A Somali Woman Leaves Islam

Apostate! Kafir! Infidel! Marked for death. In the eyes of the Muslim community, I am all these things and more. My name is Aminata Khalid and I'm a young woman of Somali descent living in the City of Detroit, Michigan. For most of my life, home was the City of Montreal, Quebec. About a year ago, I had life all figured out. I had just graduated from the University of Montreal with my bachelor's degree in business administration, and I was looking for a decent MBA program. I've always been the ambitious one in the family. My older brother Amir is currently at Kingston's Penitentiary in Ontario, where he's doing five years for armed robbery. My older sister Farah is divorcing her Yemeni husband Hussein, alleging that he beat her. I hope she takes the son of a bitch to the cleaners in divorce court because he's a filthy animal. Any man who beats women is a beast. That's my opinion and I don't apologize for it.

I was trying to decide between Concordia University and McGill University, two of Canada's best schools. I was also dealing with other pressing matters. Getting pressured to marry by my parents, Mohammed and Fatouma Khalid wasn't something I enjoyed. You see, even though there are tens of thousands of Somali folk living in Canada, I wouldn't call us the most well-adjusted community of immigrants. Lots of Somali girls these days are dating Arab guys or White Muslim converts because the majority of young Somali men in the vastness of Canada are usually wasting their time doing drugs, chasing fat White girls or languishing behind bars. And some of these magical negroes manage to do all three, if you can believe that. Yeah, a lot of our brothers aren't doing anything good with their lives but they get mad when they see us with guys from other communities. As if.

Before he got the bright idea of robbing a Tim Horton's restaurant in the east end of Ottawa, my older brother Amir had twins with this chubby, blonde-haired White heifer named Madeline. He didn't even marry her. I don't know what religion she is but she is definitely not Muslim. Otherwise her parents would have killed her for having brats out of wedlock with a sorry excuse for a man like my brother Amir. Yeah, like a lot of Black males worldwide, my brother craves White meat. Hmmm. The only White meat he's getting these days probably comes from an overweight fruit motherfucker behind the walls of Kingston Penitentiary. Exactly what he deserves if you ask me. Amir never much cared for me and the feeling is definitely mutual. Honestly, the world is a safer place with him behind bars.

As for my sister Farah, she's one of those Somali girls who worships everything Arabic. Look, I know that I am not fond of Somali males, but I do love Black men. I just prefer Black men who don't treat Black women like shit, that's all. My sister Farah has been fascinated by all things Arabic ever since I could remember. Never mind that those Arab bastards dislike us Somali folks and they constantly belittle us and make fun of us. They call us "Abd" which is Arabic for slave. You can't tell that to most Somalis, though. The majority of my people love the Arabs even though these desert-dwelling mongrels with delusions of grandeur have a strong dislike for all things Black. Arab guys regularly come to Somalia and Djibouti, and they enjoy themselves with the local women. You'll never catch an Arab woman dating or marrying a Somali male, though. The Arab guys love women of other races/cultures but jealously guard their own. Muslim males from non-Arab cultures never stop and think, otherwise they'd realize that within the Islamic world, the Arabs are kings and all non-Arab Muslims are their pawns.

I have never been one of those Somalis who love these bastards. When I was in high school, a Palestinian guy named Omar grabbed my ass and was surprised when I whirled around, and smacked him hard across the face. I guess he thought that just because he's an Arab guy and I'm a Somali female, I'm just going to roll over for him. That might be how things are in Somalia but I was raised in Canada, thank you very much. Hell, I don't even remember the City of Borama, in the Awdal province of Somalia, where I was born. I am Canadian through and true. I had to fight my parents to convince them to let me play soccer when I went to Carthage High School in the south end of Montreal. I was the only hijab-wearing female player on the varsity soccer team and I had to wear long trousers instead of the shorts, and people stared at me a lot, but I didn't care. I loved the game of soccer too much to give a damn about what people thought of me. When I turned eighteen, I stopped wearing the hijab altogether, much to the chagrin of my parents, who accused me of being too westernized. I didn't care. It's my life and I wanted to live it my way.

