From Sharjah with Love

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Emirati Arab woman falls for Haitian guy in Toronto.
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Samuelx
Samuelx
2,099 Followers

When the Most High sends you a sign, the least you could do is heed His words. My name is Nadiya Al-Najjar and I'm a young woman of Emirati descent living in the City of Toronto, Ontario. I'm an international student at the University of Toronto, studying business administration. My parents, Fatima and Adnan Al-Najjar were hesitant to allow me, their sole daughter, to study abroad even though my older brothers Qassim and Djohar had already completed their studies at universities in London, England, and Boston, Massachusetts, respectively.

"I want to experience life outside of Sharjah," I pleaded with my parents countless times after completing my studies at Lycee D'Espoir, the French school my siblings and I attended while our folks lived in Paris, France, while working for the United Arab Emirates Embassy. I'd grown fond of France and spoke French fluently and I had no desire to return to Sharjah, the city of my birth, where I knew I'd be married off to some old man as per tradition.

"The U.S. and the U.K. are too troublesome for a young lady like yourself," my father, Adnan Al-Najjar, son of legendary Sheikh Hussein Al-Najjar, and a close adviser to the Emirati president, His Excellency Khalifa Bin Zayed Sultan Al Nahyan, said to me sternly as we sat in our family living room and discussed my future.

"I want to go to Canada," I said, and when my father smiled I knew I had won him over. With the Americans and the Brits being so hostile to foreigners, especially those from the Muslim world, I knew that he might relent and sent me to Canada, whose reputation for hospitality and multiculturalism was basically second to none.

Thus it was decided that I, Nadiya Al-Najjar, would move to Toronto, Ontario, and begin my studies at one of the world's leading universities. I had visited Canada twice, once for my cousin Zainab's wedding to a Yemeni businessman, Ali Hassan, in Ottawa, back in 2008 and once when my aunt Yasmin and her husband Washim opened up a chain of restaurants in Calgary, Alberta. We Arabs are an entrepreneurial bunch and we're always expanding into new territory.

Having lived in France for five years, I had some idea what to expect in Canada, since it's a western-style European country, after all. Yet North America and Europe, while similar, are entirely different realms. For example, while I did meet quite a few French-speaking Canadians and foreigners in Toronto, I spoke an entirely different brand of French from them. Quebec French is quite different from the Parisian French which I spoke fluently. My English was fair, I'd say, for I had no problem communicating with people at school or elsewhere in the city. Next to Arabic and Farsi, French is my favorite language.

My journey in Toronto was off to a nice start. I got myself a one-bedroom apartment not far the University of Toronto campus, in a neighborhood full of yuppies and college students. My landlady, Esther Valdez, whom I thought was Arab at first, is an immigrant from the Dominican Republic. I found her friendly and generous, which is a good thing in a landlord or landlady, I guess. The people of Toronto, while energetic and outgoing, aren't as friendly as one would expect of Canadians.

There are stereotypes about every racial, ethnic and cultural group in human history, I guess. We Arabs are known to be a loud, deeply religious and at times quite emotional bunch. Canadians enjoy a reputation as a friendly and open people, and while many Canadians may fit that description, quite a few of them are narrow-minded and judgemental, especially in their dealings with foreigners. As a Hijab-wearing gal from the Arab world, I got my fair share of hostile stares, even in Toronto, hailed as the most racially and culturally diverse locale in all of North America.

"This is how we do things here in Canada and if you don't like it, you can go back to your country," an angry white woman told me as I stood in line at Tim Horton's one morning. Apparently I incited her ire by objecting to her serving some guy who stood behind me even though I'd been standing in line for a while. I objected to being ignored, and this white lady looked at me with anger and spoke condescendingly to me because I'd dared speak up for my rights.

That's one of the ugly truths about life in Ontario, Canada. The country bills itself as a bastion of liberalism and multiculturalism, where people of all colors, religions and sexual orientations are welcome. Visible minorities, as people of color are called in Canada, are expected to keep a low profile, and should know better than to challenge the power of white Canadians. Those who don't follow that unwritten rule are "put in their place" by the polite racists who are the gatekeepers of Canadian society's power structure. The angry white female worker at the Tim Horton's that morning was emblematic of a section of Canadian society that despises people of non-European descent, and likes to put us down.

