Coptic Christian Women Rock

Yvonne Ibrahim is my name, and I'm a young Egyptian Coptic Christian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. Last year I got kicked out of my beloved school, the University of Ottawa and enrolled at Carleton University. Why did I leave the University of Ottawa? It's a long and painful story, but I will do my best to tell it to you. May it serve as a cautionary tale to other young women out there, you know? There are a lot of bad men out there who target women and it would be a mistake to say that only men from a certain religion and geographical location abuse and mistreat women but you need to understand that religion and culture, along with upbringing, play a crucial role in how a man sees the women in his life.

This is my story. It has to do with my ill-fated relationship with a Muslim student named Bin Akbar, a native of Riyadh in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I met him in my Criminology class, and thought he was charming. Tall, dark and handsome. He spoke fluent Arabic, English and French. Being the daughter of Christian immigrants from Egypt, I was trying to get in touch with my Arabic heritage. I spent most of my life in Canada and didn't know the pathological hatred that so many Muslim men have for other religions, especially Christianity. When I met Akbar, I thought he was heaven-sent. There are a lot of beautiful women in the Capital of Canada and I didn't consider myself one of them for most of my life. I'm a five-foot-ten, chubby and dark-haired, bronze-skinned chick with a big ass and wide hips in a world where women who are sleek, pale and fair-haired are the universal standards of beauty.

I thought Akbar was a dream come true when I met him. He was six feet tall, athletic and muscular, with black hair, piercing golden brown eyes and bronze skin. His father Mohammed Akbar is a Saudi and his mother Parvati is from the Punjab region of India, that's where his exotic good looks come from. Akbar wasn't just tall and good-looking, he was also wealthy. His father is a sheikh in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and his family has a lot of power. He wears expensive clothes and drove a shiny bright Mercedes Benz. Usually, all the good-looking Arab guys go for white girls because they consider Arab girls like me to be boring. And to be honest, I was kind of boring at the time. I worked as a security guard at a mall on weekends, and I went to a Maronite Christian church full of Lebanese, Syrian, Egyptian and Berber Christians located in the east end of Ottawa. It's one of a few Arab Christian churches in the City of Ottawa. All I did was work, go to school and go to church when Akbar met me. I was twenty two years old and still a virgin. Yeah, I considered myself kind of pathetic.

Bin Akbar was the first man other than my father, Michael Ibrahim, to tell me that I am beautiful. I couldn't believe it. A sexy and wealthy Arab guy like Akbar thought that I was beautiful? Wow! Akbar was really nice to me, and he always had something clever and flattering to say when I first met him. I thought he was mighty fine and my girlfriends seemed to think so. My parents, Michael Ibrahim and Catherine Hassan Ibrahim left their hometown of Zagazig in Egypt because of the persecution of the Coptic Christian minority by the Muslim majority. Every year, thousands of Coptic Christians leave the beautiful but troubled nation of Egypt because we're persecuted by the Muslims. We go to places like Brazil, France, Australia, America, Canada, and even the Republic of Lebanon because we no longer feel safe in Egypt.

My parents warned me about Muslim men and I grew up hearing stories of Muslim attacks from the other Arab Christians living in the Capital region of Canada. I never thought I would have to deal with such a situation because most men, whether Christian, Jewish or Muslim, Black, brown or white, seemed blissfully unaware of my existence. I'm the kind of chick who doesn't get hit on or flirted with. Ever. I'm a five-foot-eleven, 240-pound Arab woman. I'm not cute. I'm not pretty. I'm absolutely fucking enormous! My older sister Elisabeth Ibrahim is the exact opposite of me. She's six feet tall, slim and fit, and inherited our mother's luscious ebony hair, golden skin and pale bronze eyes. She used to model for a while and now she's studying business administration at Suffolk University in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. She met a Lebanese-American guy named Joseph Abdul-Hamid while visiting an Arab Christian church in the town of Lawrence, Massachusetts. They recently got engaged. Yeah, she's the lucky one. The one men always noticed. Me? I'm the invisible woman. Don't worry about me. I can't be hurt if I'm not really there.

