Chechen Muslim Heroine

"To be a Chechen Muslim woman is to fight when it feels like the entire world is against you," said Maaret Salamovich, and with that, the young woman walked out of the manager office with her head held high. No use crying over spilt milk, or so the western cliché went in such situations. As far as Maaret was concerned, Walter, the Tim Horton's manager could take this damn job and shove it where the sun did not shine.

"Maaret, you should not have lost your cool while dealing with that customer, even if he was angry," Walter said, somewhat dismissively. Maaret's sole reply was a casual shrug. This particular conversation was basically over. The annoying little man and all of his ilk could go to hell for all that Maaret cared. No job was worth the young woman sense of dignity, and the bigoted bozo who made a negative comment about her Hijab deserved every insult she threw his way...

Maaret was born in the Aul ( a type of fortified village commonly found throughout the Caucasus Mountains ) of Aldi, in the Sunzha River Valley, a territory that links the realms of North Ossetia, Ingushetia and Chechnya. The blood of the stoic, embattled Chechen Muslim people flowed through her veins, and even after living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, for three years, there were certain things that she simply could not do...

In the City of Ottawa, Ontario, one of the first things that Maaret noticed was how damn passive-aggressive and fake the people were. In the nation of Chechnya, and the rest of the Russian Federation for that matter, people did not hide how they felt. As a Chechen Muslim woman, Maaret was well aware of how most ethnic Russians felt about her, and she would fearlessly stare back at them, practically daring them to say something.

"Russians hate us and they're our enemies until the day of judgement," Maaret's father Timur Salamovich, Imam of the village of Aldi, warned her. Father and daughter visited the City of Moscow, Capital of Russia, for the first time four years ago. Dressed in traditional Islamic garb, they definitely stuck out in the vast metropolis where most of the residents were ethnic Russians, as to be expected.

"No way I can forget, Otets ( Father ), trust me," Maaret replied, and together, the father and daughter visited the prestigious Moscow State Forest University. Maaret wanted to become an engineer and work in the environmental sector. Once upon a time, Maaret aspired to become a caretaker for the vast and varied environment that was the Russian landscape, preserving nature as the population continued to grow. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Tensions between Russia proper and the Chechen people were nothing new, but the Russian government feared Chechnya's renewed push for independence. In the past, religious leaders like Sheikh Mansur had led the Chechen people into open rebellion against Russian armed forces. when Maaret's father Imam Timur spoke at a gathering of Chechen Muslim students in Moscow, the government went ahead and grabbed the old man, locking him up without a trial.

"Flee this country, my dear, Russia is not safe for you," Imam Timur said to Maaret, the very last time that she laid eyes on her father. He was being kept in a holding cell at the Russian Ministry of the Internal Affairs, having been transferred there by the Moscow City Police. The only reason Maaret had been allowed to visit Imam Timur was because she was his only daughter...

"Otets ( Father ), I won't abandon you," Maaret protested, and then she was dragged away from the visiting area by armed guardsmen. Maaret was unceremoniously tossed out of the building by the guardsmen, and tossed onto the busy, snow-covered street. As the young woman, humiliated and hurt, struggled to get back to her feet, one of the guardsmen called her Chechenets Shlyukha, Russian for "Chechen whore."

With tears in her eyes, Maaret walked away, and then she fled Moscow that very night. With the help of old family friends, Maaret left Russia and spent some time in the United Kingdom, seeking asylum status. This was in the days after the Boston incident, and just like its close ally America, the United Kingdom wanted nothing to do with Chechens. For Maaret, the choice had been made, she would go to Canada.

At first, Maaret Salamovich was in love with Canada, the only country that welcomed the rootless exile that she was. Canada possessed far more racial and cultural diversity than Russia proper ever would, but in time, the young woman learned that this wondrous new country had its own problems. In Russia, hatred for those who are different is as common as snowflakes in winter, but in Canada, the xenophobia was carefully hidden.

Maaret had seen the way that those supposedly prim and proper Canadians treated those who did not look like them. As an Eastern European Muslim woman who wore the Hijab, Maaret was a mystery to them, and they did not know what to make of her. Many of them wondered if she might be from Turkey or Iran, but Maaret always proudly claimed her Chechen roots...

As far as Maaret was concerned, she was a Muslim first, a Chechen second, and everything else was third. When white Canadians made remarks about Muslims, mistakenly believing that every Muslim was a non-white person from the black and brown areas of the world, Maaret spoke up without fear or shame. Astonished expressions and dead silence would often follow those outbursts...

