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A Saudi Woman's Confessions

"Mariam Ali, you have been found guilty of murder, for this the sentence is death by decapitation, to be carried out in thirty days, may The Most High have mercy on your soul," said the Cleric, Ahmad Ibn Youssef, speaking for the High Court of Saudi Arabia. And I looked at them with my head held high, from the pew of the accused. Even in Riyadh's criminal courts, segregation by sex is very much in effect and strictly enforced. Such is life, and death, in my homeland of Saudi Arabia.

"So be it," I replied without fear or shame, and I felt zero guilty for having murdered my sadistic brute of a husband, Ibrahim Wali, son of a prominent Wahabi preacher, in his sleep. All he did was brutalize me, in order to cure me of my western ways and defiant mindset. Apparently, my time spent studying business administration at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Capital of Canada, changed me as a woman. Much more than the average Saudi Arabian man cares to put up with...

I'm only five-foot-five, and weigh a hundred and seventeen pounds soaking wet. At my old school, my friends nicknamed me the Saudi Pixie. I was quite involved with the Muslim Scholars Association, where I rose to the rank of vice president. I've been told many times that although I'm a small woman, I have a booming voice. I used that same loud, fearless voice to address the Clerics, and they exchanged looks of consternation at my defiance.

I was led away in fetters by women working for the court, and taken to my cell. From there I was to be transported to Al Nisa Quarters, the women's wing of the Ulaysha Prison, in the City of Riyadh. From there, I would remain in my cell until the fateful day of my execution, where I would be beheaded before a gathering of court clerics, soldiers, as well as ordinary men and women. For defiant women like myself have to be made examples of.

As I was brought to my cell, I sat down at a corner of the cool, cramped room. In many ways it reminded me of my one-bedroom spot on Bronson Avenue, not far from the Carleton University campus in Ottawa. I remember those heady, wonderful days with great fondness. Not for the first time I lamented the fact that I gave in to the whims of tradition and returned to Saudi Arabia. Where would I be if I had followed my heart and chosen love instead of tradition? Not here, certainly. I'd be far away from this prison, probably in the arms of my beloved...

"Omar," I murmured, and a smile came to my face as I thought of the only man I've ever loved. I first met the big and tall, handsome young black man in the Carleton University library. He was working on an accounting paper and asked me if I could help. I'm really good with numbers and Omar had seen me work on similar papers as he walked by a few times. I looked at this handsome young man with the dopey smile, and wondered what he wanted from me...

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, these accounting problems are kicking my butt, you seem to know this stuff, perhaps you can help me?" Omar asked, and I looked at him, smiled and nodded. Seated at my computer, I was on the Canadian immigration website, trying to renew my study permit since the international student office at Carleton University had sent me a warning that it was about to expire. I was quite busy with important things, and then this smiling, pretty-faced weirdo came along...

Normally, I am quite reserved around males, and it's not just because I'm a shy person but because of the social and cultural norms of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where I was born and raised. Young men in my homeland don't casually approach young women they don't know to ask for help with mundane things. It's simply not done...and there are grave consequences for both sexes when they commit transgressions. The Mutaween, the religious police of Saudi Arabia, are utterly merciless. Trust me on that one.

"Salaam, sure, I'll help you, what is your name?" I asked, and Omar smiled and introduced himself. When the smiling young man held out his hand, I hesitated and then shook it. Again, I was breaking the rules of my faith and culture by touching an unrelated male, but I guess living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, was beginning to affect me. Damn the westerners and their strange, at times weirdly wonderful ways, eh?

"Good to meet you, Mariam, you're a life saver," Omar said to me, after I basically did his Intro To Accounting homework for him. After he submitted the assignment to his prof via email, he logged onto his Facebook profile and asked me if I had one. I smiled and nodded, and he fired up a friend request. Whatever, I thought, for I seldom went on my Facebook account. I wished Omar a good day, then got up to get back to my seat.