Akbar pursued me doggedly, and at first I found his fascination with me quite dubious. I'm a chubby Arab chick, why are you chasing me? There are so many pretty white chicks around, why bother with me? Akbar told me that he loved his Arab sisters and found them more beautiful than all other women. That made me blush. When he asked out to a movie, I hesitantly accepted. We met at the Blair Cineplex in the east end of Ottawa, and had a blast. After that, we ate some delicious Shawarma at Shawarma Empire restaurant downtown. I had a nice time. That's why when he asked me out three days later, I was thrilled. And just like that, I had my first boyfriend. How about that?

In the beginning, Akbar was wonderful. He was charming and generous, and always complimented me. The night we first made love is a night I shall never forget. I was falling in love with Akbar, and told my family I thought he might be the one for me. This saddened my parents, who told me that Akbar was Muslim, and not only that, he was also a Saudi. The most strict Muslims around. They make their women wear the burka all day and won't even allow female drivers in their country. My parents warned me about Akbar, but I wouldn't listen. Akbar and I continued seeing each other. I thought I had found a wonderful man who liked me for me, and I wasn't about to give him up. Everything was perfect, until Akbar began to change. He began to pressure me to change my religion, to leave Christianity for Islam. I had never given much thought to what being a Christian meant. I mainly went to church out of habit. Still, was I ready to abandon my faith? Absolutely not. I told Akbar that my Christian faith mattered to me, and that if he wanted to be with me, he had to accept me as I am. What did he do when I told him this? He smacked me hard across the face and called me an infidel slut and a kafir for rejecting Islam!

With tears in my eyes, I looked at the man I thought cared about me. Akbar's handsome face was a mask of rage. It's like I didn't know him at all. I walked away, and he shouted that I would regret it, that there was no place on earth where I could hide from him. I went home in tears, and my mother hugged me. I looked into her eyes and told her what Akbar had done. When my father came home, I told him what Akbar had done. Dad wanted to kill him, but mom persuaded us to go to the police. I went to bed, but I was unable to sleep. I thought about what Akbar had done to me, and how wonderful he used to be. Was it all a lie? That night, I got a call from an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time. Patrick Meilleur. This tall, good-looking young Black man who grew up next door to us in Orleans. His parents Guillaume and Regina Meilleur are from the island of Haiti. They own a restaurant in Vanier and they go to the big Haitian church downtown near the Rideau Shopping Center. We've been friends for a long time.

Patrick and I have been good friends for years. His family knows me and I know his family. I wanted him to go to Ottawa University with me but he opted for Seneca College in the City of Toronto, Ontario. I hadn't spoken to him in ages. Patrick excitedly told me about his graduation from the Police Foundations program at Seneca College. He also told me he'd gotten accepted at the Police College of Ottawa, hence why he was coming home. I was happy for him, since becoming a policeman was his dream. Before his parents went into the restaurant business in Ottawa, Patrick's father Guillaume was a police officer in Haiti. I was thrilled that Patrick was coming back, but also saddened. He sensed my mood and asked me what was up. I told him about Akbar, our whirlwind romance, and the disaster that happened tonight. Patrick reacted the same way my father did, he wanted to get Akbar! I told Patrick to calm down, that we were going to the police the next day.

The next morning, my parents and I went to the police station in downtown Ottawa. There were a lot of people waiting and we had to get a ticket at the booth and waited in the big waiting room. I got a text from Patrick, and told him where we were. He told me he was on the Greyhound bus coming from Toronto, and that he'd come meet us. I told him we'd be done by the time he got here. I was wrong. Two hours passed, and we were still in the waiting room. Ottawa is becoming a really crowded town, lots of immigrants from Africa, the Middle East, India, China and Latin America moving in. The crime rate has gone up, too. I was reading my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey when my mother rubbed my elbow and I looked up, to see a familiar figure standing three meters from us. Clad in a dark blue T-shirt with the logo Ontario Police College on it, was Patrick Meilleur. The six-foot-four, broad-shouldered and athletic, dark-skinned Haitian stud I once had a crush on. He looked even better than I remembered. I squealed excitedly and got up to hug Patrick, as my parents looked on.

