The first day of classes, he showed up late. Tall, dark and handsome. Clad in a bright green T-shirt featuring Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics, black jeans and boots. The sight of him set her heart afire, and she felt her cheeks redden. Of course he had to come sit next to her. She sat alone in a row meant to seat six students, and felt more than a bit alone. She was the only hijabi in class. Her other friend Farah, a tall and slender Somali gal, never wore the hijab. That day Farah wore a red tank top, short black skirt and black leather boots. She sat next to her boyfriend Hoffman, a blond-haired and blue-eyed student from Heidelberg, Germany. Nabeela shook her head at Farah as she gently touched Hoffman, then kissed him right there in front of everybody. How Nabeela admired and feared Farah's boldness, even though she occasionally chastised her friend for being too upfront about everything. Being female and Muslim meant a life of discretion, that's what Nabeela's mother and grandmother taught her back in Yemen. However, living in Ontario was slowly changing her. Somalis and Yemenis were both present in large numbers among the immigrant populace of metropolitan Ottawa, Ontario. Yet they couldn't be more different, in spite of the relative proximity of both nations and the usually friendly relations between them. Most Somalis living in Canada were living their lives the western way. Very few bothered with wearing traditional clothes from the Somali motherland, and quite a few indulged in western vices like drinking, having casual sex and partying hard. Farah Muhammad, Nabeela's best friend, was such a gal. and she was by no means unique among the Somali people of Canada's capital. Nabeela's thoughts returned to the towering young Black man who took her breath away. He seemed different somehow, and unlike just about every male student on campus, he seemed to notice her. Really notice her. He smiled politely as he sat just one seat away from her, wished her a good day and asked her what he missed. Her silence didn't deter him, not one beat. He asked her if she was shy and told her that he was new to the school. In spite of herself, she found herself puzzled by this talkative young Black man. He had an accent which she couldn't place. He didn't sound like the African immigrant students she knew, nor did he sound like the ones from the Caribbean. She looked him in the eyes and asked him where he was from. The stranger grinned from ear to ear and introduced himself. Sylvester Vector, from Boston, Massachusetts. He proudly pointed to the Boston Celtics logo on his T-shirt, and she noticed the oversized cross hanging around his neck. So, he was a Christian. Okay. Sylvester Vector looked at the short, hijab-wearing Arab gal. So she could talk, cool. He was beginning to wonder if she was a mute or if she had taken a vow of silence or something. He didn't know much about Muslims, at least not those Muslims he ran into in Canada. He knew Arabs and other Muslims in the United States. The ones he knew were VERY different from the Canadian Muslims. The Arab chicks he knew in Boston didn't wear hijabs. They wore western clothes, and did all the things that normal western women did. They went to parties, dated whoever they liked, smoked cigarettes, and totally owned their sexuality and were bold and confident women of the world. The Muslim chicks he ran into during his first sixty days in Canada lived as though they were still in the Middle East or Africa or wherever the bulk of them came from. Wow. It's almost as if the clock had stopped for them. Oh, well. Whatever floats their boat, he thought. Different strokes for different folks and all that. Sylvester was quite surprised when the young Arab woman sitting one seat away from him smiled shyly and introduced herself as Nabeela. He smiled politely, and refrained from shaking her hand. From his time among the Canadians, he learned a bit about the cultures and norms of Middle-Easterners. They weren't a touchy-feely group, especially the women. He seemed to be in for an afternoon of surprises, for the young Arab woman extended her hand for him to shake. Hesitantly he shook her hand, and she nodded. She looked at him with those big brown eyes of hers and asked him what an American was doing in Canada. Sylvester smiled and told her the tale he'd been telling his Canadian friends ever since he got to Ottawa. His father, Boston Police Department sergeant Stewart Vector banished him to Ontario, Canada, after a lackluster year at Boston University. Sylvester joined a fraternity, and developed bad habits like smoking, drinking and skipping class. He ended up on academic probation and his dad felt that something drastic had to be done. That's