Maaret walked out of Tim Horton's and kept on walking until she reached the bus stop, conveniently located about two hundred meters from the restaurant. The OC Transpo bus came, and Maaret pressed her sky-blue student bus pass against the green card reader machine, it made that pop noise, and she nodded at the smiling bus driver then headed deeper into the packed vehicle.

In rural Chechnya, the dirt roads and rocky outcroppings make for bumpy rides as buses navigate the rugged terrain. Maaret did not exactly miss those roads, but she did not care for the packed buses. Ottawa was big, as far as she was concerned, and it only had about a million inhabitants. Canada had bigger cities like Montreal and Toronto, and the very thought of being surrounded by so many people made Maaret feel quite uncomfortable.

Maaret stood in the middle of the bus, holding onto a yellow bar, sandwiched between a trio of young men in matching Ottawa Senators jackets, and an old couple that looked at her with undisguised curiosity. Maaret sighed, and her eyes fell upon a brown-skinned, attractive young woman in a Hijab and long dress. The young woman looked at Maaret, and smiled, and Maaret returned the smile. Nice to see a fellow Muslim, Maaret thought.

One of the things that Maaret likes about her new city is the fact that there are lots of Muslims around, and they come from all over. Africans, Arabs, South Asians, and even new Muslims from places like the Caribbean, Latin America and elsewhere. At the Mosque where Maaret went to pray early in the morning on Fridays, there were sisters and brothers of all hues, celebrating their Islamic faith. It was a beautiful thing.

"Sister, would you like to sit down?" came an unfamiliar male voice, and Maaret blinked in surprise, and looked at the stranger. The tall, dark-skinned young man rose from his seat, and flashed her a smile before gently bowing his head. Maaret looked at the young fellow, and guessed him to be Muslim judging by the dark blue Thawb he wore over blue jeans, and the azure Kufi hat he wore.

"Um, thank you brother," Maaret said after a brief hesitation, then she sat down. The young man nodded, and said nothing else. He looked at his watch, and pursed his lips. Maaret, who'd been standing for the past five hours working at Tim Horton's, was more than happy to grab a seat. Working on her feet all day was tiring, but dealing with irate customers, and unsupportive managers, well, that took the damn cake.

The bus headed downtown, and Maaret watched as throngs of young people about her age got on at Baseline, most of them pouring in from nearby Algonquin College. Having recently gained her permanent residence in Canada after years of immigration limbo, Maaret could finally study, and work, and do a lot of other things that Canadian citizens took for granted. I will get an education and make my Otets proud, Maaret silently vowed.

Maaret sat there, musing on the future, as the bus continued on its way. At Lincoln Fields Station, a trio of young men came in, and one of them was holding onto his coffee cup when the bus suddenly lurched forward. The Thawb-wearing, dark-skinned young man who'd give Maaret his seat earlier had been standing next to the coffee cup guy, and when the bus shook, his elbow bumped the other guy's, causing him to drop his coffee.

"Hey, Muslim dude, you made me drop my shit," Mr. Coffee Cup said, and he looked at his spilled cup, then at the brother, whose face was carefully blank. When he didn't seem to get a reaction out of the other guy, Mr. Coffee Cup got in his face, then shoved him. Hard. Twice. The Thawb-wearing brother's reaction was instantaneous. He swung his fist, and struck Mr. Coffee Cup in the jaw.

Mr. Coffee Cup went down like a sack of potatoes, and his two companions whirled on the brother, ready to throw down. Watching the three-way melee along with her fellow passengers, Maaret could not believe what she was seeing. The brother fought valiantly, but he was outnumbered, and the two men he faced were much bigger than Mr. Coffee Cup had been.

"Always defend your fellow Muslims," Maaret's father often told her back in Chechnya, and in the old man's absence, the young woman heeded his words faithfully. With a war cry whose fierceness surprised even her, Maaret jumped into the fray. At five-foot-nine and a measly one hundred and forty five pounds, Maaret was no dainty dame, so when she balled her fist and struck one of the bullies in the jaw, the bozo definitely felt it.

