Muslim Lesbians of Barrhaven

The majestic mosque located in the west end of Ottawa is by far my favorite. It's within walking distance of the nearby bus station. Seriously, a five-minute walk and you're there. One bright and sunny, unseasonably warm Friday morning in late March, I got off the bus and decided to head to prayer before class. I don't have class till one o'clock on Fridays and the mosque opens around nine in the morning, so I figured I had plenty of time.

"Excuse me, could you please tell me where I can find this building is?" came a voice. I was snatched out of my thoughts by a feminine voice, and turned around to see a tall, athletic young black woman with long dreads standing there, brandishing a printout of the very mosque I was heading to. I looked at her, smiled and nodded, and decided to help a sister out, so to speak.

"Sure, that's my mosque, I'm going there, if you want, I can show you," I replied, and the young woman smiled, and extended her hand, which I shook without hesitation. Just like that, we started walking together. My parents often tell me that I am much too trusting and naïve, but I choose to see the best in people. As a Muslim, I am called upon to be an ambassador of my faith with everyone I meet.

"Thanks, you're the only person who even deigned to help me, I'm Mia Covington," the young woman said evenly, and I smiled as we walked down the bike path leading to the mosque, which stood in the distance. When the building first came into being in the late 1990s, there weren't a lot of Muslim immigrants in Ottawa and the locals objected somewhat, but now most Ottawa residents can't imagine the area without the mosque.

"Nice to meet you Mia, I'm Jamila Gakmar, and may I be the first to wish you welcome to the Masjid," I said to Mia as we reached the building. We went in through the sisters entrance, and then headed to the women's Wudu facilities, where we took off our boots and then proceeded to wash our hands and feet. As Mia took off her boots, I noticed how tall she was, even in her bare feet.

"Yeah, I'm kind of tall, six foot one, to be exact," Mia said, as if reading my mind, and I smiled, and looked at her admiringly. I've often wished that I were taller, but I'm only five-foot-five. I don't know where I get it from, since my father Ahmed Gakmar, who's from southern Sudan, is six-foot-four, and my mother Amina Haddad, who hails from Nabatieh, Republic of Lebanon, is five-foot-nine. Hell, my little brother Omar is five-foot-eleven and the dude just finished high school. Mother Nature is a mad scientist, eh?

"Count your blessings, my tall sister, let's go to prayer," I said, and Mia smiled and nodded, then followed me to the main room. Upon entering the sacred place, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the feeling of peace and serenity that usually grips me during prayer. Ignorant fools would have you believe that in Islam, women are not important and that's not true.

There's a difference between Islam as a faith and certain elements of Arabian culture, folks. The Prophet Mohammed, peace be unto him, respected women, and had very progressive views, considering the time that he lived in. for example, there's a lot of racism in the Arab world, and Muslim communities in general, but the Prophet Mohammed was above such things.

Bilal, one of Prophet Mohammed's most beloved friends ( and one of the first Muslims ) was an African man. Bilal accompanied the Prophet Mohammed on his journey and was one of his protectors and companions. Later, Bilal married the lovely and pious Ruqayyah, daughter of the Prophet Mohammed himself. I bet this last bit surprises you, eh?

Prophet Mohammed, the central figure of my faith was a good man, a God-fearing man, and he respected Christians and Jews, and was above racism. Oh, and my prophet respected women too. As the daughter of an interracial Muslim couple, I've encountered much prejudice in my life, in the form of racism and sexism, but I still love my faith. Call me naïve or whatever but I hold onto what I believe in.

The Prophet Mohammed was without sin, and Islam is perfect, for to us Muslims, the words written in the Koran come from the Creator Himself. Muslims, being human and all, are flawed. Muslims can make mistakes. Islam is beautiful, and utterly perfect. That's why it irks me when people speak ill of my faith. Those men and women out there who do terrible things yet claim to follow Islam are liars. It's Shaitan whispering evil into their minds, not the God whom I pray to.

"Creator of All, bless me keep me and my family safe," I whispered as I fell to my face and invoked The Most High. A few meters from me, Mia prayed and recited her prayer in flawless Arabic, which surprised me a bit but really shouldn't have. I finished my prayer, then rose, nodded gently at Mia, and then returned the way I came. I returned to the Wudu facility, and put my boots back on, after cleansing myself, then I waited for Mia.

"I always feel good after prayer, thanks for showing me the way, Jamila," Mia said softly, emerging from the prayer hall and I smiled and nodded. Mia put her black Timberland boots back on, and then we exited the mosque together. I felt giddy for some reason and for the life of me, I couldn't tell you why. Walking beside me, Mia had a beatific smile on her face.