how he got shipped off to Canada. The most boring place known to man. Talk about reverse Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Damn. Nabeela laughed when he shared that with her. Sylvester cocked an eyebrow. Apparently even Arab chicks in Canada knew about the show he loved while growing up in Boston's Hyde Park neighborhood. The sociology professor, a bespectacled Hispanic-looking lady in her fifties, glared at the tall Black guy who sat in the front row, giggling with the Arab gal. She didn't seem to approve. Nabeela shot Sylvester a conspiratorial look, and he shrugged. By the time class ended, things were off to a nice start between them. Sylvester told her about his uncle Jamal Vector, a former brawler turned night club bouncer who converted to Islam while spending two weeks in prison for assault. The guy changed completely when he came out, though friends and family initially thought it was a phase. Apparently, his uncle's change of heart was genuine. He stopped drinking, stopped getting into trouble and became a better father to the three sons and two daughters he sired on four women whom he never married. Nowadays, uncle Jamal was back in school, enrolled at Massasoit Community College while working as a security company supervisor. Not bad for a guy with a record as long as an interstate highway. Nabeela smiled and told Sylvester that the power of God could change the human heart. Sylvester nodded. Whether you call yourself Jewish, Christian or Muslim, there is only one God. Call Him God, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah or simply The Most High. Only one entity reigned supreme in the cosmos. The Creator of all. Nabeela smiled as Sylvester shared his view on religion with her. At first glance she dismissed him as a wannabe street tough judging by his oversized cross and hip-hop inspired outfits. The cross he wore was more like a rapper's bling than a Christian icon. Still, after speaking to him for about an hour, she thought he was much deeper than he appeared. When class ended, she surprised herself...and him...by asking if she could add him on Facebook. Sylvester took out his touchscreen phone and looked her up on Facebook. He misspelled her last name, so she had to add him instead. Yes, Nabeela Abdullah, the most prim and proper Yemeni gal in all of Canada, took an uncharacteristically bold step and added a strange, roughly handsome Black Christian guy from the States as her Facebook friend. As they exited class together, Sylvester looked into her eyes, smiled that goofy smile of his, and told her that he was glad to know her. Then he nodded respectfully, wished her a good day and walked away. Nabeela stood there, frozen in place. When he looked into her eyes just then, her heart practically leaped from her chest. She'd seen good-looking men before, but there was something different about him. So many people out there wore masks or put up a front. Sylvester wasn't like that. There was something about him...she knew it in her bones. So absorbed was she by her wayward thoughts that she barely noticed when her good friend Farah, the Somali gal who worshipped blond guys, casually bumped into her. Her boyfriend Hoffman was with her. Farah and Hoffman exchanged a steamy kiss, then Hoffman wished her goodbye and took off. Farah watched Hoffman go and smiled. When Nabeela didn't say anything, Farah rolled her eyes, thinking that her conservative friend was going to launch into another discussion why Muslim girls should stay away from men who weren't Muslim. To Farah's amazement, Nabeela did no such thing. Instead, Nabeela asked Farah if Hoffman really made her happy, if he understood and cared for her, even though he was Jewish and not Muslim. Farah smiled and, from Nabeela's viewpoint, the Somali gal seemed to almost glow from within. Calmly, Farah said she was in love with Hoffman and would do anything to be with him. Nabeela gently hugged the young Black woman she considered the sister she never had but always wanted, and wished her good luck in her loving relationship. Farah laughed, and asked Nabeela if she was feeling alright. Typically, Nabeela was a real stickler for every Islamic rule ever written and a real downer at times. Why was she so upbeat? Nabeela smiled mysteriously and waved at Farah before walking away. That night, Nabeela stayed up in her dorm and spent two hours chatting on Facebook with Sylvester. The next morning, she ran into Sylvester inside the university center and they ended up grabbing coffee together. As they sat at a table and chatted, three Arab guys walked by, flanked by a pair of tall, blonde-haired white girls. They spotted Nabeela sitting with Sylvester and glared at the two of them while muttering to