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From Alberta With Love

12

The good Black man, the one so many Black women say they've given up on finding, does he really exist? I see one every time I look in the mirror. My name is Jacob Voltaire and I was born in the City of Calgary, Alberta, to Haitian immigrant parents. My folks, Antoine and Magdalene Voltaire moved to provincial Alberta from their hometown of Port-De-Paix, Republic of Haiti, in the summer of 1988. My older brother Charlton was three at the time. Two years later, I came into the world. Sadly, though, my birth pangs were my mother's death throes, a fact that my father never let me forget.

My father and I have had a difficult relationship from my early years, but I now understand what makes him what he is and why he does what he does. I'm not excusing his drinking and womanizing, but I understand what drove him to do these things. Dad did his best to provide for my brother and I, but he was a lonely man, haunted by memories of our long-dead mother, whom I unfortunately never knew, and the hassles that he had to endure as an educated and ambitious Black man with an accent in the cutthroat world of Corporate Canada.

Growing up Black and male in Alberta is a lot like hiking through a minefield while blindfolded. Trust me on that one. I've got firsthand experience. The locals aren't too friendly to those different from themselves, and they're not shy about letting you know it. My father often told Charlton and I about the horrors he's endured as a Black immigrant as he sought to earn a living and take care of his family. Dad came to Canada with an accounting degree from the University of the West Indies, and found out that it was utterly useless.

Simply put, Canadian employers didn't trust or value credentials acquired in foreign institutions, especially countries they considered subpar. Which countries fall into that list? Any nation outside of America and Western Europe, ladies and gentlemen. Isn't that something. Canadians go to the Caribbean every year by the truckload for vacation and love showing everyone pictures of themselves frolicking on our crisp and heavenly beaches but they don't trust my region's educational institutions. For this reason, my father had to go back to school. He studied business at the University of Calgary, and completed his MBA in 1996.

A year later, Dad was hired by ATB Financial, one of the top companies in Alberta. At last, he was making decent money, and sent Charlton and I to a private boarding school, Cold Lake Christian Academy in the City of Cold Lake, Alberta. In hindsight, I now understand that my father meant well but sending two young Black boys to an all-White private school, far from home, in an environment as hostile to minorities as Alberta, wasn't his finest decision. For Charlton and I, this was the beginning of a long nightmare.

Surrounded by the sons and daughters of Alberta's elite, we were like fishes out of water. The only other non-White students there were a few Asians, a couple of Aboriginals, and that's about it. We were the only Black students. Our classmates weren't used to seeing Black faces and would often tease us. The teachers did little to stop it, indeed, some of them were downright condescending in their dealings with Charlton and I. My older brother tried his best to protect me.

Indeed, I think that's the main reason why Charlton joined the football team. By the time he reached high school he was already six-foot-one and weighed two hundred pounds. He was practically drafted onto the football team. While an average player at best, Charlton did acquire a degree of respect from his classmates after helping the team on a few occasions. He wasn't very good at catching the ball but he could slam into any opponent and take them out. When he did hit, he shrugged it off most of the time. That's my big brother, the strong, silent and resilient type.

Without Charlton to shield me from the brunt of the hassles that came our way, I don't think I would have made it. I was a nerd, the kind of guy who loved comic books and science fiction movies, and showed little interest in sports, or the opposite sex. For me, Cold Lake Christian Academy was pure hell. Every summer I'd come home to Calgary and plead with Dad not to send us back to the Academy. I just wanted to go to public school. Calgary was growing fairly diverse. In our neighborhood, situated within the pricy and restrictive Arbour Lake area of Calgary, we were the only Black family when we arrived but now I saw a few other minority families. For example, our neighbor Joseph Al-Nouri is Arab, originally from the City of Abu Kamal, Syria. He came to Alberta as a young man, studied economics at the University of Calgary, and married an Aboriginal Canadian woman from the Dene First Nations people, Mildred Nalren, with whom he has a daughter, Mariel.

Every summer, Mariel and I would hang out and play. We were borderline inseparable. I've always been shy around girls, but I felt comfortable around Mariel, the bronze-skinned, dark-eyed and raven-haired, bossy tomboy next door. Even though Calgary was growing fairly diverse, due to an influx of Pakistani, Indian, Chinese, Somali and Arab immigrants, many among the local White people held onto their prejudices against the Aboriginals and First Nations people, the original Canadians.