"I'm studying electrical engineering at Carleton University, how about you?" I asked, and Mia looked at me, smiled and shook her head. I smiled politely, and wondered what she was smiling about. One of my pet peeves is that I don't have much patience for word games, or certain types of behavior. With me, if you've got something to say, say it. Alright? Cool.

"Wow, that's something, I'm in civil engineering at Carleton, second year," Mia said, and I smiled. Small wonder I got such a good vibe from this sister. Nerds of a feather, eh? Mia and I headed downstairs and caught the first bus heading downtown, got off at Bayview Station and then ran to catch the O-Train that cuts through the Carleton University campus on its way to Greenboro Station.

"Thank you," I said haltingly to Mia as she held the door for me. Short legs, folks, running isn't my forte. Mia nodded graciously, and we sat together in the first car. I was winded, but Mia looked like she barely felt that sprint we did down that hill. One of the things I hate the most is having the train pull away from the station when I've just arrived on the platform. Happens all the time, and it sucks...

"I used to run track back at my old high school in Kingston, good times, I kind of miss it," Mia said wistfully, and I nodded as if I understood. I looked at Mia, a bit surprised by what she said. Kingston, Ontario, is a small, lily-white town that's quite hostile to immigrants, especially the ones who aren't white. I can't imagine someone like Mia living there and speaking fondly of it.

"You're from Kingston, Ontario? I would have pegged you for a Toronto gal," I said, and Mia laughed out and slapped her thighs. The middle-aged white dude sitting a few seats from us turned around and glared at us. Disapproval rolled off of him in massive waves. I stared right back, and flashed him a smile a shark would recognize. I'm a short, round, brown gal in a Hijab and long skirt. People always underestimate me.

"Kingston, Ontario? Oh hell no, sister, I'm an island woman through and true, I'm originally from Kingston, Jamaica," Mia said, and I grinned. Mia then pulled back the sleeve of her black sweatshirt, and showed me an armband with green, yellow and black streaks on it. I instantly recognized the Jamaican national flag, for I have friends who hail from there.

"My mistake, sister, say, you're from Jamaica, how come you're Muslim?" Those words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, and Mia cocked an eyebrow. I smiled sheepishly, and instantly regretted my choice of words. Seriously, if anyone can understand that all kinds of people find their way to Islam, it's me. After all, my mom was born in a Maronite Christian family in Lebanon and embraced Islam after falling in love with my South Sudanese Muslim father. I need a lesson in tact, seriously.

"You know, I was waiting for you to ask me that, I felt drawn to Islam for ages and took Shahada last summer," Mia replied with a beatific smile, and I looked at her, marveling both at her smile and the sheer energy that she seemed to exude. I've met my share of dynamos before, but Mia was definitely in a category by herself. Dammit, I want to get to know her better.

"Masha' Allah, my sister, I'm so happy to hear this, let me wish you a warm welcome to Islam," I said, and then, impulsively, I hugged Mia. Laughing, Mia hugged me back, her strong arms squeezing me a bit. Mia gently let go, after a brief moment, and I found myself looking into her eyes, and she looked into mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

"Thank you," Mia said, smiling still, though there was a question in her eyes. I looked at her, and my heart skipped a beat, and I nodded. I wanted to say more, but dammit, I couldn't speak of...these things. Feelings which have plagued me ever since I can remember. Alright, folks, no need to beat around the bush at this point. I, Jamila Gakmar, am a lesbian. A woman who loves women. I have tried to get rid of these feelings of mine, spent many a night praying them away, to no avail.

"Carleton Station," said the train's mechanical voice, and Mia waved at me, snatching me out of my reverie, and I nodded at her, then we got off the train. We walked toward the Minto Center, the place all of us engineering nerds call home. Our natural habitat. Usually, I feel a sense of peace as I see these slate gray walls, but not today. Nope, today my heart is going pitter-patter.

"We should keep in touch, Jamila, nice to know I'm not the only one," Mia said, and she took out her cell phone, and I got the hint and dictated my cell phone number to her. Alright, I don't normally do this, but today is definitely not an ordinary day, and let's face, Mia is definitely not an ordinary woman. We just met, sure, but I can feel there's something different about her.

"The only one? What do you mean?" I asked, and Mia suddenly stood mere inches from me, totally in my personal space, and my heart thundered in my chest. So loud that I was almost worried that Mia could hear it, as ridiculous and unlikely as that sounds. Mia looked me up and down, and smiled cockily. I saw a gleam of mischief in her largely, lovely brown eyes.

"Oh, I think you know what I mean, cutie," Mia said, and then, the tall, dreadlocked Jamaican sister leaned close, and kissed me on the cheek. I gasped, then smiled hesitantly. Alright, I wasn't expecting that. At all. So I seriously fumbled for words, and Mia smiled even more, clearly amused by my reaction. Finally, I found my voice, and found myself smiling at Mia.