themselves in Arabic. Nabeela's heart thundered in her chest but she returned their stare without flinching. One of the Arab guys used the racist term "abd", as in slave, while pointing to Sylvester and she shook her head. So many of her fellow Arabs were racist and sexist. Arab males could date and marry women of any race or religion, but they would kill any Arab woman who even entertained the thought of doing the same. What was their problem? Nabeela and Sylvester were just sitting together, two new friends having coffee, nothing improper. She was sure that they did a lot more improper things with their blonde gal pals but that was acceptable in Arab society. Go figure. Sylvester didn't seem to notice what transpired between Nabeela and the Arab guys. Neither did the blonde-haired White girls who accompanied them. Westerners were so oblivious of the true actions and intentions of Muslims in their midst. Their naïve mindset would definitely cost them one of these days. Sylvester smiled at Nabeela in that beatific way of his and she temporarily forgot all her worries. Calmly he asked her what she was doing Friday night. She replied that she'd be at her favorite mosque in the east end of Ottawa. Sylvester nodded, and went silent. Nabeela gently touched his hand and asked him what he had in mind. He smiled and told her he wanted to go see a movie. Nabeela hesitated. Truth be told, nothing would please her more than to hang out with him, but he didn't know her world, her faith or the rules that she lived by. She started saying no, then saw the crestfallen look on his handsome face and stopped. She heard herself promise him she'd clear her Saturday afternoon. Sylvester smiled, and cordially invited her to see the movie CITIZEN JANE with him. Nabeela smiled, and nodded. When she went home, her parents, Mohammed and Mona Abdullah told her that they were going to visit her older brother Youssef at the University of Toronto. He was studying Law there. She bit her lips, then told them that she couldn't go because she had a group project to work on. Her parents asked her to postpone it and she told them that it was due Monday. Her father locked eyes with her, and guilt assailed Nabeela like a tidal wave. Finally, her father relented and smiled, praising Allah for giving him such a hard-working, respectful and dutiful daughter. She'd make a worthy wife for a good man someday. He'd have to be Yemeni, of course, educated and from a good family. They had time. Nabeela was only nineteen, and she was already in her second-year of Criminology at Carleton University. Gently he kissed her on the forehead, and wished her well. Nabeela nodded respectfully, carefully avoiding her mother's eyes. Mom was quite shrewd and usually saw right through her. Nabeela went straight to her room, and carefully locked the door before she went back on Facebook and resumed chatting with Sylvester. That Saturday, they went to the Blair movie theater and had a blast. The movie Citizen Jane was pretty good. Sylvester was going on and on about how lovely the actress Michelle Rodriguez was and seemed really surprised when Nabeela gently elbowed him in the ribs after rolling her eyes for the thousandth time. After the movie, they went to the nearby mall and ate some delicious Chinese food. As they sat down and ate, Sylvester delighted Nabeela with tales of his life back in Boston. He used to speed on the streets of Dorchester, and also roughhouse with his peers at the Hyde Park YMCA. He considered himself a real tough guy, and hid from his friends how academically talented he was. He won a scholarship to Boston University, but ended up blowing it because of his frat-guy antics. Nabeela laughed at that, though she couldn't imagine having such freedom. When Sylvester pressed her for details about her life, she told him in earnest about her days in the City of Dhamar in Yemen, where she lived for the first ten years of her life before her family moved to Ontario, Canada. Nine years later and she was a Canadian citizen, and a Criminology student at Carleton University. She shared with Sylvester something she hadn't told anyone, especially not her conservative-minded parents. She told him about her dream of someday becoming a police officer. When she told him this, Sylvester smiled at her and with utmost sincerity, he told her that she could do anything she set her mind to. A lot of people said those words to her, but he seemed to really mean them. She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. He squeezed back gently. Which was just about when Farah happened to walk by, arm in arm with Hoffman, her blond boyfriend. The Somali gal's eyes went wide when she saw Nabeela, who suddenly wished she could shrink in her chair to the point