Much of what I know of Aboriginal Canadian history I learned from Mariel's mom, Miss Mildred, as I called her. A short, slender woman with golden brown skin, long Black hair, dark eyes and sharp features, Mildred Nalren Al-Nouri was fiercely proud of her Dene heritage. She was fond of sitting us down, Mariel and I, and tell us about the great Aboriginal leaders of the past, fierce opponents of the White man as Europeans sought dominion over North America. I have much respect and affection for that woman.

As a young Black man in Alberta, I cannot escape racism, but I must never forget that I am not the only person who suffers prejudice and discrimination. The Dene people of Alberta have been here for thousands of years, and they're made to feel like second-class citizens by the rednecks in Calgary and Edmonton, in the same land their ancestors lived on. I swore to myself that one day, I would do my best to fight injustice. Prejudice against one is prejudice against all.

When we came home in Calgary, Charlton would spend all his free time with his buddies Omar and Rashid, two Somali youths who lived near Arbour Lake, or his girlfriend Roseanne Ashland, a tall, red-haired and freckle-faced plump White chick who lived three blocks from us. I honestly don't know what Charlton saw in Roseanne, since she cursed a lot, smoked, and often used slurs when referring to Aboriginals. Didn't Charlton suspect that Roseanne might say the same thing about Black people when he wasn't around?

Of course, my older brother has never exactly been a deep thinker. Sports, hanging out with his buddies and chasing girls, that's what Charlton's life revolved around. Charlton graduated from Cold Lake Christian Academy in 2003, and even though Dad begged him to consider studying business at the University of Calgary, Charlton went on to play football at the University of Alberta. He did surprisingly well there, and he earned a History degree. I'm surprised he even went to class.

While at University of Alberta, Charlton ran into his old flame Roseanne, and they got married, if you can believe it. Charlton was drafted into the Canadian Football League in 2007 and now plays for the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Last I heard, he and Roseanne were divorcing and fighting over custody of my niece, little Angelique, born in 2010. Isn't love grand? I guess I may not get to see her next Christmas. Divorce cases are so messy.

I'm happy to say that my life is going alright these days. I graduated from Cold Lake Christian Academy in 2006, and enrolled at the University of Calgary. I thought it's what my father wanted, but by then, we'd become estranged. He couldn't stop raving about Charlton's prowess as a CFL player, or his new girlfriend, a twenty-year-old blonde named Chloe something or other. I couldn't stand to watch my father make a fool out of himself. Especially after I caught Chloe rifling through Dad's belongings one night. When I informed him about his new lady love's thieving ways, Dad dismissed them just like he did pretty much everything that came out of my mouth in those days.

I decided to leave Dad to his fate, and moved into a one-bedroom apartment near U of C. I buried myself in my criminology studies, and tried my best to forget my aging and disgruntled womanizer of a father, my testosterone case of a brother, and the racist atrocities I endured as a pupil at Cold Lake Christian Academy. After spending years in an all-White, decidedly hostile environment, I did some soul searching. What did it mean to me, being a Black man? Black consciousness arose in my heart, and thus began my search for meaning, with questions about identity and race swirling in my mind. Fortunately for me, the university campus was full of like-minded individuals.

During my first week at U of C, I met Samina Ibrahim, the woman destined to change my existence and rock my world. I was on my way to the campus library when I saw a six-foot-tall, majestic young woman with light brown skin, dark brown eyes and sharp, gorgeous multi-ethnic features. At first I thought she was Arab, North America or Persian, but she turned out to be mixed. A unique blend of East African, South Asian and Arab. Wow.

Samina Ibrahim was born in the environs of Sana'a, Yemen, to a Pakistani mother and a half Somali, half Yemeni father. Talk about unique parentage. Due to political instability in Yemen, the family left the country for greener pastures. Samina moved to Alberta with her family five years ago, and was quite proud of her unique heritage and her Muslim faith. I had never met anyone like her, that's for damn sure. As luck would have it, Samina and I were in virtually the same program. I'm in criminology and she's in law, there's a lot of overlap between these two majors.

