Black Prince In Saudi Arabia

The day the government of Canada granted me refugee status marked the first day I ever experienced freedom. For in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, as you may well know, women are not free. We're not free to move about when and where we want, nor can we control our fates. We're forever at the mercy of the men in our lives, first our fathers and then our husbands.

Once upon a time, I accepted my fate and the limitations imposed on me by faith, nationality and culture because I believed it to be the Will of Allah. Now I know better. Since time immemorial, men have used religion and culture to justify the subjugation of the female sex. Even though I no longer follow Islam, I still believe in the one true God...and He didn't make me inferior to anyone.

My name is Khadija Hassan-Daramola and I'm a happy wife and mother living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study business administration at Algonquin College, and recently completed my first year. I've been living in Ontario since August 2011, but it's not until recently that the place started to feel like home. Why is that? Well, marriage and motherhood have a way of changing a woman, as I'm discovering day by day.

"Sleep my little Adam," I whispered, cradling my infant son in my arms. Sitting in the living room, I looked adoringly at Adam, my little miracle. He looked at me with his wide brown eyes, and I swear he smiled. "My angel," I whispered, and gently kissed him on the forehead. I returned to the nursery, and placed Adam in his crib. "Thank God for you," I said, blowing Adam a kiss before returning to the master bedroom.

"Babe is everything alright?" a sleepy male voice said, and I smiled at my husband Hakim Daramola. He sat up on the bed, his broad shoulders sagging a bit. It's not easy working to provide for a family. And Hakim has had much responsibility thrust upon him in a very short amount of time. "I'm fine and Adam is fine too," I said, sitting beside him and putting my arms around him. Hakim lit the nearby lamp and looked at me, his dark, handsome face filled with concern. "You sure mamas?" he said, cocking an eyebrow. Rolling my eyes, I nodded, then stretched and yawned.

"Go back to sleep Hakim," I whispered into my husband's ear, and kissed him gently on the lips. Groaning, Hakim nodded, and fell on the bed. Moments later, he was fast asleep. I totally envy Hakim's ability to fall asleep so easily. Of course, the fact that he just pulled a twelve-hour shift working security inside an empty building downtown probably got something to do with it. Gently I raked my fingers across Hakim's hairy chest. I love playing with his chest hairs. I don't know why.

I close my eyes, and when I do, I'm back...over there. I was born in the environs of Yanbu, Saudi Arabia. My father Saif Hassan worked in the petrochemical industry. My mother Abrihet Tilahun-Hassan was half Arab and half Black, born in Saudi Arabia to an Arabian father and Ethiopian mother. With Saudi and Ethiopian blood coursing through me, would it surprise you that I didn't consider myself a woman of color and shunned my African heritage for much of my life?

In Saudi Arabia, even though people of African descent have been living in the Kingdom since its earliest days, racism is ever-present. Saudi men are fond of having dalliances with females from exotic places like Africa, Southeast Asia and the Philippines. The result is a growing number of mixed-race individuals like myself popping up at all levels of Saudi Arabian society. Most of these bastards, for that's what they are, lack Saudi citizenship, for only their fathers can confer it and since most Saudi men won't marry a non-Arab woman, that's tough luck for these poor souls.

I'm fortunate that my father married my mother, a mixed-race woman, in spite of strong objections from his racist family. In Saudi Arabia, blacks are considered inferior even though the prophet Mohammed spoke against racism in several Hadiths in the Koran. It's a shame, really. The heartland of Islam, a place dear to the heart of all Muslims, continues to treat women and people of darker hues very poorly. Until 1962, it was perfectly legal to own slaves in Saudi Arabia!

My life changed when I turned nineteen, and was promptly married off to a man named Ibrahim Salman, a close friend of my father's from his days at the King Faisal University. My husband was a cruel and abusive man, and my home life was pure hell. I despaired and actually considered killing myself, until my husband agreed to let me study at the only western-style, coeducational institution in all of Saudi Arabia....the prestigious King Abdullah University of Science and Technology.

It's where I met the man destined to change my life forever. Until Hakim Daramola came into it, I honestly hadn't been living. I merely...existed. The first time I laid eyes on the big and tall, broad-shouldered and muscular young man with the fierce green eyes, I felt a frisson deep inside. From the way he carried himself, I knew he wasn't from Saudi Arabia. He walked with a confidence and assertiveness that the local blacks simply lacked.

"As Salam Alaikum, can you please point me to the student center?" those were Hakim's first words to me when I first laid eyes on him. I hesitated, for this was a serious breach of protocol. In Saudi Arabia, men and women who are unrelated don't simply walk up to each other and start conversation. "Over there brother," I said, pointing to a large white building in the distance once I caught myself and willed my heart to stop thundering in my chest.