"I'm a customer and you owe some respect," I said defiantly to that lady, stunning her. The other customers standing there looked at me, shaking their heads. I saw anger and disbelief on more than a few faces, but these ordinary Canadians were siding with the angry white lady who had skipped me and served the white guy behind me.

"The most polite racists in the world," I said aloud, shaking my head in disgust and turning to leave. I exited the Tim Horton's with my head held high, and even though my heart was thundering in my chest and my face felt hot, I swore to myself that I would not cry. I walked to the nearest bus stop and decided to wait for the bus heading to campus.

"That was mighty brave of you back there," said a loud, masculine voice, startling me out of my gloomy thoughts. I was sitting on the bench, deep in thought, and looked up, wondering who spoke. A tall, broad-shouldered young man of African descent looked at me. Smiling faintly, the stranger, who wore U of T school colors, asked me if I was alright.

"I'll live," I said cautiously, looking him up and down. I wasn't having the best of mornings, as you can see, and typically, I'm not the sort to talk to strangers. Especially male strangers. There are many reasons why. First of all, I'm painfully shy. Second of all, I'm from the United Arab Emirates, one of the strictest realms of the Muslim world, and the rules governing male/female interactions are quite rigid.

"I'm Andre Sauveur," the young Black man said, still flashing that fearless smile. I looked at him, and for the first time I noticed that he had a French accent, which lent an almost musical lilt to every word coming out of his mouth. The way he spoke French was different from how the Canadians I met spoke French. Indeed, Andre sounded like a Parisian.

"Je suis Nadiya," I said, and when Andre extended his hand for me to shake, I ignored a lifetime of socio-cultural conditioning and shook it. Andre's handshake was warm and firm, frank and honest, like the man himself, as I would later discover. Thus I met the young man destined to change my life forever. The bus came, and we got on. The vehicle was crowded, which didn't surprise me since U of T is the largest school in all of Canada.

"Prenez cette chaise mademoiselle Nadiya," Andre said courteously, offering me a chair as the old man who was on it got off at the same stop where we got on. I smiled and mock-curtsied, which made Andre smile. Tall and dark-skinned, Andre had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen, and I'm from the U.A.E. which is the plastic surgery capital of the world. We Emiratis have surpassed the Americans and Brazilians when it comes to teeth bleaching, tummy tucks, butt implants and the like.

As the bus rolled toward the University of Toronto campus, I thought of the turns my life had taken since I moved to Toronto a few months ago. I'd been in town for three months and made zero friends. The Muslim students at U of T were like the western students they claimed to be so different from in that they organized in cliques. Somalis, Lebanese, Kuwaitis, Afghans and others, from the super-religious to the most westernized. They were not the most welcoming bunch.

My routine consisted of going to class, coming home to play poker or dominos with Esther, my landlady, and going to the movies by myself on Tuesdays. I also spent far more time at the campus library, playing computer games or reading slash fiction, than should be considered healthy for a nineteen-year-old female. Yeah, my life was dull and boring. I missed Paris, where at least I had my family and friends. Sadly, my parents had gone back to Sharjah since our mandate in France ended.

The bus arrived on campus, and everyone hurried off it like rats deserting a sinking ship. I got elbowed by a tall, skinny white dude who shot out of there like a bat out of hell. "Watch it bozo," Andre yelled at the guy while I massaged my sides, wincing in pain. The student looked at us, shrugged unapologetically and left. Andre started to go after him but I laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"This fool is not worth it," I said, smiling at Andre, who returned my smile. We were the last ones off the bus. Andre asked me if I was alright and I nodded, then I thanked him for his courtesy and wished him a good day. Andre smiled and waved at me, then walked away. As the tall young man with the cutest French accent made his way to the nearby science building, I smiled to myself. And they say chivalry is dead, I thought. Yup, Andre is one hell of a guy...with a seriously cute butt.

The next time I ran into Andre, he was in the library, seated at a computer and quite busy working on a project for his electrical engineering class. "Salutations jeune homme," I said, startling the hell out of Andre, who jerked awkwardly and looked up in surprise.

I pulled the chair next to his and sat down, grinning with mischief. I like to startle people, it's a bad habit I've had ever since I was little. My older brothers are both tall and burly, like our father. Me? I'm five-foot-six and weigh one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. I'm very quick on my feet, decidedly sneaky and people never see me coming.