You are so Whitewashed my brother, those were Samina's first words to me when I apologized profusely for bumping into her in the library. I looked at her and smiled. You got no idea, I laughed. And that's how it began. Through a chance encounter, my life changed. There's a growing number of Black students at the University of Calgary. And they were a very diverse group. So many Haitians, Haitians, Ethiopians, Somalis, Afro-Brazilians and other Black folks from nations I had never even heard of. There were thousands of us on campus, and I was glad to be among them.

Now, given how much tension exists between various religious and ethnic groups among Africans back on the continent, you wouldn't think we in the Black diaspora would get along at a Canadian university. And you'd be wrong. As President of the Black Student Union, Samina somehow managed to unite the Caribbean people and the continental Africans, the Christians and the Muslims. And it was a beautiful thing to behold. I was fascinated by the BSU, and its fearless leader. Samina made me VP of Finance, a position I excelled at.

Samina was unlike anyone I'd ever met, and even though I'd never been to Africa and I wasn't Muslim, I found that I could open up to her about certain things I'd never told anyone before. When I told her about my atrocious experiences at Cold Lake Christian Academy, Samina listened and looked at me with empathy in those dark eyes of hers, her hand on my knee. I wouldn't go back to Cold Lake if you put a gun to my head, I said angrily, looking at her.

Samina smiled at me. Sounds like hell to me, she laughed, shrugging, and I smiled too. My first real smile in ages. There we were, the two of us sitting inside the BSU Lounge, and even though at that point I'd only known her for a few months, I felt supremely comfortable with Samina. Sitting inches from me, looking so lovely in a long-sleeved green, T-shirt, long blue skirt and dark blue hijab, Samina looked more beautiful to me than any of the short-skirt, boob-flashing chicks I saw on the hallways of University of Calgary every day.

You're so beautiful, I said, leaning closer to Samina. My heart thundered in my chest. Samina grinned. Took you long enough to notice, Samina said, laughing, then she kissed me. It was our first kiss. You have sweet lips, I told her, once we came up for air. Samina winked at me. The rest of me is a lot sweeter than that, she promised. And I was determined to find out. So I asked her out, and she said yes. We officially became an item, and I must say, we looked good together.

A tall, nerdy Haitian-Canadian brother and a tall, curvy and absolutely stunning, strong Muslim sister of Pakistani-Yemeni extraction. Definitely not the sort of power couple you're likely to see in Alberta, yet, that's exactly what we were. I always made top honors in the criminology program and Samina was a straight A student in the undergraduate law program. We were definitely going places. With Samina on my arm, I noticed a change not only in myself but how others interacted with me.

When an educated, well-dressed and ambitious Black man has a beautiful woman on his arm, he commands respect. Clad in a suit and tie, I took Samina to nice restaurants and clubs, and I delighted in her company. As much as I fancied myself an intellectual, I only knew Alberta, having never traveled beyond the boundaries of the 'redneck province'. Samina was born in Yemen and had been to places like Pakistania, South Africa, Nigeria, the United Kingdom, and even France. The gal had seen the world, and it shaped much of her way of looking at things.

Samina's family was also impressive. Her older brother Yusuf studies mechanical engineering at the University of Toronto. Her mother, Salwa Osman-Ibrahim once worked as a translator for the Pakistani Embassy in Ottawa, Ontario. Her father, Yassin Ibrahim, works for a Saudi oil company. The dude makes big bucks, judging by the size of their mansion in He has offices in Calgary, Alberta, and London, England, along with Paris, France. The gal comes from money, yet she was down to earth and easygoing. And she liked me. How did a nitwit like me get so lucky? Dunno but I thank my lucky stars.

Samina and I had been seeing each other for six months before she finally gave herself to me. Gorgeous as she was, I desired her, of course, but I never pressured her. One night, we were coming home from the movies, and I'd taken her back to my place. I had a new Kanye West CD I wanted her to listen to. I swear, I wasn't thinking about anything other than that. When we made out, and I tried to go further with her, Samina made it clear to me that she wasn't ready. Muslim girls, man. What can I say?

We went into my place, and I sat in the living room, playing the CD and sipping on a Pepsi while Samina was in the washroom, doing the chick thing. Moments later she came out. Gone was her hijab, T-shirt and long skirt. Instead of my normally reserved and conservatively dressed, politically outspoken yet pious Muslim girlfriend, a scantily clad maven with a banging body stood facing me. Oh mama, I yelped, surprise and lust competing for my attention.

