After a long day at work, Guillaume Etienne looked forward to finally going home. He'd been dealing with the drones at work long enough. Exiting the Place De Ville building, which housed the Revenue Canada agency for which he worked, Guillaume caught the double-decker 95 bus heading to the West end of Ottawa. At this hour, it was packed, filled with commuters, mostly government workers, along with university students and random transients.
Finding himself sandwiched between a chubby, balding and sweaty bozo who'd clearly never heard of the word deodorant and a dour-faced old white lady with cold eyes who kept staring at him as though he were a Martian, Guillaume sighed deeply. Ah, the wonders of using OC Transpo buses and trains to get around Ottawa, Guillaume thought to himself, chagrined at this state of the affairs.
"I just had to let Fatima have the car, yay for me," Guillaume grumbled to himself as the 95 bus sped toward the West end, leaving the congested hell that was downtown Ottawa on a Friday afternoon. When the bus reached Bayview Station, lots of riders got off, mostly the twenty-somethings. They were headed for the O-Train, presumably going to Carleton University. Guillaume allowed himself a smile as he thought of his precious alma mater.
It wasn't too long ago that Guillaume was a student at Carleton University, where he majored in Business Management and Accounting. As much as he loved his campus, it proved to be somewhat of a challenge, because Guillaume enrolled there three months after moving to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from his hometown of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti. Guillaume originally wanted to get into the University of Ottawa, but his grades weren't good enough.
Carleton University was the school which accepted Guillaume's application, a decision which would change his life. While studying there, the young Haitian man met scores of fascinating people hailing from every corner of the globe. Nigerians, Saudis, Afghans, Lebanese, Pakistanis, Kenyans, Somalis, Brazilians, and many more. In this most unique place, Guillaume was destined to meet the love of his life, the lovely Fatima.
Fatima Durrani-Etienne, Guillaume's lovely wife, was currently working for Avaya Canada, the communications giant, at their new facility in the environs of Kanata, Ontario. After graduating from Carleton University with a Computer Science degree, Fatima lucked out and got hired by a rather promising local company with global aspirations. A rather lucrative and demanding job, to be sure. For Fatima, working late several nights a week was the price to pay, hence why Guillaume let her have the car...
As the 95 bus reached Westboro station, a blonde-haired young white woman in a dark tank top and neon-blue booty shorts got on. She grabbed the yellow handlebar of the bus and stood close to Guillaume, even though the bus was only seventy five percent full at this point. The gal was on her cell phone when her stomach grumbled, loud enough for Guillaume to hear it. Shrugging, Guillaume continued to stand, his briefcase stuck between his legs.
"Oh fuck," Guillaume sighed, as a rather distinct and unpleasant odor wafted into the air, coming from the blonde gal's direction. Someone ate bad chili today, Guillaume thought, annoyed and disgusted. The harried workman remembered reading an article online about how female farts smelled worse than most men's. Just another fact of life and casual difference between the sexes, nothing to see here...
After being married to Fatima, who tended to toot quite loosely after she and Guillaume got comfortable with one another, he could attest to the veracity of that article. Fortunately for Guillaume's olfactory systems, and those of his fellow passengers, the gassy blonde gal got off at Baseline Station. Not a moment too soon, Guillaume thought, relieved.
Guillaume hurried to the upper level of the double decker bus and sat at the front. The topmost floor was almost empty. Barely ten passengers, in a space that could fit almost three times that number. How cool was that? Thanking his lucky stars, Guillaume relaxed until the bus reached Barrhaven. He thought of his darling Fatima, and how they first met, ages ago...
"So, Fatima, please tell us, what made you convert from Islam to Christianity?" Guillaume asked, and he looked at the pretty, yet shy-looking young Afghan woman who stood at the front of the meeting/prayer group. Five-foot-eight, somewhat chubby but still lovely, with dark bronze skin, light brown eyes and long, curly dark hair, clad in a long-sleeved dark blue traditional Kamis shirt and loose-fitting sky blue trousers.
"When the Christian missionaries came to my village, I simply felt moved by the Christian faith, in a way that Islam never moved me," Fatima Durrani said softly, and all eyes were on her as she went on to describe her conversion. It hadn't been an easy process, to say the least. Everyone was free to join Islam, regardless of race or background, but for one who was born in Islam to leave it, well, this complicates things...
Guillaume was friends with several Muslim students at Carleton University, and he knew that while most of them were friendly, easygoing folks, it was nevertheless frowned upon in their faith to even consider leaving it. In predominantly Muslim nations like Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Saudi Arabia, and others, the Islamic faith wasn't a personal matter, but a matter of state. Leaving it was akin to committing treason against one's own country...
"Such a brave soul," Guillaume thought to himself as Fatima continued with her story. The young woman described her old life in the City of Kandahar, Afghanistan. Fatima and her family hailed from the Pashtun ethnic group, which was quite widespread, and ranged from Afghanistan to Iran and Pakistan. Most of her people were Muslim, and had been adherents of that faith for centuries. Among them, apostasy was unthinkable, and when it did happen, it was punishable by death.
"When I told my parents about it, they were less than thrilled, as you can imagine, luckily we were living in Vancouver at the time, if I'd still been in my native Kandahar, I am certain that I'd be dead by now," Fatima said, and there was a hollow, haunted look on her lovely face. The young woman's fear was palpable and her captivating story had everyone completely and utterly riveted.
