A Somalian Goddess in Ottawa


Man, I simply love Somali ladies. That’s why I used to chase them every day. Until one of them caught me, that is. My name is Stephen James Odom. A big and tall young African-American man living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I was born and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. The first day of February 1987. These days, I attend Carleton University. Odd place for a Black guy from the United States to find himself in, huh? My father, Ernest Odom was born and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, but my mother, Ellen Janviers hails from the fast-growing Haitian community found in the North Side of the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec. I came to the Confederation of Canada to connect with my mother’s people. I am both Haitian and African-American. The son of multiple worlds, it seems.

I attend Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. It’s a decent school. Kind of pricy if you’re an international student like me. I work as a security guard at Bayshore Mall to pay the bills. Life hasn’t been easy for me, folks. I’m dealing with it, though. When I attended Emerson College in my native Boston, my grades were dismal. Mainly because the City of Boston is one heck of a party town. After I got into some trouble, my mother decided to send me to her brother’s place in the City of Ottawa. She felt leaving Boston would do me some good. Kind of like what they did to Will Smith’s character in the Fresh Prince Of Bel Air series. Ottawa is the most boring place on the planet. Yet it’s the place where I met the love of my life and found purpose. Funny, eh?

Who am I talking about? The lovely Aziza Dalmar Korfa. Five feet eleven and a half inches tall. Voluptuous. Big round booty that looks like it could run around by itself. Dark brown skin. Almond-shaped light brown eyes. Long Black hair that flows freely on her shoulders when she’s not wearing the Muslim veil thing. A woman so damn beautiful that when He made her, God must have congratulated Himself and realize that He’s not just a Creator, He’s also an artist. Sorry, man. She means the world to me, you know? Aziza is a third-year student at Carleton University. She’s in the Criminology program. This lovely Somalian gal is the daughter of Ahmed Korfa, the first African Muslim to rise to the rank of Sergeant in the Ontario Provincial Police. These guys are tough, man. They’re the equivalent of the Massachusetts State Troopers.

Aziza and I were as different as night and day if you saw us the first time we met. I’m a party guy. No lie. I love my Rap music. I love my liquor. And I love big-bottomed ladies. Doesn’t matter if they’re Black, Hispanic, Asian or even Caucasian. A pretty lady is a pretty lady, especially if she’s got a thick booty. I don’t discriminate. Pussy is pussy. If a gal will let me, I will give her the ride of a lifetime. Nobody eats pussy like me and I am well-endowed too. I have been known to make them scream my name in languages they didn’t even know they knew. I used to party pretty hard with the ladies at Club Axis in Boston. It got to the point that I lived for the club and the women and didn’t really pay attention to my school work, when I bothered showing up to my classes at Emerson College, that is. By sharp contrast Aziza is a studious, deeply conservative and kind of quiet lady. She’s a devout Muslim. The apple of her father’s eye. Oh, man. Her dad is the younger brother of the Imam of the Somali Muslim community of the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I don’t know too much about Muslims. The way I figure, the Imam is to the Muslims what a Priest is to the Catholic church and what a Rabbi is to the Jewish faith. Someone important, respected Kayseri Escort and trusted. A leader of a faithful people.

Doesn’t seem like Aziza is the kind of gal who would bother with someone like me, eh? Oh, man. I can’t stop saying eh. I’m becoming so damn Canadian it’s not even funny. Still, I wore my American flag T-shirt on the fourth of July this year even as I walked through crowded Ottawa. I also wore that same patriotic T-shirt the day the Boston Bruins smashed those bozos in Vancouver and brought the Stanley Cup back to America. My Canadian buddies were upset. The way I see it, the Boston Bruins avenged Team America’s defeat at the hands of male and female Canadian Olympic hockey players last year. We Americans can prevail against anyone, anywhere. We can beat the almighty Canadians at frigging hockey, even if it means hiring Canadian coaches and Canadian players. That’s what I told my roommate Max, a cool white guy who hails from the City of Trenton, Province of Ontario.