"You scared me a little bit Miss Nadiya," Andre said, chuckling softly. I grinned and shrugged, for startling him was exactly what I set out to do. It never ceases to amaze me how big guys are such scaredy-cats. Andre here has got to be at least six-foot-one and maybe two hundred pounds, yet he all but jumped at the sound of my voice.

"Scared of little old me?" I said, laughing coyly, and Andre shook his head. A broad grin creased his oh-so serious yet handsome features, and he asked me how I was doing. I had Andre's undivided attention and liked it, for he'd stopped looking at all the math stuff he was working on the moment I arrived. Nice to see I've still got it, I thought.

While Andre and I talked, I took out my cell phone, briefly glanced at it as if checking my messages and then kept it in my hand while we talked. Seriously, at this point, I thought all men on the planet knew that when a gal does that, she wants them to ask for her number. Sadly, as I was discovering, brilliant minds like Andre's tend to be a bit slow when it comes to male and female interactions. And since I wanted to get to know him better, I had to grab the bull by the horns.

"I've got some math stuff I need to work on and I suck at it so take my number in case you have time to look at it," I said, deliberately adopting a demure expression and smiling innocently at Andre. For a moment Andre went silent, then he nodded absentmindedly and took out his phone, an old Samsung, and punched in my digits as I dictated them to him.

"Can't wait till we meet again, mon ami, but I've got to get to class," I said, and Andre courteously walked me out of the library and into the quad. A little slow on the uptake but friendly, well-mannered and effortlessly sexy, I thought as he opened the door for me, and waited until I was out before stepping out himself. Andre is definitely a gentleman, and I like that in a guy, but only up to a certain point.

"Au revoir mademoiselle," Andre said, once more extending his hand for me to shake. This time, though, I decided that since this charming bozo isn't the type to get the hint, I had to take a more direct route. I batted Andre's hand away, and instead gave him a simple hug. When I hugged him, Andre froze. I looked up at him and smiled.

"Until we meet again," I said with a wink, then I let go, waved him goodbye and walked away with a smile on my face. The look of complete and utter shock on Andre's handsome face was absolutely priceless. It never ceases to amaze me, how western guys react to us Muslim girls when we're forward with them. I wear a Hijab on my damned head, not a halo. I'm no angel. I'm a young woman, with the same needs, thoughts, feelings and yes, desires as other women. Muslim women are not another species.

Two hours later, I got a text from Andre, telling me that his schedule was wide open. I ignored him for a little bit, just to whet his appetite, then told him that the math assignment had been postponed by the Prof. Andre then asked me to chill with him, saying that he had lots of questions about Islam, something about a cultural class he was taking as an elective. I saw right through that ruse, but liked Andre's persistence. The lad shows promise. "Let's do lunch this Thursday," Andre proposed, and I happily agreed.

The next day, Andre and I met at the Eaton Center, and grabbed a bite inside the food court. As we dined on some delicious Chinese food, I got to know my favorite Torontonian a bit better. "I'm originally from the island of Haiti but Toronto has been home for ten years now," Andre said, a wistful expression on his face.

"Toronto is a truly lovely town but I miss Dubai and Sharjah," I said, a bit surprised by the sheer nostalgia which suddenly gripped me. I miss my family and my friends back home, although at times I consider both Sharjah and Paris to be my homes. Canadians aren't as friendly and welcoming as they're cracked up to be. With the exception of Andre here, I haven't made a lot of friends.

"I know how you feel mon amie," Andre said, and the faraway look of intense longing on his face told me that this young Haitian man just might be able to relate to me. Still, there were major differences in our experiences in Canada. I am a young Arab woman alone in Toronto. A lovely town which, I'm finding out, isn't all it's cracked up to be. Andrew here has family in town. His parents, Marianne and Cesar, along with his sister Marguerite and his brother Joseph. Me? My nearest relatives are several time zones away. We were NOT in the same boat.

"Andre, you're Canadian, this town is your home, to me, this place is starting to feel like a prison," I said, somewhat bitterly. I thought about the seemingly endless list of small, unpleasant incidents I'd experienced since moving to Toronto. The angry white lady at Tim Horton's wasn't the only one. Gently laying his hand on mine, Andre asked me what was wrong.

