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From Kazakhstan with Love

Tell people that you're from Kazakhstan and they stare at you blankly. Same country Borat claimed to be from in that awful movie, I usually say, groaning inwardly and idiotic smiles immediately follow. Now they get it. Cultural relativity isn't a concept most people in North America can grasp. My name is Rashida Jabayev and I was born in the City of Kentau, southern Kazakhstan, to an ethnic Kazakh Muslim father, Rashid Jabayev, and a Chinese immigrant mother, Amal Chang. My parents moved to Ontario, Canada, when I was about six and we've lived here ever since.

It's not easy to be me, like the song by my favorite artist Five For Fighting says. Ottawa, Ontario, is a town in transition from a mostly white ( and conservative ) enclave into a racially diverse metropolis. It hasn't been an easy transition, that's for sure. Large populations of Chinese, Arabs, Somalis and Hindus make the Canadian Capital their home, and there's been some tension between various minority groups and the white Canadians, especially when the issue of religion becomes a concern. Many white people in Canada believe that you can't be truly Canadian and a Muslim, and they want to make life harder for those who follow our beautiful religion.

I was born and raised Muslim, and it's all I know. My father's family is pure Kazakh and has been Muslim for many generations, ever since the Turkish invasions brought Islam into Eastern Europe and Central Asia. As for my Mom, she's descended from the Hui people of China, and they're a predominantly Muslim group. Growing up in Kentau, I was used to getting stared at because of my features, which are a blend of eastern European and Asian. The region is home to lots of people who sort of look like me, for folks from places like China and Mongolia have mixed with the Turks, the Kazakhs and others.

As an interracial couple in a Muslim country, my parents were unique but by no means extraordinarily so. Marrying someone of a different color isn't that big a deal in that part of the world, as long as they're from the same religion. That's the main difference between Muslim countries and Western nations, I think. In the West, they care about what you look like, how similar or dissimilar you are when compared to them, and of course how much money you have. That's how they are.

In the Muslim world, we don't much care about your skin color, only what you believe. Let me put it this way. If two Arabs, one Lebanese Christian and one Lebanese Muslim, go to Turkey, or Nigeria, or Indonesia, the Muslim one will be made welcome by the locals, for his Muslim faith, while the Arab Christian will be viewed as the foreigner, the eternal other, due to his Christian faith. Western Europe and its societies, on the other hand, are a whole different matter. People are obsessed with color here.

Don't they know that God made all men, from the dark-skinned African to the European, the Asian, and everyone in between? Myself, the daughter of two worlds, I understand this all too well. I am simply as Allah made me. That's what I tell myself in the face of the prejudices I occasionally encounter. I stand five-foot-ten, a bit heftier than I'd like, but still pretty and shapely, I think. I have long black hair, bronze skin and sharp, comely features. I've been mistaken for various ethnicities in my time. I've gotten Chinese, Japanese, and even Mongolian once. I always tell people that I am from Kazakhstan, and that's all they need to know.

Even after two decades in Ontario, I consider myself a proud citizen of Kazakhstan. I am fluent in the Kazakh mother tongue, along with Russian and English, of course. I tried to pick up French but failed miserably. The language sounds lovely on the ears but it's just not for me. I took a French class during my freshman year at Carleton University and I barely passed it. The instructor, an old Quebecer, was not fond of me. Still, something good came out of the whole thing. It's how I met my future husband, you see.

The only friend I made in that French class was Salomon Marcus, a big and tall young black man of Haitian descent. We sat next to each other, and even though I am typically guarded around strangers, especially males, something about Salomon just pulled me in. The guy was charming and friendly, and always oh so eager to help me with my French homework. As a native of Haiti, he spoke French fluently along with the Creole language. If it weren't for Salomon, I would have flunked that French class. Even after that dreadful first semester ended, we remained close friends.

