Dawah, it's the duty of every Muslim. We must spread Islam, by the word if possible, by the sword if necessary. And by any means at our disposal. My name is Aasiya Rahman and I'm a Somali gal living in the City of Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was born in the Puntland region of Somalia, but my parents, Farshad and Alina Rahman moved to the U.S. when I was real young. In many ways, the U.S. is the only home I know.
A lot of Muslim immigrants from the Horn of Africa live as though they were still back home. When faced with something vastly different from themselves, most people either run from it or embrace it. In the case of my Somali parents, they ran from it. My mother still wears the hijab, as she did all her life in Somalia. As for my father, he refuses to wear anything other than Somali cultural outfits. He runs the Sal Al Din Store in the east end of Minneapolis, which sells everything from Halal foods to Islamic clothes and other items of import to the town's growing Muslim population.
As for my mother, she works as a nurse at Abbott Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis. I grew up caught between two worlds, the Somali culture and the American culture. I attended a high school where everyone was either Christian or Jewish. There were very few Muslims at my high school. What you probably would never guess is that I liked it that way. I get along far better with my Christian friends than the ones from my faith. Take Rashid the guy next door for example.
Rashid is Somali, born and raised in Minnesota. He's tall, curly-haired and light-skinned. What passes for pretty among folks from our culture. Rashid plays basketball for Cadmus Academy, and dates a big-booty blonde-haired white chick named Beatrice Holland. Rashid doesn't have any interest in Muslim girls, yet he's always mad when he sees me talking to a guy from another faith. I'm five-foot-nine, curvy and dark-skinned, with wide hips, thick legs and a booty. I'm not Rashid's type. I made it very clear to him that I don't give a flying fuck what he thinks. My life is my own. I have zero interest in Rashid. Somali guys don't do it for me. Never have and never will. I grew up watching my mother wait on my father hand and foot. Do I want such a relationship? Thanks but no thanks.
I graduated from Cadmus Academy in June 2011, and opted to study far away from home. Yeah, much to the chagrin of my parents, I wanted to get the hell away from Minnesota. Where did I end up? Out of all the schools in the world, I chose Carleton University, a little-known school in Ottawa, Ontario. I wanted to get as far away from Minneapolis, and my family visited Ottawa a few years back for my cousin Fatima's wedding. To my immense surprise, this delighted my parents. It was decided that I would stay with my cousin Fatima. Since we last saw each other, she divorced Rahim, the Arab dude she married all those years ago and now lives in Barrhaven, Ontario.
Fatima is in her mid-thirties, tall and plump, and works for the Canadian Government as a CRA analyst. Oh, in case you don't know, the CRA is the Canadian version of the IRS. They're the tax people. I don't know why my parents felt like dropping me in on her. I mean, we may be family but Fatima has her own life, you know? Does she ever! When she came to pick me up at the airport, there was someone with her. A short, masculine-looking white chick with blonde hair and green eyes. Jane Stewart, her 'colleague' from work. I didn't think much of it at the time, but in hindsight, all the signs were there.
