Black Men and Arab Ladies

We all have fantasies that we'd rather not have anybody find out about. Mainly because all human beings have their insecurities. And I guess you could say that I am no exception to that rule. My name is Stefan Saint-Valentin. I was born in the City of Cap-Haitien in the Republic of Haiti but raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I'm twenty three years old, and presently I attend Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I won an international scholarship to a Canadian university. Isn't that cool? The life of a Haitian-American male in the Confederation of Canada is seldom easy but mine has got to be the most complicated. Simply put, I don't think I've ever been happy. A lot of guys born under the sign of the Aquarius are complicated, and have tumultuous love lives but I think I've got to be the worst one. I sometimes wonder aloud if God cursed me or if I will ever find someone like me.

Here I sit inside the Carleton University library, browsing through WebCT. Yes, I am a nerd. I admit it. Okay. Can we move on, please? I'm frustrated today, and for once it doesn't have anything to do with I don't like my grades for my Sociology II class. I've got one of the worst teacher's assistants ever. This guy with an Irish-sounding last name who seems to take great pleasure in nitpicking through my submitted assignments. Oh, and this beautiful East Indian gal named Parvati Singh, whom I was starting to really care about, just dumped my Black ass. All because of something her Chinese lady friend Jacqueline said about me. I had no idea what the Chinese chick said to Parvati, but she just wouldn't hear me out when I protested and claimed my innocence. Parvati simply decided to play Judge, Jury and Executioner. Thus ended our fledgling relationship. And that's just too bad because she was so tall and beautiful. Parvati is one of the top students in the civil engineering program at Carleton University. This chick's gorgeous and she's going to go far. Definitely the kind of female I wanted in my life but I guess it wasn't meant to be.

I just don't have any luck with women. Of any race or background, especially my own. For starters, Black women don't like me. I don't know why. I'm friendly and easygoing. I have much respect and admiration for strong Black women. They often tell me that I act like a White guy and dismiss me off-hand. Since I started my higher education journey, I've dated across racial lines, and the end result is still the same. I end up alone, often wondering what happened. And I seem to meet the craziest of females. Take my ex-girlfriend Rosie for example. I met this White chick on one of those phone sex chat lines and we totally clicked. To the point that I gave her my phone number and we started talking regularly. Off the record, of course. We met at the South Keys Mall in Ottawa, and I found her to be pretty cute. Five-foot-seven, curvy, with reddish hair, green eyes and alabaster skin. Oh, and she had a nice, big ass too. I took the fact that Rosie and I met through some truly unique circumstances as a good sign. We began dating, and I found her cute, sexy and funny. What guy wouldn't want a woman like that?

Yeah, Rosie was awesome. The only snag is that she seemed to have a temper, and she had the bad habit of cancelling our meetings half an hour before they were supposed to take place. I didn't like that at all. Still, I thought there was something there. I tried to be patient with her. Rosie was lively, funny and pretty nice when she wanted to be. When we went out together, I enjoyed it. As a nerd who spends most of his days inside the university library, or daydreaming about hot chicks in class, I was happy to go out with someone like Rosie. And females in the City of Ottawa paid attention to me now that they saw me walking around with a sexy lady. Women always notice a man when he's walking around with a woman. It's almost as if when we're by ourselves we don't exist to them. That's weird but whatever. Women's brains are something no man can claim to be an expert on.

Anyhow, I've gotten a lot of flak from females lately, and I don't get it because I am a genuinely nice guy. I just seem to attract all kinds of mean ladies. I'm not a bitter man but I'm not as optimistic as I used to be. Life does that to you, I think. I was walking near the Rideau Shopping Center in downtown Ottawa earlier and I saw this tall White guy approach a tall, beautiful and conservatively dressed young Arab woman. He pretended to ask her for directions, then he ripped off her hijab...and a bit of her hair along with it, before taking off, laughing. People in the street just stared. I ran toward the young lady. I asked her if she was alright. She just stood there, sobbing. I took off after the White dude. Now, even though I'm a six-foot-one, 270-pound guy, I can move pretty fast when I need to. I was never good at any sports but I am pretty strong. I caught up with the White dude, and slammed into him. There was a brief struggle, but he wasn't a fighter. The City of Ottawa is full of punks like him. I took the hijab from him, and told him I'd beat his ass if he ever did anything like that again.