"Well, do keep in touch," I replied at last, and Mia grinned, then wished me a good day and walked away. I watched Mia as she all but strutted down the hall, and disappeared around the corner past the vending machines. This woman has got one hell of a butt on her. Nice. I was all smiles as I sat in my Imperative Class. There are five girls and sixteen guys in that class, and that doesn't bother me none. I like my major and its dynamics, thank you very much.

After class, I noticed I'd gotten a ping from Mia, and saved her number. I was still smiling when I went to work around three, and for the rest of the day, thoughts of Mia swirled through my mind. Truth be told, my experiences with girls ( never been with a guy, thanks but no thanks ) have been limited. There was Sharon, this gal I met at an interfaith meeting last year, and some experiences fooling around with female friends back in the day, that's about it.

For ages, I've led the life of a cloistered nun, um, no offense. I go to school, I go to work and I go to the mosque. I see couples walking around the mall, or on the bus, and I feel a bit jealous at times. My brother Omar is heading to Algonquin College next fall, and he's dating this Irish gal named Justine something or other. My parents sometimes tease me about my apparently chaste life, and I lie and tell them I'm waiting for the right person. I can't tell them that I am a lesbian. It would simply kill them.

These days, my life is quite lonely. My only outlet is masturbation, and I have vivid sex dreams of other women. Dreams in which I'm having sex with them. Sometimes they're strangers, and sometimes they're young women I've seen around school or met at work. In those dreams, I often see myself kissing and embracing a mystery woman whose face I can never remember when I wake up. She kisses me, caresses my body, fondles my tits and makes love to me, and I surrender to her magic touch.

My mystery woman kisses every inch of me, and I cry out as she buries her lovely face between my thighs, and I feel her tongue on my pussy. I feel a tingle inside as she laps away at my cunt, and I writhe and moan as I am licked, probed, fingered and pleasured. Sometimes I wake up screaming, and blush when my parents or my brother knock on my door to ask me if everything is alright. Only in my dreams, folks. Well, maybe it's time to change that. I texted Mia back, and I did not regret it...

A couple of days later, Mia and I sat inside the Odeon Cineplex located near my house in Barrhaven, and watched Batman Versus Superman. I'm definitely a comic book nerd, and I was thrilled to see Wonder Woman onscreen. Hot damn, Israeli actress Gal Gadot looks frigging hot in everything she wears, seriously. The theater was packed, mostly with dudes and a few couples, and Mia and I sat upfront. You know, those four rows of seats right in front of the damn screen? Yeah, those ones. We sat in the third.

"Having fun yet, cutie?" Mia whispered in my ear and I looked at her and grinned. Mia just got back from the snack bar and came back with pizzas. I paid for our drinks. I thanked her, and grabbed a slice of overpriced cheese pizza. All the others have bacon in them and being a good Muslim sister, I avoid the stuff. Glad to see Mia is the same way.

"Oh absolutely," I said, and then, my hand brushed against Mia's hand and she looked at me and grinned. I smiled too, and then, feeling unexpectedly bold, I leaned close and kissed her. Mia seemed quite surprised by my kiss, but then she kissed me back with a passion. Hot damn, Mia is hot. Her tongue slid into my mouth and played tonsil hockey with me, and I liked it. A lot.

"Sweet lips you got there, Jamila, " Mia whispered, once we came up for air, and I smiled, and she smiled at me. Mia laid her hand on mine and squeezed it, and I squeezed hers back. The epic movie rolled on, and some overly enthusiastic fan dudes ( and some fan gals ) hooted and hollered as Batman and Superman pounded the hell out of each other in the world's most epic misunderstanding, but Mia and I didn't really pay attention. Indeed, we were in a world of our own.

"We should do this again sometime," I said to Mia, and she laughed and linked her arm with mine, a gesture I found positively thrilling. As we exited the crowded theater a couple of hours later, I felt a sense of hope and excitement I hadn't felt in ages. Looking at Mia, I felt thrilled. She's so tall, beautiful and utterly fearless. My polar opposite in every way. No wonder I'm so drawn to her.

"Let's go for a walk, I'm eager to see this Barrhaven of yours," Mia replied, and I smiled as we walked towards the shopping center where I work. As Mia and I walked together, people looked at us. A lot. They're not used to seeing couples like us, that's for damn sure. We're arm in arm, not hand in hand. I wonder if they think we're just girlfriends hanging out, or lesbian lovers. Whatever. I feel proud to have Mia by my side, and I can tell she feels the same way. That's all that matters. We'll deal with whatever comes our way in due time.