I've always been rebellious, with a fiercely independent streak. In high school, I was best friends with this Haitian chick named Marjorie Etienne and her brother Adam. They were in the Christian Students Group at school and you wouldn't think we'd be friends but we totally clicked. From them I learned about Christianity. Now, growing up in the Somali community, I was brought up in the Muslim faith. I found myself fascinated by the Christian students at school. Theirs seemed like such an easy religion to follow. All you had to do was believe that this Jewish guy named Jesus Christ rose from the dead, after being killed by the Romans, the ancestors of today's Italians, for healing the sick and helping the poor and the downtrodden. His tale was so moving that Christianity had two point one billion followers, outnumbering us Muslims by an easy billion. I had met quite a few white men and white women who joined Islam from Christian and even Jewish backgrounds but Marjorie Etienne and her brother Adam were passionate about their faith. And they were very friendly, kind and generous with me. When my father beat me for being a sassy brat, I'd seek comfort with Marjorie, and she was always there for me. Her brother Adam fascinated me. The tall, dark-skinned young Haitian guy was quiet and unassuming, though he cut an imposing figure at six-foot-three and 240 pounds. He played football for Carthage High School. I once wanted to be a cheerleader just for him but I was too tall and too chubby for cheerleading. I was already five-foot-ten while starting school at C.H.S. and I would grow an additional couple of inches by the time I turned eighteen. In spite of my tremendous physique, I could be such a wallflower sometimes. Adam Etienne was my protector, and his sister Marjorie was my ride or die chick. We were like sisters, for real.

Yeah, I was a six-foot-tall, chubby and light-skinned young Black woman with a big ass and wide hips in a world that worshipped skinny White girls. I'm not going to say I was plagued with self-esteem issues as I began my studies at the University of Montreal but I was somewhat self-conscious. Marjorie Etienne and I would reunite at the University of Montreal. She left our sophomore year to study at Wayne State University in the City of Detroit, Michigan. I missed Marjorie terribly. She would end up staying in the States permanently, having fallen in love with a handsome Detroit City policeman named Tyson Jermaine Brown. Me? I stayed in Montreal, the town I loved. It's at U of M that I met Rashid Osman, a handsome Somali guy who temporarily restored my faith in the men of my community. Rashid was tall and handsome, and he wasn't one hundred percent Somali either. His father was Somali but his mother was Turkish, if you can believe that. Wow. That's a mix you don't see every day. Rashid Osman swept me off my feet. The guy was smart and sexy. He was a civil engineering student at the University of Montreal and he had ambition to spare. I saw in him everything I wanted in a man, and I fell in love with him.

Rashid and I had a whirlwind romance, and I introduced him to my family. I can't tell you how relieved my parents were that I finally brought home a Somali man whom I wanted to be with. My father especially dreaded the thought of me bringing home a White Muslim guy or an Arab dude like my sister did. The only other man in my life whom my father approved of was my good friend Adam, who once defended my pops from some White guys who sprayed anti-Islam graffiti on our porch in eastern Montreal. That day, my dad embraced Adam and thanked him. Adam, ever friendly and courteous, thanked God that he was able to help and wished us all a good day. I remember my father shaking his head, saying that he wished Adam were Muslim instead of Catholic because he had such a good soul. I felt perplexed when my dad said that. Most of my friends at school were Christians. They were kinder to me than the noisy and gossipy Muslim students. I wasn't Christian but I had much respect for my Christian friends and the Christian religion itself. Weird thing for a Somali chick to say, eh?

Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you about my romance with Rashid Osman, the handsome Somali dude who changed my life. I was madly in love with Rashid and I was already imagining the two of us getting married at my family's favorite Mosque. I guess I was counting my chickens before they hatched because, well, things took a dark and completely unexpected turn. One night, I saw some pictures on his phone, which I was playing Solitaire on while he slept. I woke him up and confronted him about the pictures of the big-booty White slut who sent him an "I love you Rashid". Rashid got mad as hell and smacked me hard for my insolence. I was shocked, but he didn't stop there. I'm ashamed to say this, especially given that I'm not exactly tiny. I'm a big woman, and I'm a very physical person. Somehow, though, Rashid overpowered me and he, um, he....alright, fuck, he raped me. There, I said it. Rashid fucked me against my will. The man I thought loved me raped me.

That night, I went to my parents in tears, still bleeding from what Rashid had done to me. What do you think they did? They blamed me. That night, I lay in my bed, cold and alone. And what a night it was. Like something out of a nightmare. The man I thought loved me just raped me, and my parents told me it was my fault. They called me a Westernized whore, and blamed me for tempting and corrupting a pure Muslim guy like Rashid Osman with my womanly charms. I think I began walking away from Islam right then and there, in my mind and in my soul. The next morning, I went to the hospital, and told them what happened. The police got involved, and Rashid was arrested. A big scandal followed, and after the brouhaha and the big trial, all he got was a measly six years of forcible rape. Had I been in the States, I would have been avenged tenfold for over there, rapists get life sentences. In Canada, they get a slap on the wrist. Just my luck.