Returning to the Canadian immigration website, I resumed what I was doing. Renewing my study permit is of the utmost importance. The Canadian government is hard on foreign students, especially the ones from Muslim nations. I finished paying for the online transaction with my MBNA Mastercard and then sipped on some water. I was about to go to the prayer room when I sensed a presence behind me, and turned around. There he was, Omar, standing about a meter from me.

"Hello, brother, what can I do for you?" I asked politely, with barely concealed annoyance. Omar looked at me and smiled, and then he stepped closer. A habit of his that I did not like one bit. In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where slavery was legal until 1962, people of African descent use a certain deference in their dealings with Arabs. It's simply the way of things over there, I'm afraid. I got so used to it that I never noticed it, until I experienced its absence in North America.

As I said before, I was used to dealing with Africans with such a deferential mindset. Omar, evidently, was of a different breed. Although polite and seemingly friendly, the big and tall young black Canadian carried himself with a confidence that, to me, seemed strange. Still, I had a lot to learn. Anxiously I awaited Omar's answer. As far as I was concerned, I'd done the polite and friendly thing and helped him. What did this fool want and why was he standing so damn close?

"I wanted to thank you, Mariam Ali, say, I was going for coffee, do you need anything?" Omar asked, and I hesitated, and bit my lip. Truth be told, I was flat broke. As an international student from Saudi Arabia residing in the City of Ottawa, I receive a monthly stipend of two thousand dollars. Courtesy of the Saudi government. From this, I must pay rent, which is five hundred dollars, plus groceries. I receive a U-Pass from the school, which helps for taking buses and trains around Ottawa.

I cannot work in Canada according to archaic rules from both governments, so life sucks. After shelling out a lot of dough to expedite my study permit renewal, I was flat broke. The month would end in three days and then I would have another two grand via direct deposit on my BMO student checking account from the Saudi government. Until then, however, I was flat broke. Seriously, I only had the food in my tiny fridge at home, that's it. It would seem that circumstances forced my hand...

"Sure, why not?" I heard myself say to Omar, who smiled. We left the campus library together and headed to Tim Horton's, where Omar bought a coffee, and got me an iced tea and a buttered bagel. As we sat down, we talked and got to know each other better. Omar Bien-Aime was born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, to Haitian immigrant parents. He was studying business management at Carleton University and intended to become a corporate big-shot someday. I actually found him quite interesting...

"How about you, Mariam, what's your dream? What is your destiny?" Omar asked me, as he sat across from me at Tim Horton's. I looked at this tall, handsome and fearless young black man who wore an Obama T-shirt and blue jeans, and looked into his eyes. For some reason, my heart skipped a beat and I felt nervous. Omar was something else, I think I knew this even during our first meeting. This brother was not like the others...

"I want to get my degree and return to Saudi Arabia, and start a family," I replied, like the dutiful and pious, obedient young Saudi Arabian Muslim woman whom I was in those halcyon days. Omar grinned and stroked his goateed chin, and I smiled at him. What's going on inside that young man's head? A gal had to wonder. Omar looked at me and licked his lips, almost as if he had something to say, and wasn't quite sure how to say it...

"Mariam, that's fine, if that's what you really want," Omar said mysteriously, and then he fixed those eyes on me. There was something almost hypnotically beautiful in those deep brown eyes. A frisson coursed through me, and although I hadn't realized it at the time, Omar was far from the naïve ingénue he first seemed to be. Indeed, there was much more to this intriguing stranger than meets the gaze...

"Of course that's what I want," I snapped, and Omar smiled and held his hands up in mock surrender. I was kind of pissed by his oh-so cool words and what he was implying. In those days, I got hot under the collar whenever a westerner brought up things like women's rights in Saudi Arabia. Seriously, I didn't want to discuss the gender based segregation laws, the fact that women weren't allowed to drive over there, or any of the hot-button topics that westerners always bring up...

"Easy, Mariam, I didn't mean to offend you, I just sense a kindred spirit in you, you see, I like studying business, for example, but my parents wanted me to become a doctor, sometimes, people who love us think they know best, but we must make our own choices," Omar said quietly, and I sighed and nodded thoughtfully. I could tell that he was sincere. There was something very intriguing about this handsome, sharp-minded and affable young man, and it was making me really uncomfortable...