Like almost all female students at the King Abdullah University, I went around with my face unveiled, for it's the only place in all of Saudi Arabia where we women are allowed to dress ( almost ) however we want. Walking around with my face uncovered, after wearing the burka for most of my life, well, it took some getting used to. "Thank you sister I am Hakim," the tall, large young man said, nodding graciously.

"My name is Khadija," I said evenly, looking Hakim up and down. He offered me his hand to shake. I bowed gently and shook my head. "Oh snap, I forgot you guys don't do that stuff," Hakim said, grinning sheepishly. I noticed his odd accent, and couldn't help feeling curious. Clearly this young man wasn't from Africa or anywhere near the Arab world. "I'm from Canada," he said proudly, as if reading my thoughts.

"I don't shake hands but I can show you where the building is," I added, and Hakim nodded. And just like that, I walked this handsome young stranger to his destination. "Thanks Miss Khadija," he said, as we stood in front of the building. I nodded graciously. "Enjoy your stay in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia brother Hakim," I whispered, then walked away.

For a brief moment, I could feel Hakim's eyes on me, but when I turned around, and surreptitiously looked over my shoulder, he was waltzing into the student center like he owned the place. "Westerners," I muttered to myself, then headed back to my room for noontime prayers. I didn't realize that one of my most fervent prayers was about to be answered. For ages I'd prayed for an end to the loneliness I'd felt since I moved from my father's house to my husband's. And the answer to these prayers came in a most unlikely form...

Hakim and I bumped into each other quite often at school, for we were in the same program. I got to know him a bit better. The truth is, most of the students at the King Abdullah University of Science and Technology came from either Europe or other Arab countries. Hakim kind of stood out among the sons and daughters of wealthy expatriates as well as international students attending our fine school.

"This is my family," Hakim told me one day in the library, as we sat in a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. On his cellphone he showed me a picture of a middle-aged couple, a large black man and a round, blonde-haired and blue-eyed white woman. They were at a restaurant together, smiling. "Your parents are an interracial couple," I whispered, looking at the picture. Hakim nodded. "My father Omar Daramola is from Nigeria and my mother Jeannette Papineau is French Canadian," he said proudly.

I looked at Hakim, mesmerized by the sheer happiness that came over him as he spoke of his family. I felt envious. "I bet you miss them," I said, peering intently into Hakim's green eyes. Clearly he got them from his mother. "Totally miss them every day but I have faith that I'll see them again soon," Hakim said with conviction. "What's your religion?" I asked him casually, even though I kind of already knew the answer.

"I'm a member of the Anglican Church," Hakim said proudly, and pulled a small USB stick from his pocket. I looked at him, not bothering to hide my confusion. "Your church gives out USB sticks?" I asked, laughing. Hakim shook his head, and pulled his laptop closer. I watched as he turned it on, clicked on a few keys, and then showed me an E-book. "That's my Bible," Hakim said, smiling.

My eyes widened when I saw Hakim click on the beginning of his Bible, The Book of Genesis. "You snuck a Bible into Saudi Arabia with your USB," I said, shaking my head. Hakim shrugged, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation. The Saudi government frowns upon proselytization and any Christians, Jew or non-Muslim who comes to preach a message other than Islam will be arrested, or worse. "Hakim if anyone other than me sees this book they'll report you and you'll be in trouble," I whispered, grabbing his arm for emphasis.

"So you won't report me?" Hakim said, a sly smile creeping into his handsome face. I stared at him, unable to believe how frustrating, annoying and daring he was. Men had been killed for far less in Saudi Arabia. "Put it away," I whispered loudly, panic in my voice. Hakim looked at my hand on his arm, and smiled even more. Clearly, the more I lost control the more amused Hakim became. I resisted the urge to smack that smirk out of his face.

"Kind of touchy today sister," Hakim smiled wickedly. Groaning in frustration, I rolled my eyes. Sorry about that," I said, disturbed by my own breach of one of Saudi Arabia's greatest social taboos. Women and men who are unrelated don't touch, it's forbidden. Saudi citizens fear even the appearance of impropriety, and punish those who violate these rules severely. A long time ago, in my mother's time, one of the royal princesses got beheaded for having an affair...

"I'm trying to save your miserable life you weird foreigner," I snapped, my eyes boring into Hakim's. If I couldn't get him to understand the gravity of his precarious situation, he might end up in jail. And drag me with him. The whole campus knew we were friends, a fact I kept from my husband. Fortunately, Ibrahim spent most of his time traveling or bedding his exotic foreign concubines. He'd grown bored of me within the first year of our marriage. I had some freedom because of this, though not much. And I didn't want to lose everything because my Christian friend/classmate was foolish enough to show a Bible, one of many objects forbidden inside the Kingdom, to me, a Saudi citizen....