After the trial, I became somewhat of a celebrity. I was on TV, and people seemed to want to know what I as a Muslim woman thought of rape, and sex crimes against women. People forget that Muslim women are women at the end of the day. They think we're all a bunch of mentally submissive simpletons who enjoy being dominated by cruel men who use the Koran and Islamic culture to justify their hatred of women. Well, on one television interview, I stunned the TV host, a blonde lady from America working for the Canadian news outlet RDI, by telling her that I considered myself a secular human being. As in I was no longer Muslim. To hell with the dumb rules, the restrictions and the insanity of it all. I wanted out. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I renounced Islam on international television. How do you like them apples? From that moment on, I was marked for death. For you see, here's what Muslims don't tell all those Westerners who are eager to join a religion they don't really understand. Anyone can become Muslim. And any Muslim who wants to leave Islam for Atheism or another religion must be killed for the crime of Apostasy. It's in the Koran.

I left Islam, and I've never looked back. However, I have been looking over my shoulder a lot lately. Thanks to the web, local news are global news. The name Aminata Khalid became infamous. From Montreal to Baghdad, from Jeddah to Dakovica, from Mogadishu to Dakar, from Banjul to Jakarta, wherever Muslims live in great numbers, my name was spoken. Apostates are something Muslims take very seriously. We're a threat to the order of things. We must be killed, for the good of Islam. The Montreal police offered me protection, but how could I trust them? I'm sure there are Muslim men and Muslim women working for the Montreal police force. No matter how secular, friendly and westernized they might seem, they wanted me dead, just like all the others. I had to get the fuck out. So I fled to Detroit, Michigan.

Why did I move to Detroit? Simply because I only knew one person in America and it's my girlfriend and play-sister Marjorie Etienne. She came to greet me at Detroit Metro Airport, where my plane landed from the City of Toronto, Ontario. I left Canada, never to return. As I stood there in the airport, looking at the throngs of people coming and going, I thought about my life. Because this may very well be the end of it. At any time, a follower of Islam could walk up to me and kill me in the name of their vengeful God. Christians and Jews in North America look the other way when Muslims do terrible things because they don't want to be accused of Islamophobia. Apparently, it's as bad as racism. Um, no it isn't. I am a Black woman. Many people hate me because of my ethnicity, which I can't change. Islam isn't a race. It's a religion. And I'm living proof that anyone can change their religion.

Yeah, all those thoughts ran through my head as I stood there inside that crowded but lonely airport in the City of Detroit, Michigan. I didn't even see or hear Marjorie until she was right in front of me. The short, dark-skinned young woman I had loved like a sister for more than a decade hugged me. She wasn't alone, I quickly noticed. There were two men with her. One was a tall, light-skinned Black guy who had to be mixed by the looks of him. Had to be Tyson Jermaine Brown, the police officer boyfriend. I smiled at him and shook his hand. The other man was someone quite familiar. Taller and handsomer than I remembered, but just as imposing yet friendly, when you saw his eyes. Adam Etienne. My play-sister Marjorie's older brother. He looked at me and I looked at him. Damn he looked good in his red silk shirt, dark blue tie and black silk pants. The oversized crucifix hanging around his neck loomed just as imposing as I remembered. Silently I went to him and buried myself in his arms. The big man held me close and hugged me tenderly. I finally let go, letting out all the tears I had been holding onto for so long. As Marjorie and Adam hugged me, I realized that I was home.

Marjorie and Adam brought me home, and I basically never left. I would end up staying in the City of Detroit, Michigan, for the rest of my life. I attend a Haitian church with my new family. I have a lot to learn about Christianity, my new faith. I love so many things about it, especially the part about women and men able to worship side by side as equals, as opposed to women being shuffled either to the back or to another room altogether like the Muslims do. In Christianity, men and women are equal. I'm making a lot of new friends in Detroit. Something wonderful has happened. Adam recently revealed to me that he's had feelings for me for a long time, and I told him the secret I'd be holding onto for a decade. I have loved him for a long, long time. I told myself we couldn't be together because Muslim women weren't allowed to be with Christian men, and I would never ask Adam to change his religion to be with me. Well, I'm no longer Muslim, though I'll always be Somali. I'm a proud Catholic woman now. Marjorie and I are doing some Christmas shopping at the Riverfront Mall. I'm buying a bright red sweater and some comic books for Adam. Marjorie has the hang of this Christmas shopping thing. She's already bought some action DVDs for her fiancé Tyson. I can't wait to surprise Adam. It's going to be our first Christmas together, and my very first Christmas. Marjorie wants to go caroling. I don't really know what that is but I'm all for trying new things. Wish me luck.