"Bitch, you're with this negro?" said the bully, a burly, red-haired guy with a beard, rubbing his jaw. Maaret shrugged, and when he swung on her, she ducked his fist like she'd seen her idol, MMA and UFC legend Ronda Rousey do, and caught his arm in an arm bar. The guy howled in pain as Maaret twisted with all of her might, and she continued twisting until she felt something pop.

The Thawb-wearing brother had his own opponent in a headlock when the bus driver pulled to a full stop. Fellow passengers separated the combatants, and people looked at Maaret and the tall, dark-skinned stranger as though they had two heads. Maaret looked at them, these bewildered, shocked Canadians, and then looked at the aftermath of what she and her fellow Muslim had done.

Mr. Coffee Cup was still unconscious, his buddy had a broken arm, and the third guy was bleeding from the forehead and lip, where Mr. Thawb had struck him. We must leave here pronto, Maaret thought, and she looked at the bus driver, a silver-haired guy with brown skin, and saw him speaking on the phone, presumably contacting the authorities.

"Brother, we must go," Maaret said, grabbing Mr. Thawb by his sleeve, and the young black man looked at her, seemingly in shock. Maaret made a beeline for the backdoor, and pushed the door. She pressed the yellow button, as hard as she could, but the door would simply not open. We're fucked, Maaret thought. At any moment the OC Transpo Special Constables would come and place her and the African dude under arrest for daring to whoop some racist butt.

"Sister, allow me," Mr. Thawb said, and when Maaret stepped back, the burly young black man leaned against the door with his shoulder. Maaret winced when she heard something crunch, and then the door opened. As the shocked passengers looked on, the two brawlers exited the bus, and made a beeline for the patch of greenery surrounding the nice-looking houses lining up the last bus stop before Westboro Station.

"That was frigging close," Maaret said, smiling, to Mr. Thawb as they sat inside the Bridgehead coffee house located on Mac Rae Avenue, in the heart of beautiful, trendy Westboro. The young man nodded at her, and rubbed his wrist, and when Maaret asked to see it, he showed her. Maaret winced when she saw a nasty gash on his wrist, and then offered him a napkin which he dutifully pressed against it.

"Sister, I wish to thank you for helping me back there, I am Rashid Akol of South Sudan," the young man said at last. Maaret nodded and then, impulsively, made a fist and held her hand in the air. Rashid looked at her blankly, and Maaret rolled her eyes. This brother is definitely from far away, he doesn't even seem to know the North American cultural stuff, Maaret thought, amazed.

"Nice to meet you, Rashid, um, you're supposed to bump that," Maaret said, laughing, and Rashid nodded, blinked, and then gently pressed his balled fist against hers. The young woman shook her head, and then sipped her coffee. She looked at her new acquaintance, if that's what he was, and wondered about him. Maaret hadn't sustained any injuries during their brawl against the bus bully trio, but Rashid had, but was bearing his wound with a stoic dignity worthy of a Chechen.

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, I'm an international student, and my father warned me about getting into trouble in Ottawa," Rashid said, and his broad shoulders sagged sadly. Maaret looked at him, unsure how to react. Back on the bus, the tall, dark-skinned young African fought ferociously against his tormentors, but now, he seemed disheartened, and almost timid. Got to bring his fire back, Maaret thought, remembering the way her father raised her to be a fighter.

"Rashid, we are Muslims, and our holy book commands us to defend our faith, and our Muslim brothers and sisters across the Ummah, we seek peace when possible, and fight when necessary," Maaret said gravely, and Rashid looked up at her. When his eyes met hers, she watched the doubt and fear vanish, replaced by a grim determination.

"Maaret, sister, you certainly have spirit, where are you from?" Rashid asked, smiling faintly, admiration written all over his dark ( and, dare she say, kind of handsome ) face. Maaret smiled and nodded thankfully, for she was always happy to speak about her beloved and now distant homeland of Chechnya, especially with her fellow Muslims, many of whom didn't know Jack about it.

"Rashid, I'm from Chechnya, and today, I just quit my job and had to let off some steam, hence the fight on the bus, helping you was just a happy by product," Maaret said, chuckling while sipping her coffee. Bridgehead coffee tasted better than the vile liquid that Walter and his minions brewed at the Tim Horton's in Nepean, Ontario, the place Maaret just left behind.

"Maaret, my sister, if you are any example, the women of Chechnya are fighters," Rashid said, smiling, and Maaret was about to reply when a trio of Ottawa Police Service men came into the coffee house, and started walking toward their table. When it rains it frigging monsoons, Maaret thought as the trio of policemen accosted them, their faces grim.

