The Hijab Hunter Ch. 04

Another day, another dollar. Isn't that what they say? Stephen here. A big and tall young Black man of Haitian descent living in the region of Ontario, Canada. You may address me by my proper title. For I am The Hijab Hunter. It's Friday morning and I just called the Royal Bank of Canada's automated information system to find out how much I've got. Thirteen hundred and eighty six dollars, plus seventy five cents. My net pay. That's only eleven hundred and seventy eight dollars after taxes. Two weeks worth of pay for a techie working in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. It's not much but fuck it, it's Friday afternoon and I'm going to have me some fun. I'm almost done with my payments for the September 2012 semester at the local University. Yeah, I decided to go back to school to get my Master's degree in Business Administration. Doing contract work as a technician was fine and good, but I want more out of life.

I've gone through a lot lately, no lie. The kind of things that make a man look at his own life and wonder what the fuck he's doing, you know? Now, for the past few months, I've been scouring the province of Ontario, looking for the hardest kind of pussy for a player to get. Muslim pussy. As an atheist man who grew up in a Christian household, they're unavailable to me. And for that reason, they fascinate me. So far I've had some dirty fun with a big-booty Somali chick and a Muslim lady from the Republic of Lebanon. Had I known that Lebanese women were that fine, I would have tried one a long time ago. Yeah, I'm having fun. A lot of guys who aren't Muslim are secretly fascinated with conservatively dressed Muslim ladies because they seem untouchable to us. Muslim men are bored with them so they date hot western chicks in short skirts with loose morals because they want to get their freak on.

Just like a lot of Black females now date men of other races because they're tired of seeing Black guys having fun with White women, a lot of Muslim women are starting to date men who aren't Muslim. And I honestly can't blame them. Still, I never set out to date a Muslim chick, though. For real. It doesn't matter what kind of woman you're dating, her religion, her race or whatever. Women are trouble, man. However, as men, we are drawn to them. We can't help it. How else would you explain a player of my caliber risking my life by getting attached to a Saudi chick named Shada Salman. I met her a couple of weeks ago at this bus stop in the Vanier sector of metropolitan Ottawa on a rainy day. She's something else, man. Fine-looking, yes, but also quite....I don't know. I'm not a poet or anything along those lines. Shada Salman is quite a lady, let me put it this way. When I met her, neither of us were having the best of days. And now, we're, um, sort of seeing each other.

Right now, I'm sitting inside the Blair Shopping Center's food court, and it's four thirty in the afternoon. It's a really hot day in the City of Ottawa today. They even opened Mooney's Bay beach. I'm not worried about the summer heat, though. I stay in the Saint Laurent area, and it's not far from Blair. Just two stops away. I showered, brushed my teeth, and splashed on enough Cologne to drown in. I put on a bright blue silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black Timberland shoes. In my pocket I've got my Blackberry, a small portable charger, and a stack of gum. Going to meet a lady, you know, so got to have fresh breath. You never know what might happen. I'm sitting in the food court, watching people go by. Tall White guy with a short, very dark-skinned Black chick. Chubby Asian woman with a short, red-haired White guy. Tall, muscular and tattooed Black man walking with tall blonde-haired White chick. They look like a couple of bikers. Arab guy walking around with short brown-haired White chick. Hmmm. You don't see Arab guys with brunettes too often. They seem to almost universally prefer blondes, when they're dating western women. Go figure.

The City of Ottawa is quite diverse, with a lot of people from Africa, Latin America and Asia mingling with the Caucasian population. I take a look around, and sip on my Pepsi. Where is the lovely Miss Shada Salman? I check the time on my cell phone. It's four thirty seven. Hmmm. I feel like calling her but stop myself. I already called her around four and she told me she was on her way. Shada Salman lives in the Kanata area of Ottawa, Ontario. It's a country type of place, lots of fields and woods. Lots of White folks. The West end of Ottawa, which includes Kanata, is the Whitest part of the Canadian capital. I live in the East end, surrounded by Haitians, Somalis, Arabs, Hispanics, Jamaicans, and of course Chinese people because they are everywhere. Minority Town, that's the East end of Ottawa. Why did Shada have to go live all the way in frigging Kanata? Because she's a classy lady and it's her kind of place. Man, she and I are so different. I'm still blown away by the fact that we're chilling together.

Shada Salman first came to the town of Ottawa, Ontario, a while ago with her husband Mohammed. They're natives of Riyadh City in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Mohammed is an abusive prick who smacks her around a lot. To the point that she risked her life and everything meaningful to her by throwing herself at the mercy of the Canadian Immigration and Refugee Board. She asked them for asylum. Saudi men aren't well-known for respecting women of any race or religion because they just don't like the idea of treating them right. I'm not saying they're all like that but the average Saudi male thinks women's rights is a joke and that all women should be slaves in a global caliphate. These guys are so conservative that they make the leaders of the Islamic Republic of Iran seem like party boys in Las Vegas. And they want to impose their will upon the rest of the world, with Muslims everywhere as their pawns. Hmmm. Not going to let that happen.