"I understand your concern but my Christian faith is worth dying for," Hakim said, all seriousness now. "You're crazy," I said, and looked around us. Fortunately we were alone. The Mutaween, the Saudi religious police, had long targeted the King Abdullah University. Of course, the King didn't grant them jurisdiction inside the campus in order to placate the wealthy expatriates, many of whom are western women, but that didn't mean these wretched souls who love to spy on people would simply give up.

"I don't want you dead," I snapped, glaring at Hakim and feeling anger rising within my breast. Couldn't he see the danger he was putting both of us in? "Alright milady," Hakim said, grinning, his face inches from mine. He shut down his lapdog. "Phew," I sighed, as relief washed over me. "You look cute when you're angry," Hakim laughed. I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to whack him upside the head. "Um thank you," I replied, not knowing what else to say. Hakim gently laid his hand on mine, then closed the gap between us. "No thank you milady," he whispered, then he kissed me.

With a simple kiss, Hakim turned my world upside down. I kissed him back with a passion that surprised me. "Why did you do that?" I asked him breathlessly, once we came up for air. "Khadija I've been wanting to kiss you ever since I first laid eyes on you," Hakim said, and brought my hand to his lips. Gently he kissed it, causing me to tingle all over. "You're a fool," I said, and for some reason, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

With that simple gesture, I had broken my marriage vows to my lawfully wedded husband Ibrahim Salman, and committed adultery in the eyes of Saudi Arabian society. I could be arrested, thrown in jail and executed for this. Yet I didn't care. With my heart roaring in my chest, all I wanted was to hold Hakim Daramola in my arms. The half Nigerian, half French Canadian rogue who stole my heart.

Thus we began an affair. One that would have far-reaching consequences for both of us. Hakim and I would meet in secret on campus, in my room mostly. We made love, and read poetry to each other. He read his Bible to me, and I became fascinated by the Christian faith. It's so unlike my own. I taught him about the hidden gems of Saudi society. It's not all religiousness and strictness. We have a laidback, fun side that the outside world doesn't know about. Hakim told me about Ottawa, where he was born, and Carleton University, where he once studied international business before deciding to study abroad.

"You'd like Canada my sweet," Hakim said to me one night as we lay in bed, our bodies pleasurably sore after some truly passionate lovemaking. I raked my fingers through his chest hairs. "I'd like anyplace where I can be with you," I said, suddenly grabbing Hakim's crotch. My lover shuddered with pleasure as I stroked his member. His long and thick, uncircumcised caramel stick. Earlier, we'd made love all over my room.

Somehow, we'd gone from the bed to the carpet, where Hakim took me on all fours. He fucked me passionately, pulling my hair and smacking my bum. Hakim was gentle and easygoing during our first lovemaking sessions, until we figured out what we liked to do in bed. I like having my pussy licked and I also like having my ass fingered. Hakim loves it when I suck his dick, and he can't get enough of me riding him. I love climbing on top of him and then ride him for all he's worth. Oh, and I really like it when he smacks my butt too.

At first Hakim was reluctant to get rough with me. I'm five-foot-seven, bronze-skinned, black-haired and quite skinny. I have small breasts but I make up for it with my big, round bum. My doe-like brown eyes are deceptively innocent. People assume I'm soft and sweet when they first meet me. Hakim is at least six or seven inches taller than me, and decidedly larger. He's gentle, though. So gentle it hurts sometimes. He's so passionate, so unlike my husband Ibrahim, who's a lousy lover.

"I'm going to take you with me," Hakim said, and I laughed, for he sounded so serious. No one escapes from Saudi Arabia, especially a woman traveling without a male chaperone, or her husband or father's expressed permission. It's simply not done. Yet it's exactly what Hakim and I would do, a few weeks later, when y husband Ibrahim unexpectedly came to visit me at the King Abdullah University campus and caught us together in my room....

Long story short? Hakim and I fled from campus with only the clothes on our backs, after he knocked my soon-to-be-ex-husband Ibrahim Salman out and we left him bound and gagged. Hakim and I bribed an official and snuck into Aqaba, Jordan, from Haql, Saudi Arabia, via the Durra Border Crossing. From there, we boarded a flight bound for Europe, and from London, England, we flew to Ontario, Canada, where our new lives would begin. It hasn't been easy, but we made it.

The Canadian government didn't exactly welcome me with open arms. A Saudi Arabian woman coming to Canada, claiming to have been abused by her husband. Can you say scandal? The Arab world was incensed, and the Saudi Arabian government demanded to have me back, and Hakim and I had to get a whole team of lawyers to fight the Canadian Immigration authorities. The Canadians are intimidated by the Saudi's wealth and power, even though they claim to be all about opposing regimes with lousy human rights records. Nevertheless, Hakim and I persevered, and through these struggles, our love and our faith grew. It's what got us through it all. That's why we're a family now. I thank God for His blessings.