On the surface, Salomon and I didn't look like we had much in common. I'm half Kazakh and half Chinese, and a proud Muslim, as I said before. Salomon is fiercely proud of his Haitian roots, and wore a silver crucifix around his neck, a gift from his mother, Genevieve Marcus, from his First Communion days. I think that's sweet, how he still wears that heirloom or trinket from his Mom. Yeah, we're different but that's okay. We have much in common. We're both free spirits ill-at-ease in the world in which we live. I am a visible minority woman who wears the hijab. I endure quite a lot of prejudice every day. People always look at me as though I'm either a threat due to my visibly Islamic heritage, or they treat me as though I'm a sexless, faceless entity and not a young woman with the same needs and fears as any gal my age.

Don't get it? Please let me explain. I have a confession to make, ladies and gentlemen. We Muslim girls you see walking around with our hijabs and long skirts aren't the sexless 'other' that many westerners think we are. We like sex, and fashion, and sports, and all the things 'normal' girls like. So it should come as no surprise that some of us have our naughty little hobbies, right? I like porn. And I occasionally go to the porno shop on Rideau Street in downtown Ottawa to check out what's new. I'm always there on Ladies Night.

One evening, as Salomon and I were walking on Rideau after eating some delicious Shawarma sandwiches at a nearby restaurant, I got the idea of going into the adult film store. The mannequins in the window simply pulled me in, what can I say? Salomon reluctantly followed me inside. Like the good Catholic that he was back then, he liked to get naughty in private while behaving chastely in public. It's amazing how similar Christians and Muslims are, underneath it all. I grabbed Salomon's hand and dragged him into the store. Let's check it out, I said, laughing.

Thus we went inside. I noticed a certain familiar-looking plump white chick behind the counter and waved at her. She smiled at me, then went back to talking on her cellphone. Nice place, Salomon said, looking around as if he'd never been in a porno shop before. I went straight to the transsexual/she-male section, and picked up a DVD. The Best Of Big Dick Bitch, starring TS Madison. I smiled as I peered at the cover. I'm a big fan of the ebony transsexual porn starlet. I like watching her fuck guys, especially black guys, in the ass.

Why are you looking at that? Salomon asked, his eyes bulging as he saw what I was holding. I smiled and pouted. I like watching guys getting fucked, I said casually, shrugging. Salomon shook his head and smiled nervously. Just then, the shop doors opened and a trio of white guys walked in, along with a short Filipino chick. All four stared at Salomon and I as if we were unicorns. Muslims like porn too so quit staring, I said boldly, glaring at them. Sorry, one of them said, gulping, and hastily went to the gonzo section, followed by his friends. Salomon looked at me and shook his head. You're something else Rashida, he grinned.

I ended up buying that transsexual DVD, plus another one that made Salomon nervous. Strap-On Black Bitches, whose provocative cover showed a skinny black guy surrounded by five black women....sporting strap-on dildos. You're into some freaky shit lady, Salomon said, grinning nervously as I paid for my purchases. I looked at the DVD he just bought, Black Dicks In Asian Chicks # 2 starring Mika Tan and a bunch of Asian girls and black guys. The back cover showed a picture of an Asian gal getting double-penetrated by well-hung black guys. You like slutty Asian chicks eh? I chided Salomon, laughing. Salomon shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. Yes ma'am, he said meekly.

Salomon and I left the store, and headed to my place to chill. I live in a two-bedroom apartment near Sandy Hill. The area has been the site of clashes between loud university students and the older residents who'd been in the area for decades. I steer clear of both groups because I'm a different kind of resident. Yes, I'm in university and I'm a young woman but I also work two jobs, one as a cashier at the nearby Loblaw's, and another as a clerk at the nearby library. I don't have time to waste. I work, study, and sleep. That's all I do...on most days. I've got to make my own fun....which brings us to Salomon here.

As soon as Salomon and I got home, I set my bag on the kitchen counter and unwrapped my hijab before starting to take it off. Wow you look lovely, Salomon said, blushing a bit. Yes, I can tell when a brother blushes. So I don't look good with my hijab? I teased, as I put it back on. Not what I meant, Salomon mumbled nervously. I stepped toward him, until we were inches apart. What did you mean? I asked in an amused tone. Salomon backed off until he had nowhere to run, with his back literally to the wall. I think you're beautiful, he said, grinning nervously.