It has often been said that opposites attract, and I guess that’s kind of true. I had seen Aziza in some of my classes. We had the same major, Criminology. I found her lovely but in my experience with Somali women, those who walk around with the hijab only talk to men of their culture. I’m Haitian-American, not Somali. I’m Catholic, not Muslim. Hell, I’m uncircumcised and I’m keeping it that way, thank you very much. I came to the Student Center because I needed some help with my Criminal Psychology class. Yeah, I know what you folks are thinking. You’d think a bad boy from metropolitan Boston would have some dizzying insight into the criminal mind but I can’t make heads or tails of this kind of hardcore stuff. The brainy Miss Aziza was actually one of the student tutors. She worked for the Student Center. Wow. And she was assigned as my tutor. I grinned wolfishly when I heard that. She looked at me and tried real hard not to roll her eyes. I don’t blame her. I got that effect on Black women. They either want to smack me or kiss me. I wonder which one Aziza felt like doing when I smiled at her after giving her the once over. Her countenance gave away nothing. She grabbed her books, then we sat at a table together and got to work.

That’s how we began to know each other. Carleton University attracts a lot of guys and gals from the international community. Americans. Australians. Indians. Japanese. Africans. Arabs. Chinese. Mexicans. Oh, yeah. The international community is well represented at Carleton University. The funny thing is that most of them were slackers just like me. Small wonder they call Carleton Last Chance University. I know it’s my last chance at higher education. Anyhow, Aziza surprised me by telling me that she bypassed a chance to study at McGill University and chose Carleton University instead. For those of you who don’t know, McGill University is to Canadians what Harvard University is to Americans. I’d rank Carleton University at the same level as a state school like the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. A good school, but not Ivy League level. Aziza told me she chose Carleton because it was her father’s alma mater and also the most racially diverse school in all of Canada. Almost half of the students on campus aren’t white. Wow. This lady intrigues me. Here I thought she was stuck up and she was actually a real sista. Cool. I got to know her a bit better. Aziza was honestly starting to fascinate me.

Okay, no lie, I wanted a piece of her. However, with a devout Muslim chick you have to proceed with caution. I told her that I was honestly curious about her culture and religion. Smiling, she told me she could Kayseri Escort Bayan educate me. I grew up in the State of Massachusetts, where Deval Patrick, our first Black Governor, recently got elected for the second time. Governor Patrick is a good friend of Barack Obama, our first Black President. I grew up in the City where those Black supermen came for higher education. Yet I didn’t know Jack about my African ancestors. Aziza knew a lot about African history. And she’d seen most of the African nations, from Somaliland to Ghana, South Africa, Kenya, Eritrea, Ethiopia and Mali. Her father traveled a lot in the summertime. And he always took her with him. I was amazed.

Aziza is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, man. She’s lovely. She’s friendly, polite and genuinely kind. I wanted her badly. Unfortunately, she’s a good Muslim gal who wants to wait for marriage. And she doesn’t like guys from outside the Muslim world. How do I get her to make an exception for me? The answer to my problem came unexpectedly. The Somali people of Ottawa have many enemies. All the other groups, including Haitians, and other Africans, don’t like them. White folks in Ottawa have a strong dislike of Somalians because the Somali people aren’t eager to bow down to the established social order the way the Chinese and other immigrant groups do. Somali in Ottawa have a reputation for being wild, unpredictable and fiercely proud. Definitely not the docile immigrants that White folks in Canada prefer to deal with. I always found it weird that Black immigrants from places like Haiti, Jamaica and Continental Africa joined forces with White folks in Ottawa against the Somalians. Don’t they know they’re against their own brothers and sisters? I feel that all Black people should unite. I’ve seen racism both in America and Canada. I don’t think bigotry is going away. I think that as the numbers of so-called ethnic minorities in America and Canada climb, Caucasians feel threatened and will make life harder for all of us whom they consider different. I wish I could make Black Canadians understand this. Unfortunately, ethnic minorities in Canada refuse to unite the way those in America have. They continue to fight among themselves while Canadians of European descent dominate and mistreat them.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yes. One night I was returning home from work. I still had on my security uniform. I saw three white guys and a Chinese guy beating up a tall, skinny Black guy. Without hesitation, I jumped in. Four against one isn’t fair. Besides, I’ll be damned if I let these bozos beat up a brother. I waded into these punks. I punched them and kicked them. I’m a Black man from Boston, not one of those docile Black Canadians. I know how to kick ass. I didn’t back down from bozos in the hood of Dorchester and I sure as hell aren’t going to back down before some hockey-worshipping punks. I fought fiercely. Instead of backing me up, the Black guy I defended ran. That’s Black Canadians for you. Anyhow, I held them off until one of my security team co-workers, Jamaican guy named Johnson, jumped in. At last it looked like we were turning the tide of the fight. That’s when the Chinese guy took something out of his pocket and stuck it into me.