I am honestly starting to care for Shada, and I pray ( yes, this atheist actually went to church and prayed, if only for ten minutes ) that she's allowed to stay in Canada. All kinds of immigrants and refugees come to Canada with bogus stories about being persecuted in their homelands. Shada Salman's story is real. She's truly fleeing from a terrible situation. She's from a country where women are the slaves of humorless religious pricks who don't let them drive or leave the house without male permission. She's escaped from hell and I have no intention of letting her go back. And I mean it. I sigh, and take another look around the Blair Shopping Center. Mad people walking around. Guys and girls. Guys and guys. Girls and girls. All races. All orientations. It's Friday night. Date night. And my Black ass is alone. Great.

A chubby Black chick with a skinny blond-haired White guy sit at a table ten feet from me. The White guy doesn't notice me but the Black chick shoots me a look. I know that look. Black women with White boyfriends like to show them off to Black men. As if White men are something special. Many White women certainly don't seem to think so, that's why they're chasing Black men, Hispanic dudes and Arab guys left and right. I roll my eyes and look away. Where in hell is Shada Salman? I hope nothing happened to my favorite Saudi princess. I sigh for the umpteenth time. I just hope I don't get a call or text from her saying that she's got to cancel. Shit. That would suck. Big-time. Oh, well. It's my life.

Suddenly, I feel soft but firm hands clamp over my eyes. I can't see anything. I almost bolt. What the fuck? I hear giggling, and feel lips brush against my ear. Shada Salma whispers that she's got me pretty good. I laugh. She pulls the chair in front of me and I look at her. She looks absolutely mesmerizing. Shada is looking really hot in a full-length blue and silvery robe, and a stylish white hijab. I smile as I look her up and down. She is absolutely stunning. My Arabian goddess. My Persian princess. My middle-eastern queen. Hot damn. I grin and tell her that she looks awesome. Shada Salman smiles that shy, self-effacing smile of hers and tells me that all praise is due to Allah, for He made her. Hmmm. Somebody tell Allah to make more like her and send them to brothers like me. Hot damn. Uh, I barely stop myself from saying that.

I ask Shada Salman how she's doing. She smiles, and wipes a bead of sweat from her brown. The bronze-skinned, golden brown-eyed Saudi gal licks her lips, and tells me about her day. She is beaming with happiness because she received her social insurance card in the mail today. A while back she got her work permit from the Canadian government. While she's waiting for the decision of the Canadian Immigration Bureau on whether or not they will grant her refugee status, the Canadian government gives her the means of working and becoming self-sustaining. And she couldn't be prouder by the look of her. I am so happy for her. Shada gently touches my hand, and thanks me for believing in her. I smile and nod. I'm smitten with this woman and her marvelous smile, folks. She could say two plus two equals five and I'd say hell yeah. We look at each other like that for a long moment. Usually, I'm pretty bold with women but with Shada Salman, it's different. She's special to me, you know?

Shada tells me about all the jobs she's applied for. She applied at HMV at the Rideau Shopping Center, she also looked into a cook position at a certain Ethiopian restaurant in downtown Ottawa, and as a cashier at the Dollar Store. I smile because I am happy for her. Not for the first time I find myself wishing I were a wealthy guy who could give her everything she wanted. But I'm not. I'm just an average Canadian guy born in the island of Haiti and raised in Ontario. I have a bachelor's degree in technology, I work as a techie for various companies, and I make okay money. I'm not a rich man. Maybe after I get my MBA and start working for a corporation I'll be rich. Who knows? For now, I'm just an average Joe. I gently squeeze Shada Salman's hand, and tell her that she's going to be just fine. She smiles and nods. I check my Blackberry. It's four fifty three. We are going to see the movie Abraham Lincoln : Vampire Hunter. It's supposed to be really good. And it starts at five oh five this afternoon at the Blair Cineplex in Ottawa, a five minute walk from the Blair Shopping Center.

I stand up, and gallantly hold out my hand. Grinning, Shada Salman takes it and I pull her to her feet. We walk over to the Subway restaurant and buy ourselves a pair of sandwiches and two cans of Pepsi. I want to pay for the whole thing but she insists on paying for the drinks. And in her lovely golden brown eyes I saw some decidedly Saudi feminine pride. Shada Salman may have walked away from a privileged life as the wife of a wealthy Saudi Arabian nobleman but she's still a classy woman. She oozes power and determination. Arm in arm we make our way to the movie theater. When I'm walking with her, I feel like I'm on Cloud Nine. She's beautiful, educated and classy. She used to attend the King Abdullah University of Science and Technology, the only western-style, coeducational and secular school in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I encourage her to continue with her studies here. She's thinking of applying to Carleton University. And I intend to help her every step of the way. I think I'm falling for her, you see. Isn't that a kick in the butt?