I looked into those brown eyes of his, and smiled. Kiss me dumbass, I said. That's it, I thought, waiting for Salomon's response. I've liked this guy for ages, and I've thrown enough hints his way. If he doesn't respond, I'll have no choice but to consider him a lost cause, and move on. As much as it would pain me. Salomon took a deep breath, then, in an uncharacteristically bold move, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I embraced Salomon and kissed him back, passionately. When we finally came up for air, several moments later, I took his dark, handsome face in my hands. Took you long enough, I laughed, and, grinning, Salomon kissed me again.

I'm not sure how we ended up in the living room, because I honestly don't remember walking there. Still, somehow, I ended up lying on the couch, my long skirt hiked up, my panties on my ankles, with Salomon kneeling before me and licking my pussy as eagerly as a prisoner savoring his last meal. Slow down lover, I teased, raking my hand through his kinky hair. You got it Shi-Shi, Salomon said, driving me nuts for he knew how much I disliked being called Shi-Shi. What is it with westerners wanting to shorten a Muslim person's name into something they can pronounce easily?

Anyhow, my objection died on my lips, lost in a moan as I shuddered, for Salomon's slick tongue stabbed my cunt, and I just about lost it. Oh shit, I squealed, as my Haitian lover worked his magic on me. Salomon slid his fingers inside of me, and I thrashed wildly as he teased my clit with his tongue while exploring my womanly folds. My favorite Haitian had me right where he wanted me, and I knew it. As Salomon's tongue darted in and out of my pussy, triggering wave upon wave of sweet pleasure deep inside of me, he could have said two plus two equalled five and I would have agreed with him. What can I say? The guy was that frigging good!

Once I just about had enough, I winked at Salomon. Your turn lover, I grinned, and wrapped my arms around him. We kissed again, and my hands went straight for his dick. I noticed that he was uncut. Hmmm. My first time seeing one up close, that's for sure. Let me taste you, I said, and wrapped my lips around his thick dick head. Oh yeah mama, Salomon whispered as I leaned over and began sucking him off. I haven't done this often, though Salomon is definitely not my first lover. There's been a couple of guys before him. A Turkish guy named Mehmet and a Somali guy named Abdi. Guys smell and taste different down there. Hmmm. I must say I liked the way Salomon smelled down there. Clean, but still masculine and deliciously funky. Nice.

Salomon sat there with his eyes closed, his mouth slack as I worked my magic on him. I grasped his balls and squeezed them hard while sucking his dick with gusto. That woke him up. Oh damn, he blurted, looking at me with wide eyes. I smiled, well, as much as I could smile with a mouth full of thick Haitian dick, and winked at him. You rock sweetie, Salomon cooed softly, grinning as he gently patted my head. Would you believe I'd forgotten I still had my hijab on as I sucked him off? I moved to remove it but Salomon stopped me.

You look good with it, Salomon said naughtily. I shot him a look. What is it with guys from other faiths liking to see us girls sporting hijabs during sexual situations? I swear, it's like a fetish for them. Watch it, I laughed, then resumed sucking his dick. You got it babe, Salomon grinned, giving me two thumbs up. I continued what I was doing until I felt Salomon shudder all over, and watched his knees buckle. Oh damn, he cried out. I already knew the jig was up. Dude was about to cum. As he trembled, I intensified my suction, and at last, Salomon gave it up. Dammit I'm cumming, Salomon cried out as he exploded in my mouth.

I tasted Salomon's manly spunk, and it was oh so good. Wave upon wave of cum flooded my mouth from his dick slit, and I welcomed the delicious torrent of liquid masculinity invading my mouth. I licked it all up, to the last drop. Only then did I release Salomon's dick. Yummy, I said, licking my fingers. Salomon stared at me, his handsome face flushed, sweat beads rolling down his forehead. Damn it lady you killed me, he laughed, sighing happily. I winked and shrugged. I'm that good, I smirked.