"The other day I watched a CBC documentary about the Canadian government spying on Muslim immigrants," I said, somewhat angrily. Andre looked at me, an expression of sympathy, no, empathy, on his face. I stared at Andre and let my anger show, wondering how this Canadian citizen and non-Muslim could relate to what I'd gone through. The Canadian government considers all Muslims to be potential terrorists, that's why they're making it increasingly harder for immigrants from the Muslim world to come to Canada. Those of us who live here do so under ever-present suspicion.

"You're not Arab or Muslim, how can you relate to being considered a potential terrorist even though you're innocent?" I said, shaking my head and raising my voice, while Andre held my gaze. The young Haitian's dark brown eyes bore into mine, and they were filled with a quiet intensity that I hadn't noticed before. Instantly I felt bad for taking my anger out on Andre, but the die was cast, as had been said before.

"Nadiya, I'm a black man in Canada, I get followed around stores, and hassled by cops in public places, what do YOU know about my life?" Andre said firmly, his voice rising. I looked at him, wondering where this intensity was coming from. It surprised me, but in a way, I liked it. Up until that point, I hadn't known that Andre Sauveur, the nerdy science student and super polite scholar had such anger and passion in him.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, biting my lips. Andre shook his head, clearly unconvinced. He pulled his hand off mine, and began rising from his seat. I grabbed Andre's hand as firmly as I could. Andre looked at my hand on his arm, and sighed deeply. I could tell that I had crossed a line with him. I had to quash this, and quickly.

"All minorities go through racism and discrimination in Canada but I must admit, African-descended people bear the brunt of it," I said slowly, looking into Andre's eyes. Andre sat down, and looked at me as if seeing me for the very first time. There was something new in his eyes. A look of uncertainty, and underneath it, one of hope.

"No one understands," Andre said, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. There was a hallow, almost haunted look in Andre's dark eyes as those words left his mouth. Pain shot through my chest, like an arrow, and I winced. Knowing that something I'd said brought pain to Andre, who'd been nothing but kind and courteous to me, well, it bothered me immensely.

In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, I did something which surprised both Andre and myself. "I understand," I said, and reached Andre's face, holding his face in my hands. Andre's eyes widened in surprise. I sighed, and, before I lost my nerve, I kissed him. That's right, the shy and pious, reserved and conservative chick from the United Arab Emirates kissed the big black guy from the Caribbean. How about that?

"You're something else Miss Nadiya," Andre said to me, laughing in surprise after we came up for air. I smiled and shrugged, for I was used to people underestimating me or making all kinds of assumptions about me. Andre has some sweet lips on him, I thought. When he reached for both my hands and squeezed them gently, I flashed Andre my most seductive smile.

"You got no idea mon cher," I said, licking my lips suggestively. Andre shook his head, and then brought my right hand to his lips and kissed it. I'm a lefty, but I found the gesture sweet nonetheless. Andre and I finished our meals, then left the mall together, hand in hand. A most promising and interesting beginning, wouldn't you say?

Thus began the relationship which changed my life, ladies and gentlemen. What a pair Andre and I made. An Arab Muslim woman from the United Arab Emirates and a Haitian Christian nerd. Wherever we went, even in racially diverse Toronto, Andre and I attracted a lot of stares. I didn't care, and neither did Andre. We're just living our lives. With him by my side, I'm starting to see my life in Toronto in a whole new light.

Andre showed me the beauty of Toronto, and I came to the realization that it really doesn't matter where you are, only who you're with. "Thanks for a wonderful time," I said to Andre, as we stood, holding each other tenderly while Cineplex Empress, where we watched Denzel Washington in The Equalizer. I'm a major fan of the handsome African-American actor, a fact which surprised Andrew.

"We do have movie theaters in the Emirates," I said to Andre, somewhat reproachfully as he just stared and shook his head. To emphasize my point, I elbowed him none too gently. Andre laughed and pulled me to him, holding me tightly in those strong arms of his. I tried to get out of his grip but Andre held me tight.

"Stop teasing a brother," Andre said, grinning. I nodded, smiled innocently and then pinched his thigh, which caused Andrew to relax his hold on me as he winced in pain. As he was otherwise occupied, the element of surprise was mine. I stood on my tippy toes, grabbed Andre by the collar of his jacket, and then kissed him. Yup, I keep surprising Andre. It's not even a challenge anymore, I swear.

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,099 Followers
12