A Somali Prince In Sweden

As Salam Alaikum, folks. My name is Abdirashid Ismail, and I'm a young Somali Muslim man living in the City of Gothenburg, Sweden. There are over forty thousand people of Somali descent living in Sweden, and for this reason, we're among the most oppressed minorities there. Lots of Arabs and Turks also make their home in Sweden, but it's us Somalis that most of these people have a problem with. Sweden is thought of as a wealthy, liberal country. I guess the people who think so are either white or willfully ignore the racism of the Swedes. Me? I'm a fighter. No one will conquer me, Swedish racism be damned.

I stand six feet three inches tall, broad-shouldered and well-built, with medium brown skin and long, curly black hair. My features are very ethnic, and everyone knows that I am Somali just by looking at me. I am clean-shaven, and always dress impeccably because image matters to me. I speak Somali and Swedish fluently, and I am staunchly proud of my Somali heritage. Bigots and hatemongers would have you believe that Somalis come to Sweden because it's a welfare state and we're a lazy people. That is simply not true.

My father, Ali Ismail, spent fifteen years living in the City of Toronto, Canada, before moving to Sweden. My sister Halima and my younger brother Khaled were born in Toronto, actually. My father came to Gothenburg as a young man with a Master's degree in Business from the University of Toronto. Last time I checked, Canadian university degrees are valid around the world, especially business degrees. Yet my father spent years looking for work worthy of his education in cities around Sweden, and the local businessmen would have nothing to do with him because of his skin color and foreign birth.

Even when my father gained Swedish citizenship, the Swedes would not hire him. That's why he founded his own business. Hus Av Ali, that's the name of our Somali-themed restaurant. It means House Of Ali, for those of you who don't speak Swedish or are lousy at guessing. My sister Halima and I help our father at the restaurant, and we've recently hired a couple of Somali ladies as cooks, Fatima and Aisha.

The restaurant is family-owned and family-run, and that's how we like it. The Swedes won't give jobs to us Somalis, so we only hire our own at the businesses that we create. If you talk of reverse racism I will shove my Somali foot up your uptight European ass. We are Somalis, not African-Americans. We believe in defending ourselves and what we hold dear against the forces of European racism. We don't believe in chanting or marching or holding hands with racist white people who want to hurt us or worse. Enough with that shit, thank you very much.

Like most Somalis living in Sweden, I rejoiced when Abdirizak Waberi, a man of Somali descent, was elected to the Parliament of Sweden. Representing the Moderate Party, Mr. Waberi stepped into the history books when he became the first black man and the first Muslim elected to the Parliament of this nation. I celebrated and felt inspired by Waberi's ascent, but I am not naïve enough to believe that racism is over and anything stupid like that. Xenophobia runs in the blood of every European, and it can perk up at the worst of times in the last people you'd expect.

I am a student in the civil engineering programme at the University of Gothenburg. Are you shocked yet? I am a Somali male who is enrolled at a European institution of higher education. I am gainfully employed. My father owns the house where my family lives. We don't depend on the Swedish welfare state. We earn what we have. And we will defend it fiercely should any pale buffoon with a sense of entitlement try to take it away. Don't believe me? Try us. And keep in mind we Somalis are the ones who drove off the damn U.S. soldiers during the conflict shown in the movie Black Hawk Down. We don't believe pale men with guns are invincible. They bleed just like we do.

In my engineering classes at University of Gothenburg, I am considered somewhat of a troublemaker. You see, I have always loved mathematics and science. That's why I chose to study engineering. Not to brag or anything but sometimes, I know more than my professors. I love engineering. Science at its purest. In engineering, it's all about exact numbers, measurements and figures. If you do the math right, your results can be verified in real time by a guy in South Africa, a chick in Brazil or some old bozo in Sweden. Follow the math, and you will come to only one correct result. The beauty of engineering.

If I were a white dude, the professors would consider me brilliant, a genius and an apt pupil. Since I am an intelligent young black man with an Arabic name, they don't know what to make of me. I'm not supposed to be smart. I'm supposed to be a fool with a thick accent, and I'm supposed to be awed by European science, rather than crafty enough to point out the mistakes in a professor's equations on the board. Oh, well. Got to break some stereotypes, you know? Now, I know better than to challenge a professor in the classroom since I am but a student. The old prof in question called me out, thinking he'd have a good time at my expense. Well, I beat him at his own game. The white guys and the white chicks in class watched, stunned, as the smart-mouthed old professor got his ass handed to him, mathematically, by the tall, skinny dude from Somalia. You would have thought someone said the sun would not rise again. Wouldn't want to be a fly on that wall, let me tell you.

As I walked out of that intense three-hour lecture, I could feel all eyes on me. Sighing, I went to the University of Gothenburg library, where I ran into my friends Ahmad, a burly Iraqi dude, and Mehmet, a brother from Turkey, and sat next to each other in the computers and goofed off. I've known Ahmed and Mehmet ever since I was a newcomer to Gothenburg from Toronto. Along with my fellow Somali student Kader, we formed our very own "barbershop quartet". Seriously, we all get our haircuts at "Khadija Har Salong", a barbershop slash hair salon owned by Kader's mother Khadija.