I walked back to the young Arab woman, and respectfully handed the hijab back to her. She looked at me with a weird look in her face. Hesitantly, she took the hijab from me, and put it back on. I nodded, wished her well, then kept walking. For some reason, the way that young Arab woman looked at me puzzled me. Ottawa can be such a strange town sometimes. I see lots of White men with Chinese girls and Black women. I also see Chinese guys with East Indian women. I see Arab guys with White chicks and I also see Black women with Arab men. The City of Ottawa is multicultural for sure, but everybody stares when they see a Black man. I get hostile stares all day and every day. From other minority groups, from White folks and from Black women themselves. Sometimes I wonder if it's a curse to be Black and male in North America or Europe. Whatever. I refuse to let these haters get me down. Ottawa haters be damned. I am a Black man from Boston. Home of Governor Deval Patrick. The place where U.S. President Barack Obama first studied Law. I'm a Boston Brahmin. These bigoted Canadians won't get me down.

As I lay on my bed that night, I thought of all the ladies I've cared for in my lifetime. Wendy, the beautiful Haitian chick I met at Northeastern University two years ago. I loved her something fierce. Unfortunately for me, she had a thing for roughneck guys and my nerdy ass just didn't cut it. Thus, she went for this muscular, tattooed Jamaican guy named Charles. They got hitched. They have a son and daughter together. Via Skype she recently told me her marriage is on the rocks and that Charles beat her up. I was saddened to hear that but hey, what can I do? I advised her to call the police. Women always choose the bad guys. Then they turn around and assume all men are the same. Not our fault they bypass good men because we seem boring and they end up with the scum of the universe. You make your bed, you must lie in it. That's fate.

I thought of Yolanda Lee, this Chinese-American gal I fell for when I was a senior at Saint Patrick Academy in Boston. I liked her a lot, and she liked me. We dated for a while. She forgot to mention to me that a lot of Chinese people disapprove of Black male/Asian female relationships. Yeah, that's how our relationship ended. And let's not forget Stella Winston, a sexy Trinidadian gal from Bay State College who stunned me by laughing when I asked her out. Apparently, she only dated White guys. Sorry, lady. I didn't know. From her rants about Black male/White female couples, I thought she was into Black men. My mistake. See a pattern here, ladies and gentlemen? I got lousy luck with women. I lay on my bed, said a silent prayer to God, and closed my eyes. What did I ask God for? An end to the loneliness. Whether this meant my death the next day or my finding someone like me someday, I didn't care. Good night.

I went to school the next day even though it's Saturday. I had gone to church that morning. There's a Haitian Adventist Church in downtown Ottawa and I've been going there lately. That day, I felt bored so I left and went to school. I believe in God, I just don't like mindless rituals. Doesn't matter what religion you follow, the hypocrisy of ritual endures. I sat in the library at my usual seat, doing homework, browsing YouTube videos, and watching life passing me by. The usual stuff, you know? There I sat, typing away. I didn't notice someone sit next to me. Didn't matter. Carleton University is full of happy shiny people. Everybody fits in. Everybody except me. And I've always felt that way. It doesn't have anything to do with the environment, or the people around me. I don't fit in because I am, well, me. And I can't get rid of me, or make myself feel the way I think others feel. Yes, I know I am a neurotic mess.

While listening to the song Happy Phantom on YouTube, I became aware of someone staring at me. I looked at the person sitting at the computer next to mine, and noticed that she looked vaguely familiar. This dark-haired and bronze-skinned young woman smiled at me and waved. I looked at her and smiled politely. What did she want? That's what I was thinking. The young lady gently touched my arm and said thank you. I stared at her, askance. She smiled and pointed at her hijab. I told her that her hijab was pretty. Rolling her eyes, she thanked me for bringing it back to her from the White man who stole it. That jarred my memory. It's amazing. I had all but forgotten about that incident.