of being invisible. Smiling coyly, Farah walked up to them. Sylvester looked at the Black chick with the White dude as Farah gently hugged Nabeela, who looked supremely uncomfortable. Hello bro, said the White dude, introducing himself as Ephraim Hoffman. Sylvester smiled politely at the dude and his girlfriend, whom Farah introduced as Farah. The foursome sat at the table, an uncomfortable silence between them. Farah kept looking at Sylvester the way one looks at a specimen at the zoo. Sylvester didn't seem to care for it one bit. Farah seemed to have a lot of questions for Sylvester. Where are you from? Is that really an American accent or are you just putting us on? What are you doing with my sister-friend? What are your intentions? Sylvester politely but firmly told Farah that he was enjoying the company of a good friend, then sidestepped any further questions by excusing himself to go to the bathroom. Farah smiled conspiratorially at Nabeela, chanting "someone's got a boyfriend" while Hoffman looked on and Nabeela squirmed. Farah looked at Nabeela, the young Yemeni gal who had been her best friend for the past eight years. They were neighbors in the suburb of Orleans, not far from downtown Ottawa. Nabeela had always been shy, and seemingly a stickler for all rules religious and cultural, with a pronounced allergy to the male sex. And yet here she was, skipping out on the family trip to Toronto by going out with a guy, a Black guy who wasn't even Muslim, while she was supposed to be studying at Farah's. Wow. Farah shook her head and informed Nabeela that her parents did call her before leaving for Toronto. Farah had no clue what they were talking about when they mentioned a school project but covered for her sister-friend anyway. She had Nabeela's back. Nabeela sighed and thanked Farah for saving her proverbial bacon, so to speak. Farah laughed, and asked Nabeela if she liked Sylvester. Nabeela was about to answer when something from behind Farah and Hoffman made her light up like a Christmas tree. Sylvester had returned from the washroom. Farah smiled. She had her answer alright. Nabeela had a crush! Farah smiled at Sylvester and told him she was just looking out for her friend, by way of excusing her twenty one questions earlier. Sylvester flashed her a fake smile and nodded at her and Hoffman. Before Farah left, she said something in Arabic to Nabeela, whose eyes widened. Hoffman and Farah left, leaving Sylvester and Nabeela alone at the table. Sylvester smiled and politely asked Nabeela what in hell Farah just said in what sounded like Martian or Klingon to him. Nabeela took a deep breath, then told him the truth, about everything. She liked him and wanted to know him better, but she was Muslim and he was Christian. They could only meet discretely because her family was very strict. When Sylvester asked why, Nabeela told him the awful truth. Her family would kill her if they knew she was getting so close to a guy who was not only Black but also a non-Muslim. When Sylvester replied that he knew plenty of Christian and Jewish women who married Muslim males, Nabeela made another revelation to him. In the Muslim world, males were permitted to date and marry whoever they wanted, but women were bound by the rules of their father's household, then that of their husband. No Muslim woman is truly free. Not if she comes from a Muslim family that follows the Koran to the letter. Sylvester sat there, and his broad shoulders sagged. Suddenly the big and tall young Black man seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Nabeela watched him intently, willing herself to be calm though she was wracked with deep despair inside. She knew that what she revealed to him was a lot to take in. She looked at the sky through the broad doors of the mall food court, wondering why her people's interpretation of God's will was so strict and cruel. The men did whatever they wanted, and the women had to be self-effacing, quiet and obedient. Lest they be killed for the sake of honor. She was doomed to always follow tradition and never her heart. Sylvester looked at her, and she steeled herself for what she knew was coming. He would do the logical but ultimately awful thing. He would leave her, because her world was not meant for one such as him. He was a son of Black America. She was a daughter of Yemen. It could never be. They were too different. When Sylvester spoke, it was a calm and clear voice. He told her that after due consideration of all the risks involved and the danger to both their lives, he still wanted to see her. She was special in his eyes, and worth every risk. Then he took her hand in his and kissed it. Nabeela fell silent. A weak little "wow" escaped her lips. Had lightning struck