We continued with our fun, and I straddled Salomon, after rolling a condom on his seemingly ever-hard dick. Fuck me sweetie, I said, wrapping my arms around his neck after impaling my hungry pussy on his dick. I hadn't had sex, made love or gotten fucked in almost a year. And I definitely made up for lost time, for Salomon slammed his dick into my cunt with a fury that surprised me, though I welcomed it. I own this pussy, he grunted sexily into my ear as he held me tight and fucked me roughly. He even smacked my ample derriere for good measure. Damn right, I giggled, and hung on for dear life as Salomon took me on the ride of my life. Dammit, had I known Haitian men had this much passion, I would have tried one a long time ago.

Several hours, and a helluva lot of passionate fucking later, Salomon and I lay side by side on the living room carpet. We were spent, and exhausted in the best of ways. Like a lot of guys, Salomon was fast asleep after a good lay. I looked at this young Haitian-Canadian Christian man I'd just made love to, and smiled. I caressed his hairy chest, and even tugged at some of those thick chest hairs of his, and amazingly, Salomon didn't wake up. You bozo, I said contentedly, as I rested my head on his chest. For the first time in ages, I felt happy.

Thus went our first night of love. The first of many, I'm happy to say. Salomon is one kinky bastard and that's right up my alley. In later weeks, we'd return to the adult store and buy some toys, including a strap-on dildo. For him. The next morning didn't prove awkward for Salomon and I, as I feared it might. I like you and I think we can really have something, Salomon said to me, as we ate breakfast, egg sandwiches and steamy chocolate from the nearby Tim Horton's. I sipped my coffee and looked at Salomon. Gently I patted his thigh. Sounds good to me monsieur, I said, winking at him. And that's how it began. The romance that changed my life.

As luck would have it, the man Allah had in mind for me was someone as different from myself as could be. Salomon and I fell in love, and he's the one I introduced to my parents as my husband-to-be. My folks were a bit surprised by my choice of mate, but accepted our relationship. After all, my parents are an interracial couple and know that love knows no boundaries as far as color is concerned. If they didn't understand this, I wouldn't exist.

I taught Salomon about Islam, and Kazakh culture, and although he was reluctant to let go of his Roman Catholicism, I'm happy to say that he eventually came to follow the true path, Islam. I wish more Christians would come to recognize this truth. Judaism doesn't recognize Jesus Christ as a prophet of God, and shows him nothing but contempt. Christianity is a religion about Jesus while Islam is the religion of Jesus. What do I mean by that? Read your Bible. Jesus Christ obeyed God's every command, and performed miracles by the power of the one true God alone. Oh, and he never told anyone to worship him, he merely said that they had to follow him, and that he'd lead them to God. All Muslims know this to be true of Isa Al Masih ( the Arabic name of Jesus Christ ) and we love him...as a prophet of God.

I am so happy Salomon had a change of heart. Now we can truly be together. To be in love is to understand the art of compromising. I knew that Salomon was making a lot of sacrifices to be with me. His Christian family thought he was crazy for being with me, a Muslim woman. I knew that he faced many tough decisions and did my best to meet him halfway. For example, Salomon is uncircumcised, and that's a no-no in both Islam and Judaism. I assured Salomon that him being uncut didn't bother me, and I meant it. It's his body, so I accepted him as he is. Many women wouldn't have, but I love my big Haitian teddy bear exactly as he is. That's why we're together.

We stuck it out throughout our university days, just a regular couple with our ups and downs, and eventually graduated in the summer of 2013. I have a bachelor's degree in business from Carleton University and Salomon, or Suleiman, as he now calls himself ( after embracing Islam ) has a bachelor's degree in accounting. We got married in August 2013, and moved into a nice three-bedroom apartment in the By Ward market area near downtown Ottawa. It's a lovely place, though we might need something bigger soon.

Career wise, we're both doing fairly well, considering we're recent university graduates in a crowded business sector. I work for RBC Dominion Securities as an assistant auditor and Suleiman works for Toronto Dominion Bank as an account manager. We're doing good, by God's grace. Just a happy, educated and successful interracial couple in the Canadian Capital. Wish us luck, for we're going to need it. What do I mean by that? Well, um, I'm late. Yeah, like that. I went to the doctor and she told me that I've got a bun in the oven. I haven't told Suleiman yet. He's taking me to the Baton Rouge restaurant to celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary. I think I'll tell him then. How do you think he's going to react?

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