And that’s how I ended up at Ottawa’s Civic Hospital, the very same spot where I once worked security as an overnight patient watcher. With a blade in my side. Stabbed by a Chinese guy half my size. The next day, I was questioned by the police. Ontario Provincial Police, actually, not just Ottawa Police Service. They wanted to question me about the fight. I told them exactly what happened. Apparently, there was more to the story. Escort Kayseri Someone had painted hateful symbols all over the Bayshore Mall. Along with death threats against minorities, especially Blacks and Muslims. I answered the cops questions as best as I could. I wasn’t too helpful because I didn’t know much. I’m just a guy working security while attending Carleton University. I’m American, not Canadian. Luckily I had an Ontario Health Card since I’m gainfully employed even though I’m an international student. Otherwise I don’t think the Civic Hospital would have treated me. As the tall older Black guy from the Ontario Provincial Police questioned me, guess who walked by? None other than my lovely friend Aziza. She was visiting some friend who was sick, since she’s such a kindly and God-fearing young woman. And she happened to walk past my room. Where she saw someone who looked familiar. And guess what? The tall older Black policeman who was questioning me was none other than her father. Small world, eh?

What happened next? Amazing things, folks. Aziza briefly greeted her father, then gasped when she saw me lying there, with my gut bandaged. I had taken my shirt off because I felt hot. The nurses kept bothering me to put it back on but I ignored them. Aziza rushed into the room and wrapped her arms around me. With tears in her eyes, she asked me how I felt. And how I had gotten into such a mess. All this while her father, the stern Black policeman, watched. I felt a weird mix of elation and worry as Aziza kissed my cheeks, and my forehead. Yep, the dude was her dad. There was no mistaking the family resemblance between them. The round face, very bushy eyebrows, light brown skin and full lips. Aziza seemed to catch herself, especially when her father cleared his throat. She introduced me as her friend from Carleton University. Her father cocked an eyebrow and looked me up and down. He sighed. I sighed too. Aziza held her arms around me and didn’t let go. She told her father something in the Somali language and he replied quietly. At last her father seemed to relax. He held out his hand for me to shake and I shook it without hesitation. He wished me a speedy recovery, then nodded to Aziza. She looked at her father and nodded, then she smiled at me. Then, in full of view of him, she kissed me on the lips. I don’t know who was more shocked, her dad or me. With a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, Aziza joined her father and waved at me before walking away.

I waved at her weakly as she walked away. Hot damn. Even with a knife wound in my side, the sight of her spectacular booty under that traditional long dress of hers still stirred something in me. I smiled from ear to ear. Well, as far as first meetings, this one went well, don’t you think? I leaned back and relaxed, feeling quite content. I’m no expert on women, or on Muslim culture for that matter but I think my dear Aziza is into me. Don’t you? I don’t think gals kiss just any random guy in front of their daddy, no matter what culture or religion they’re from. These impressions of mine were confirmed by my security team buddy Johnson, who had come by to see me and watched the whole scene.

With a smile on my face, I looked at my Jamaican co-worker, still wearing his security uniform. We exchanged dap. I told him I’d be back to work within three days. The nurses told me I was healing nicely, and the wound wasn’t too deep. I also informed my buddy that the guys we fought off had gotten away but the Ontario Provincial Police’s Hate Crimes Division was looking into it. By order of the Governor of the Province of Ontario himself. Yeah, I told him all that. Mostly, my thoughts kept drifting to Aziza. Man, as soon as I get out of this damn hospital, I am so asking her out. Hey, I think she wants me. It’s not her fault, really. Haitian-American studs like me got our charms. And Black Canadian women can’t resist us. Not even the urban-dwelling goddesses of Somaliland.

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