Samina grinned and walked up to me. Hello Jake, she said sexily, licking her lips. I smiled as Samina joined me on the couch. I pulled my sweet lady into my arms, and kissed her. And just like that, we began to make love for the first time. Off came my shirt and pants, followed by my boxers. I stood before Samina, stark naked. You look yummy, Samina grinned, caressing me and playing with my chest hairs. The lady's touch set me ablaze with desire, and I couldn't wait to take her.

Come here babe, I said, and fastened my lips to her left breast, sucking it gently. Samina leaned back on the couch and relaxed as I worked my magic on her. As I licked her tits, my hand slipped between Samina's thighs, and found her pussy. I slid two fingers inside her, and she gasped. Oh shit Jake, she giggled, staring at me with her wide brown eyes. I smiled and worked my fingers deeper inside of her, loving the feel of her tight pussy around my fingers. The lady was wet, proof of her excitement. I couldn't wait to taste her.

I kissed a path from Samina's breasts to her slightly round belly, and finally to the space between her thighs. Hell yeah, Samina laughed, as I inhaled the scent of her pussy before I started munching on it like a starving man finding food after days of hunger. Hungrily I devoured Samina's cunt, licking her and sticking my tongue deep inside, followed by my fingers. Like the conquistadors of old, I wanted to explore and conquer. Samina lay there as I worked her over, moaning softly and raking her fingers through my hair. Just that like babe, she giggled.

Eating pussy is a fine art I perfected at a certain private school in Cold Lake. You see, even though I was a Black guy at a racist White school, many of the girls back there would play with me after hours during senior year. Put a bunch of eighteen-year-olds in dorms and that's what happens. Going down on White girls who wouldn't look at my Black ass the next day definitely didn't help my self-esteem any. Still, I'm thankful to them for teaching me the fine art of pussy licking. Now I can display my talent by bringing pleasure to a woman I truly care about.

I licked Samina's pussy until the lady squirmed and squealed my name, shuddering while in the throes of a violent orgasm. Dammit Jake that hit the spot, Samina laughed, stretching luxuriously on the couch as I licked the last few drops of her womanly cum. I winked at her. Thanks babe, I grinned. Grinning, Samina climbed on top of me and grabbed my hard dick. My turn, Samina said, and began fellating me right then and there. I closed my eyes as my lady took my dick into her mouth. I hadn't felt anything yet.

And so the evening went. Samina sucked my dick till I was rock hard, then told me to fuck her. Give it to me hard, she pleaded, wrapping her arms around me. I smiled and kissed her. Soon, Samina was riding me, as I buried my face between her tits and slammed my dick into her cunt. Man, you should have heard her screams as I thrust my dick deep inside her, grabbing her big butt cheeks and squeezing them real hard. Damn it, I liked the feel of her butt in my hands.

So much that I put Samina on all fours, and spanked her big brown butt cheeks for a good while before sliding my dick into her cunt from behind. Fuck me big daddy, Samina teased, as I gripped her wide hips and slammed into her. I grasped her long Black hair, gorgeous hair forever hidden by the damn hijab, and yanked her head back while fucking her real hard. Samina pushed her big butt backwards, grinding it against my groin. Man, this drove me absolutely nuts. Wasn't long before I came, I tell ya.

Once it was all over, I lay next to Samina, with my sweet lady resting her head on my chest. Does it get better than this? I am so into Samina it's not even funny. Waking up next to her the next day, well, it felt magical. We spent the whole day together, and I must say, I can't get enough of this gal. I mean, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Like all women, Samina loves to push a guy's buttons. How else would you explain how she got me to try the sex toy she bought recently?

Riding a woman's strap-on dildo doesn't make you gay or anything, Samina assured me as she bent me over, lubricated my asshole and worked her toy into my butt. Damn, how do I let her talk me into these things? I grunted as Samina smacked my ass while thrusting the dildo inside of me. We were in my apartment, coming home from our favorite Chinese restaurant, and when Samina told me she was horny, and wanted to fuck, I figured I'd be doing the fucking. Sex to me means dick enters pussy. Or, in the case of gays, dick enters ass. I've never given any thought to the type of scenario where a woman wears a strap-on dildo and fucks a dude with it.

12
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