I was chilling with my buddies in the University of Gothenburg library when someone approached us. A tall, blonde-haired white chick. Instantly I recognized Mona Van Fersen, one of the smartest students in the civil engineering programme at the University of Gothenburg. I held my breath as she approached. Smiling, Mona, who had never spoken to me before, congratulated me for telling off the bitter old professor. Oh, and she also asked me to be her partner in our upcoming group project. What do you think I said?

That's how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. My friendship with Mona Van Fersen, which changed my life. I previously thought of Swedish chicks as boring, passive-aggressive, racist, and most unforgivable of all, completely butt-less. Well, that was before I met Mona. Tall, pretty, friendly, fearless, open-minded, non-xenophobic and best of all, endowed in the booty department. We got to know each other while working on the project. I found Mona quite friendly and easygoing.

You see, in my experience, most Swedes aren't too keen on befriending us Somalis, but Mona didn't care what others thought. Turks, Arabs, Hindus, there are a lot of non-white immigrants in Sweden these days, but it's the ones from Africa who are most hated. The City of Gothenburg is fairly diverse and liberal, but I wasn't sure how people would take it when Mona and I began hanging out. Mona would link her arm with mine as we walked through campus, and white dudes left and right would stare. Well, I guess Mona is really different.

I still remember the first time we made love. I was on campus the day I heard about the Trollhattan School Stabbing, which shocked Sweden and the world to their core. A masked man walked into a school full of immigrants, and stabbed several students to death before being gunned down by the police. I wept for the innocent lives taken by yet another racist white man, and I was mad at the world. I left my classes, went home and didn't leave my room.

Mona Van Fersen came to visit me at my house, and I cursed her and yelled at her to leave me alone. Mona looked at me, smiled through tear-filled eyes and wouldn't relent. I was mad at her, at her country almighty Sweden, at her entire race, but Mona wouldn't leave. Her concern for me wouldn't let her. Knowing how I'd take the news of the school stabbing, Mona came to check up on me. Mona put her arms around me and held me even as I screamed in anger, and then, spent, I let go. I fell asleep in Mona's arms.

When I came to the next morning, I was joined for breakfast by my sister Halima, and my younger brother Khaled. Fortunately, my father Ali was in Stockholm to meet with the Swedish Association of Muslim Businessmen, and thus I was spared a lecture...and worse. We talked about the day's events, and my smiling sister Halima told me how concerned Mona was for my well-being. I smiled and nodded. Mona Van Fersen was not like the others. This gal just might be worth keeping around.

The next day, I took Mona to the movies, my way of thanking her for checking up on me. Afterwards, we took a walk around town and then went back to her place, located within a kilometer of the University of Gothenburg campus. Mona lived in a single-occupant apartment. Her family lives in Kalmar, pretty far from Gothenburg, so we had the place to ourselves. Mona and I were kissing and fondling each other on the way there, like lovebirds, not caring about the angry white guys who stared at us in disgust.

Once we reached her place, Mona the classy Swedish gal turned into a veritable vixen, and I loved it. We kissed passionately, and undressed hastily. I feasted my eyes on Mona's tall, slender yet curvy and sexy body. When she turned around and I saw that big white butt of hers, I grinned from ear to ear. I laid Mona on the bed and proceeded to worship that nubile body of hers. I kissed her lips and neck, and caressed her breasts. I licked a path from her tits to the space between her legs, and buried my face between her thighs. Mona arched her back and moaned deeply as I licked her pussy.

Mona Van Fersen and I made love passionately, taking our sweet time as we explored and pleased one another. I licked, fingered and teased Mona's cunt, and had her screaming my name in no time. When it came time for Mona to work on me, the Swedish goddess smiled wickedly and massaged my balls while sucking my dick. I was soon hard as a rock, and Mona slipped a finger up my ass, getting me even harder. After getting me all worked up, Mona climbed on top of me, a look of pure unadulterated lust on her pretty face.

Smiling, I placed my hands on Mona's hips as she straddled me. I thrust my dick into Mona's pussy, and she sighed happily. Wrapping her arms around me, Mona locked eyes with me and told me to fuck her hard. What do you think I said? I fucked Mona even harder, slamming my dick deep into her cunt. Hell, I even smacked her big ass and pinched her tits while I was at it. Mona and I made passionate love that night, and didn't let up until much, much later.

Ladies and gentlemen, having tasted some of Sweden's best goodies ( pun intended ), I do think I was a tad bit harsh in my earlier descriptions of my new country. Sure, there's a lot of racism out here but it's hard to stay mad at one's countrymen when you're banging a hot Swedish chick every night. Mona and I have fallen in love, and she's thinking of converting to Islam. Life is good! I, Abdirashid Ismail, am a proud citizen of Sweden. I love my new school, the University of Gothenburg. I'm taking life one day at a time, you know, just sort of take things as they come. Wish me luck. Peace.