My father and Patrick shook hands, and he kissed my mother on the cheek. In the Haitian manner. Patrick and my dad haven't always gotten along. When we first moved to Canada from Egypt, my parents weren't used to Black people. And Haitians aren't used to Arabs. The Meilleur family was the first and to date the only Black family we really got to know. Still, in time, our two families became friends. We had a surprising lot in common. My parents fled Egypt due to religious and cultural persecution. Patrick's parents left Haiti due to political persecution at the hands of a Haitian dictator. We got along just fine, since we were all immigrants. Patrick and I are both seriously into soccer. I had a crush on him growing up, but he seemed to like Brittany, the blonde-haired white chick who lived next door. I never had the heart to tell Patrick how I felt. Now I wished I had. Patrick and my dad exchanged a look, and each began telling the other what they'd like to do to Akbar for hurting me. It's funny. My dad and my secret crush are both hot-headed fiery Christian men who are overprotective of the women in their lives.

Mom and I watched them, and smiled at each other. The police lady called our number, and we went inside. Patrick shook dad's hand and said he'd wait for us. We went to speak to a domestic abuse specialist, a fortysomething white woman named Brigida, and she listened to our case. She told us she'd get a restraining order against Akbar, and dad insisted it might not be enough. It always surprises me how naïve westerners are about Arab politics and Muslim culture in general. When a woman rebukes or insults a Muslim man's sense of honor, she places herself in mortal danger. That's how honor killings happen. Dad reminded the police lady about the drowning deaths of three young Arab women at the hands of their father, mother and brother. The case of the Mohammed Shafia daughters murders made headlines around Canada and elsewhere. The policewoman went pale when she heard this, and she seemed to take our case more seriously. Akbar was now on the police radar.

I went back to school, and indeed Akbar kept away from me, but the other Arab students at school gave me the cold shoulder. An Arab professor at the University of Ottawa accused me of cheating, and although I challenged it, and no proof was found, the damage was already done. I knew what was going on. The Muslims were closing ranks on me. I had hurt one of theirs and they were out to get me. I decided to leave the University of Ottawa for another school, Carleton University. I would transfer there during my second semester. In the meantime, I hung out with Patrick, and we rekindled our friendship. This was the guy next door to whom I grew up. I knew his family and his friends. His family knew mine as well. I felt safe around him. One night, Patrick and I had a heart to heart while walking out of the movie theater.

Patrick told me how much he missed me and how his life had changed since he moved to Toronto. He told me he dated multiple ladies, both Black women and White women, but none ever truly made him feel...right. There was always something missing. I asked Patrick what was missing. I was curious, I mean, a seriously hot guy like him could and did have any gal he wanted. So what was missing? Patrick smiled and told me that I was what was missing from his life. If lightning had struck me then, I wouldn't have been more shocked. Patrick smiled and told me he recently realized he was in love with me. When I told him a crazy Muslim guy named Akbar from Saudi Arabia threatened my life, he realized how much I meant to him. Wow. I was speechless. Patrick gently squeezed my hand, and asked me if I was okay. I nodded, then I did something uncharacteristically bold. I leaned forward, puckered my lips...and kissed him.

Yeah, how about that? Yvonne Ibrahim, the shyest Arab gal in the world kissed Patrick Meilleur, the Haitian stud muffin. Yup, I bet you didn't see this one coming, did you? Patrick was stunned, but he smiled and hugged me tightly, embracing me like he never wanted to let go. We kissed passionately. The next day, we told my parents how we felt. Dad and Patrick exchanged a look, and dad smilingly told him that if anything ever happened to me, he'd be a dead man. Patrick smiled and told my dad that I was in good hands. Christmas came, and our two families decided to celebrate Christmas together. It was...different, and oddly pleasant. The Meilleur family is Adventist and we're Coptic but we're all Christians and the Lord Jesus Christ is our lord and savior. Praised be His name. In January I would go to Carleton University to finish my master's degree in Criminology. As for Patrick, he's heading to Police College soon. My man is going to be a cop. He's going to the sexiest cop ever. He looks GOOD in Black! I can't get enough of him, and he can't get enough of me. We're very happy together.