The young Arab woman smiled, and extended her hand for me to shake. I hesitated. Hijab-wearing Somali and Arab ladies don't usually shake hands with men they're not related to. I think there's an Islamic rule about it or something. I shook her hand nonetheless. She introduced herself as Samirah Al-Bashir, of the Republic of Yemen. I introduced myself. Stefan Saint-Valentin. Ironically named Haitian-American. Samirah looked at me with a weirdly amused look in her eyes. I was really wondering why she was looking at me. In my experience, people don't notice me until they need something from me. Women especially. Sorry, but Nice Guy Syndrome can leave a guy pretty disillusioned sometimes. Samirah was going on and on about how brave I was for helping her. Honestly, I didn't even think about it. To me, it's wrong to harass or mistreat someone because of their religion. The Arabs catch a lot of flak in Ottawa. I got some Arab acquaintances so I know what they go through. They're not as hated as Black men are, but they do get their share of pain from White folks.

Samirah was really talkative, and I must say I was both curious and thrilled. Now, I'm not as boring as I sound. I like talking to beautiful women. What man doesn't? However, I've had a lot of heartache lately. Still, I decided to keep on trucking. Samirah and I learned a bit about each other that day. She was a member of the Islamic Students Club at Carleton University. Also, she's studying civil engineering. Okay, what's with me and female engineering students? I felt really good while talking to Samirah. Seriously. This chick was really interesting and cool. Before she left, she asked ME if I had facebook. Now that was a surprise. Guys, you know how it is. You're talking to a woman you find interesting. Time is going by. You're at that awkward moment where you want to ask for her phone number, email, whatever. You always get nervous before that happens. And it's always awkward. Well, this time this gal beat me to the punch. I happily added her online after she sent me a friend request.

Before leaving the library for her job at Bell Canada, Samirah asked me if I wanted to swing by her booth during Islamic Awareness Week at school. I looked into those lovely brown eyes of hers and promised her I'd be there. She smiled, and before taking off, she kissed me on the cheek. Dude, if a lightning bolt hit me, I wouldn't have been more shocked. Samirah waved at me, then left. I watched her go. The gal was tall, lithe and graceful. And she had a nice-looking behind under that long dress she wore. I told myself to stop thinking along those lines. I'm a Christian. She's a Muslim. I'm Haitian-American. She's Yemeni-Canadian. She's cool. I'm nerdy. Not a snowball's chance in hell. I told myself to be grateful that I made a cool new friend, then I went back to work.

The following Monday, I went to the Muslim celebrations taking place all over the Carleton University campus. I ran into Samirah, and I must say she looked lovely in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, blue jeans and of course, dark blue hijab. She smiled when she saw me, and came straight to me, among the throngs of Black, Arab, White, Asian and Hispanic young men and women walking by the information booths. Samirah walked up to me, and I froze. I held out my hand for her to shake, and she batted it away. Then she did something else which surprised me. She just hugged me, right then and there. All around us, Arab guys stared, including the ones with White girlfriends. Samirah didn't seem to mind or care. Linking her arm with mine, she led me to a table where we sat opposite each other. Then she told me about Islam. I looked at her beautiful, smiling face. Her lovely brown eyes drew me in. And I knew I would never be the same.

Yeah, and I guess you could say that for once I was right. Two years after that first meeting, my life has definitely changed. Samirah Al-Bashir and I are legally married. I converted to Islam. I'm not the most observant Muslim, though. I question a lot of things about Islam, such as the separation of the sexes inside mosques, and all the restrictions imposed on Muslim women by Muslim men supposedly in the Name of Allah. Samirah likes that I don't just follow the herd. We worship together at an avant-garde mosque in Toronto where men and women can pray in the same room. They just form two separate rows, but with no artificial barriers between them. Side by side, if only twenty feet apart. This mosque is run by Imam Calvin, an African-American Muslim scholar, author and college professor who supports women's rights. He doesn't just blindly follow the rules set by insecure Arab men about Islam. That's good because I could never worship in a building where my darling wife was treated like a second class citizen. Samirah and I are happy together, ladies and gentlemen. We're expecting our first brat in six months. I'm with the woman God intended me to be with and I am happy.