Maaret Salamovich and Rashid Akol were led from the Bridgehead in handcuffs, as shocked staff and customers looked on. The pair were subsequently taken to the Ottawa Police Station located downtown, on Elgin Street. They were labeled "the OC Transpo Bus Brawlers" by the local media, and their pictures appeared in the Ottawa Solar newspaper.

Fortunately for Maaret and Rashid, their notoriety was short-lived, as a video showing the entire incident was released on YouTube by a fellow passenger who'd recorded the whole thing. The two of them were released without charges, and subsequently invited to speak to CTV news by legendary reporters Linda Custer and Lena Laroche. There, in front of all of Canada, the famous pair shared their story of surviving a racially and religiously motivated attack on their persons.

"Guess we're famous now," Maaret said to Rashid, as they walked around the Algonquin College campus, a few days later. Rashid nodded, and from the smiles and second and third looks that he and Maaret were getting, he had to agree with her assessment. They'd been on television, and people were now calling them heroes, the international student and the former waitress/food server who fought the racists and won.

"Too bad we're not rich," Rashid said, smiling, and Maaret looked at him. Over the past few days, she'd been arrested, then released, and been on television, and had her picture plastered all over the news, on the web and in print, because people couldn't get enough of her. Maaret, who usually liked to keep a low profile, was honestly starting to like the attention.

"Well, I got a new job as a food prep gal with Shawarma Empire so there's that," Maaret said hopefully, and Rashid nodded. They'd been spending a lot of time together lately, and had gotten to know each other a bit. Rashid was studying business management at Algonquin College, and his studies were paid for by the South Sudanese government. When Rashid finished, he was expected to return home and work for his people's government.

"Nice, I've got a part-time job with a security company, a brother's got to make ends meet, you know?" Rashid said, making his voice grave, and Maaret playfully poked him in the ribs. They were standing in the student center, and as far as Maaret could tell, this was the campus hub. Young people their age walked by, going about their day. Maaret envied them, and hoped to join them soon at this rather fantastic school.

"A sister's got to make ends meet too," Maaret said, and then, filled with inspiration, she stood on her tippy toes, grabbed a stunned Rashid, and planted a kiss on the South Sudanese Muslim stud's full lips. Rashid was quite surprised by Maaret's actions, to say the least. One minute the young Chechen Muslim woman was standing in front of him and the next, she was grabbing him and kissing him.

"Hmm, oh my, that felt nice," Rashid said, grinning nervously at Maaret when they came up for air. Or, rather, when she pulled her lips away from his. Maaret grinned and nodded, but otherwise remained silent for a change. Rashid, in a sudden rush of boldness, pulled her close, and looked at Maaret. He admired this beautiful, strange Muslim woman from a distant land, to whom he owed so very much. This time, he kissed her.

To say that Maaret Salamovich and Rashid Akol came from different worlds would be an understatement. Nevertheless, although the pair attracted a lot of stares as they went around the Canadian Capital's malls, parks, movie theaters and restaurants while holding hands, they were unified by something most people would never guess to look at them. Oh, it's not their Islamic faith, though that's a big part of who they are. Nope, it's the fact that they're two hot-headed brawlers who've fallen for each other.

Like the observant Muslims that they are, Rashid and Maaret tried to keep things halal, seldom venturing beyond kisses, hugs, and caresses. One night, while chilling in Maaret's one-bedroom apartment in the suburb of Vanier, things changed. It happened as they sat on Maaret's living room couch, watching Cloak & Dagger, the hit TV series featuring a couple that was very much like them. Rashid and Maaret finally took things to the next level.

"That Olivia Holt is one beautiful gal," Rashid said, smiling as he and Maaret finished binge-watching their favorite TV series. Clad in a blue T-shirt and black jeans, Rashid looked alright. Maaret wore a red tank top and gray sweatpants, and for once, her long blonde hair was Hijab-free. She felt comfortable enough around Rashid to show him her hair. He'd become pretty special to her in recent times.

"Yeah, yeah, but my ass is bigger than hers," Maaret said, flashing Rashid a naughty grin. And then she got up from the couch, heading for the kitchen. Halfway there, she bent down to pick up some lint or whatever off the carpet, and Rashid's gaze followed her, locking onto her ample derriere. Maaret turned around and caught him looking, then laughed merrily.