her she wouldn't have been more shocked. She smiled at Sylvester, who winked at her. Arm in arm, they left the mall together. Before exiting, they stopped by the photo booth and took some pictures together. Some events were meant to be commemorated, no matter what the risk! When Arab Girls Love Black Men Ch. 02 He wasn't supposed to talk to her kind, that's what his parents said. Looking at White girls leads to nothing but trouble when you're Black and male. Besides, weren't they all fake anyway? Always throwing themselves at a brother in a club but also switching sidewalks when they see you coming at night. Impossible to figure them out, that's for sure. Alexander Champagne walked back to his apartment in the town of Orleans, Ontario. It was Friday night and as usual the tall young Haitian man basically had nothing to do. He was done studying for his Criminology midterms at Carleton University, and with his buddies Thomas and Joseph heading to the City of Toronto to be with their families for thanksgiving, he found himself alone. His parents were vacationing in the Caribbean. He tried not to think about the White chick he saw walking down on Jeanne D'Arc road, strutting her stuff. Damn. White chicks in Canada weren't like the ones he used to see in his native Gonaives City, Republic of Haiti. White women in Canada were different, for starters they had rounded butts and cute bodies, unlike the stick figures he saw in the European expat communities of the Caribbean. Alexander lay in bed, and called his friend Victoria Saint Jean, a gal he'd known since his days in the island of Haiti, long before his parents moved to Canada. At one point, they were the only Black families in their block of Orleans. After three rings she answered, curtly telling him that she was getting ready for her date with Todd. At the mention of Todd's name, Alexander cringed. Todd was the tall, skinny White dude he'd seen Victoria walk around with at Saint Laurent Mall last week. The dude had his hands all over her. When Victoria noticed Alexander looking at them, she walked over to him and introduced her new boyfriend. Todd Jefferson, Algonquin College student of Australian descent. Todd looked Alexander up and down, noticed the face of Ice Cube emblazed on his T-shirt and asked him if he was a rapper. Alexander stifled the urge to punch Todd in his dumb mouth. He had that White dude pegged right away. Just another racist redneck type who craved black pussy but harbored an almost pathological hatred of the black man. Alexander smirked at Todd and asked him if he was a dumb-ass, glancing at the words "I'm with stupid" written on his shirt. Todd bit his lip, and his blue eyes went icy. His arm trembled, and Alexander squared his shoulders. If this White dude wanted to fight, the Haitian was ready to go. Victoria placed herself between them, and loudly asked Alexander what in hell he was doing. Alexander glanced at the short, kinky-haired young Black woman he'd known his entire life. He barely recognized her. Meekly he told her that Todd started it, and Victoria shook her head, going on and on about his lack of maturity. Alexander shrugged, told her he had stuff to and walked away. Todd glared at him angrily the entire time. Alexander sighed. Victoria had grown so distant with him since the incident with Todd. What in hell did she see in this guy anyway? Victoria had always been into guys who weren't Black. He'd seen her date a Chinese guy once, and she was in love with him but Lee's family weren't keen on him dating a Black woman so their relationship fizzled out. She also went out with a Mexican guy named Jose Santino, and that didn't pan out either because Jose had a rap sheet a mile long and liked to smack women around when he got drunk or angry, or both. Alexander sighed as he remembered that night when Victoria came to him with bruises on her dark, beautiful visage. Jose's handiwork. Half-maddened with anger, Alexander didn't even bother telling the police what Jose had done to Victoria. He went after the Hispanic roughneck himself. Alexander kicked Jose's ass, but Jose's friends Martinez and Luis came to the rescue and gave Alexander the whooping of a lifetime. Yeah, that's what a guy gets for playing knight in shining armor these days. Alexander got up and looked at himself in the mirror. He stood six feet two inches tall, slim, with dark brown skin and curly black hair. His eyes were light brown, in part because his mother Maria was half Haitian and half White. Her biracial heritage was also reflected in her son's genes, apparently. Alexander knew he looked good, and he also had a good head on his shoulders. He was only twenty and was one year away from getting his bachelor's degree in Criminology from Carleton