"Trust me, Omar, I have a mind of my own," I replied, and then, as the young man looked on, I got up, thanked him for the coffee and walked away. As I made my way to the elevators, I could feel Omar's eyes on me. I turned around, briefly, and he smiled and waved at me with that infuriating grin as though we were old friends. You've got some nerve, I thought, both amused and pissed off by him. I shook my head and pressed the elevator button, even as a smile crept on my face.

Thus I met the young man destined to change my life forever. When I returned to the library, I saw that I had a friend request on Facebook, and ( reluctantly ) added Omar Bien-Aime as a friend. I resume browsing YouTube, watching a video of famous Muslim preacher and author Dr. Zakir Naik, whose work I admire a great deal. Imagine my surprise when I got another message from Omar, this time on Facebook.

"Miss Mariam, you are a very beautiful and intelligent lady, I wish to apologize for offending you, I am sorry if my western ways offend you, I know very little of your beautiful Islamic faith, and would like to learn more, if that's okay with you," Omar wrote, and I looked at his message and shook my head. What is it with this strange young man?

"Salaam, Omar, nothing to apologize, if you are serious about learning about Islam, I'll be happy to answer any question you have," I replied, hoping that this was end to it. I resumed watching the video of Dr. Zakir Naik. Along with African American Muslim celebrity Dr. Bilal Phillips, he's one of my favorite preachers. Men whose humanitarian work on behalf of the Muslim community makes us look good in front of the western world.

"Shukran, thank you sister, by the way, I just learned that my name, Omar, is actually an Arabic name? How cool is that? You can reach me by Facebook Messenger online, or on my phone," Omar replied, and then he fell silent for several minutes. I was about to log off when I received yet another message from him, this one containing a video about a former Rapper and Hollywood heavyweight whose life changed after he embraced Islam, the famous Ice Cube, one of my favorite actors...

"Masha'Allah, you like Ice Cube too? We're definitely going to get along, my friend," I replied, and then, filled with a strange, weirdly wonderful enthusiasm, I punched Omar Bien-Aime's number into my phone. And then I accidentally called him. Dammit, I did not mean to call Omar, but he picked up on the first ring. Just like I knew he would. Dammit, me and my infernal luck!

"Pleased to hear from you, Mariam, I'm in class now but I'll call you soon," Omar said in that deep, slightly amused voice of his. All I could say was a weak "cool" and "bye" before hanging up. Afterwards, I sat there for a long moment, thinking of what I'd just done. What the hell is it about Omar Bien-Aime that makes me so damn eager to break the rules? I am NOT like that with males, period. Fuck!

"I so need to pray," I muttered to myself as I made my way to a quiet corner of the library, and did my prayer. I returned to my seat, and resumed watching the video of Dr. Zakir Naik. Next, I watched a video regarding interracial and intercultural unions in Islam. In the video, a Somali Muslim man and his Iranian wife talked about the difficulties they ran into, mainly due to her family, as they got together. I watched it intently...

"Oh my," I said to myself, as I watched this black guy from Somalia and his Iranian wife. As they talked to their interviewer, they smiled and held hands, and even kissed at one point. I was amazed. In Saudi Arabia, a lot of Arab men have foreign wives and concubines. I've seen Saudi men with African women. Never thought I'd live to see the day when a black Muslim man was allowed to marry an Arab woman or a Persian woman. Will wonders never cease?

I watched the video to completion, and then afterwards, I logged off and headed home. That night, as I lay on my bed, lost in thought, I couldn't shake that image from my head. Again and again I played the video in my mind, and watched the Somali man and his Persian wife hold hands and kiss. It got so hot that night that I took off my clothes and slept naked. And I dreamed of the Somali man and his Persian wife, and in my dreams they made love. Except, for some reason, it wasn't the two of them making love, but myself and Omar. I woke up, screaming and sweaty, utterly disoriented. I took a few calming breaths. Where had those erotic thoughts come from?

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