University. Next, he'd study for the LSAT and apply either to the University of Ottawa School of Law or Toronto University Law School. They were the best law schools in the province of Ontario. Yeah, he had ambition to burn. He could see himself becoming a lawyer and practicing law all over Canada, and maybe even the United States of America someday. His cousin Henry lived in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and was studying Law at Northeastern University. Wouldn't it be cool if his generation produced two lawyers in the family? Now that would be something. Alexander wanted to do his parents, James Champagne and Maria Fernandez Champagne, proud. Their strict catholic upbringing kept him on the straight and narrow path. He was headed to a bright future, unlike so many other young Black men out there with criminal records and no education. So many brothers with potential wasted their time and energy, ultimately meeting nefarious ends. Alexander looked around his apartment, got bored and decided to go for a walk. He was walking along the Boulevard Des Epinettes when he heard a scream. He looked around, and saw a young woman running. There was a dog running in front of her. A Jack Russell terrier. The little dog had escaped from the young woman's hands and was racing down the sidewalk. For some reason, the little fur ball got the bright idea of crossing the street...bad idea because a big minivan was coming. Alexander never hesitated. Fueled with adrenaline, he pumped his legs and raced across the street, catching the little dog and throwing himself to the sidewalk. The minivan missed him by mere inches, almost. Alexander slowly rose to his feet, holding onto the dog. The young woman was mere paces from him. Alexander put on a smile and asked her if the dog belonged to her. The little fur ball jumped from his arms to hers. She held onto the dog as if for dear life, alternatively crying and laughing. Alexander stood there, feeling awkward. The young woman finally looked at him and thanked him. He nodded and shook her hand. Now that she seemed to have calmed down, he allowed himself to really look at her. She was fairly tall, easily five-foot-nine or more, slim and fit, with spiky black hair, light bronze skin littered with brightly colored tattoos and light brown eyes. She wore a sleeveless Black leather jacket, black jeans and boots. The look said Biker Bitch from Hell. Alexander realized that he was staring when the young woman cleared her throat. She introduced herself as Susan, but told him everybody called her Spike. Alexander nodded, and introduced himself as Big Al, even though he weighed one hundred and eighty pounds soaking wet. Susan, or rather, Spike smiled and thanked him again for saving her better half, Medor the dog. Alexander nodded, and she winked at him before walking away, hugging the dog tightly. Alexander smiled to himself. That lady was cute. He watched her walk away. Wow. He went home, feeling pretty good about himself. Only way he met cute girls who noticed he existed was by coming to their rescue, apparently. He went back on Facebook, and checked his messages. He had a message from his buddy Joel O'Neill, a skinny Irish guy he'd known for many years. Joel and Alexander went to the same Catholic high school and both got accepted at Carleton University's Institute of Criminology and Criminal Justice. Joel was presently spending the semester at Texas Tech University in the U.S.A. Lucky bastard. Joel sent him a picture of himself with Veronica, the Jamaican chick he couldn't stop raving about. Alexander looked at the picture of Joel kissing a pretty young Black woman. Some guys had all the luck apparently. Damn. Everybody was having fun except for him. Alexander got a message from his cousin Henry, a big and tall young Black man who played basketball for Northeastern University in Boston. On his Facebook profile, he was holding hands with his Hindu girlfriend Onuradha. Alexander smiled. Black man with Hindu woman. Now that was a pairing that people seldom saw. Apparently, Henry and Radha had recently gotten engaged. Alexander smiled. He was happy for his cousin. He really was. He'd never really gotten along with Henry, who used to tease him about his crush on his best friend Victoria, the hot Haitian gal who lived next door. Alexander smiled sadly. He used to worship the ground that Victoria walked on, but she never thought of him as anything other than a buddy. Also, since her first boyfriend, a Black guy named Larry cheated on her with her best friend, Victoria stopped dating Black guys. Alexander was straight out of luck. The following Monday, he went to school. After his morning class ended, he went to the third floor of the campus library, which was undergoing renovations. He opened up WebCT to get some work done on his forensics project. So absorbed was he by the work he was doing that he didn't notice someone looking at him. When that same person sat next to him, and tapped him on the shoulder, he jerked in surprise. Alexander almost gasped when someone jabbed their fingers into his shoulder. He looked up...and froze. A very beautiful young woman with short hair dressed entirely in Black leather. Susan! Alexander smiled. She shook his hand, and asked him how he was doing. Alexander was quite shocked to see her at Carleton, and told her as much. Susan grinned, and told him she got tossed out of Ottawa University so she had nowhere else to go. He smiled, and bade her a formal welcome to Carleton University. Susan laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. Apparently she was really touchy. Also, she was cuter up close. Way cuter. She opened up a webpage on the school site, went straight to Facebook and asked him if he was on. Next thing he knew, he was receiving a friend request from Susannah Abdullah. Upon reading what her last name was, Alexander raised a curious eyebrow. Susan grinned and told him that she was from Lebanon. Alexander smiled at her. Wow. A Lebanese woman, eh? He heard a lot about them, of course. With so many Arabs living in the capital region of Canada, most young men from the various immigrant communities heard about the feisty and sexy Lebanese ladies. Whether Christian or Muslim, they were fiercely protected by the Lebanese guys, and coveted by everybody else. Alexander and Susannah chatted for a good half hour, and he learned more about her. She came from the Nabatieh area of Lebanon, and hailed from a Maronite family. She used to go to Saint Augustine Academy in Ottawa. So, she was a Christian. Cool. He proudly showed her his silver crucifix and she nodded, showing him her slightly different Lebanese cross. When he asked her about it, she told him that the Lebanese Christian community was among the oldest in all of Christendom. They'd been around for a long, long time. With a fierce gleam in her eyes, she told him that Christianity was here to stay among the Lebanese people, in spite of the efforts of the Arab League and the Muslim Brotherhood. Alexander nodded politely, sensing that this was something she cared about. His phone vibrated, and he automatically picked it up, to click it off. Susannah eyed him, and smiled. Then she further surprised him by giving him her number. Alexander was quite surprised alright but he didn't hesitate. He punched Susannah Abdullah's number in his Blackberry and texted her right away, sending a quick hello her way. She smiled and told him she had to get to class in half hour, then she touched his shoulder again and thanked him for saving Medor, her mutt. Alexander smiled in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. At that precise moment, Victoria walked into the room, for once without her boyfriend Todd the jerk. She walked right up to Alexander, with a sour look on her face. Alexander knew that look. Victoria was having some sort of trouble, most likely guy related, and like so many people in Alexander's life, she only sought him out when she needed him. She moved for the seat near him, going on a rant about Todd kissing a Chinese chick, and then she noticed Susannah. The Haitian diva glared at the young Lebanese Christian woman, and something passed between them silently. Alexander hastily did a quick introduction, though he introduced Victoria to Susan as "someone he knows" as opposed to saying they were friends. Friends don't throw friends away for jerky racist boyfriends. Susan looked Victoria up and down, then looked from her to Alexander. Her expression was carefully neutral, though her eyes were full of mischief. Smiling, Susan said that she was grabbing a quick bite, and Alexander asked if he could join her. The young Lebanese woman grinned broadly, and nodded. She waved at Victoria, said it was nice to meet her ( with admirable fake enthusiasm) and then walked out of the library with Alexander. The young Haitian man smiled. He could feel Victoria's eyes boring a hole into the back of his head but he didn't turn back to look at her. Nope, he wouldn't give her that satisfaction. Susan shot him a look, and said that Victoria seemed like she was having a rough day, and Alexander shrugged. Together, they went to the food court inside the university center. Alexander's day just kept getting better. Barely noon and he already met a gorgeous gal whom he added as a friend on Facebook, and she gave him her number. Life was good. Looking at Susan, Alexander told her he was glad he met her. She smiled brightly and told him the feeling was mutual.