From Qatar With Love

Unless you test yourself, you will never find out what you're capable of. My name is Abraham Tadesse and I was born and raised in the City of Nazret, Ethiopia. Like a lot of my fellow countrymen, I was driven by abject poverty to seek a better life elsewhere. That's how I ended up as a migrant worker ( in the construction industry ) in Qatar. To any African, Asian, Filipino, Hindu or other non-Arab person seeking work in the Gulf regions, take my advice and seek your fortune elsewhere. It's definitely not the place for you.

Today, I live in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and I'm working as a construction site manager for Anderson Tech Ltd. while studying for my MBA at Suffolk University. The United States government granted us political asylum two years ago, and today, I live in New England with my wife Hessa Hussein-Tadesse, whom I met in the City of Doha, Qatar. We're the proud parents of a little angel named Israel, born at Charles MGH Hospital in Boston a year ago. Our little prince is going to do big things with his life, I can feel it. His mom and I overcame a lot to bring him into this world.

We draw a lot of stares wherever we go. A six-foot-tall, burly Ethiopian immigrant man with his Arab-Filipino wife and their mixed-race son. Definitely not the sort of trio one commonly sees in Boston, even though it's a racially diverse town. Just yesterday, while strolling through the Copley Shopping Center, we were accosted by some College students, ( all of them minorities, I might add ) who asked us where we came from. We politely told them, and they wished us a good day. Nice, huh?

My wife Hessa and I have been through a lot, ladies and gentlemen. We met at a terrifying time in both our lives, but we're thankful to God that He placed us in each other's paths. In this life, I've been many things. International student, refugee claimant, government employee, migrant worker, modern-day slave, then refugee claimant ( again ), and finally, gainfully employed husband and father, a head of household trying to live the American Dream. And it all began when I moved to Qatar for work, and fell into bondage.

Believe me when I tell you that even though the United Nations believes slavery to have been abolished ages ago, it is still practiced in some forms in many Arab nations, from Saudi Arabia to Qatar, from Kuwait to Lebanon. Please learn from my mistakes, my friends, and stay away from those people, especially the Qatari. I have seen them mistreat people of all colors who made the mistake of coming into their country for employment. An educated Ethiopian Muslim sister named Amina who came to Qatar to work in the textile industry ended up as a domestic servant and later, sex slave, for the wealthy Qatari businessman who sponsored her.

I have seen Filipino guest workers stabbed to death by thugs working for the wealthy Qatari families that employed them. A Somali man was severely beaten by his employer for stealing a loaf of bread. If you're in Qatar and you're not wealthy, and you happen to be a non-Arab, then your life isn't worth much. The wealthy Americans and Europeans who visit the Qatari Capital region find it a pleasant mix of Middle-Eastern cultural and religious eccentricity and high-tech metropolis. They dine with princes and party with rich Arab noblemen. They don't see the plight of those of us from Third World countries who made the mistake of coming to this cursed place to find work.

When I first came to Qatar, I was only twenty one years old, a fresh-faced young man determined to earn a living in one of the Arab world's wealthiest nations. I ended up working for a man named Mustapha Mahmoud, a wealthy Qatari businessman who made millions building fancy resorts catering to Qatar's growing middle class as well as wealthy tourists and expats from places like Europe, America, Australasia and Canada. I was blown away by the beauty and splendor of Doha, the fabled Qatari Capital. I swear, it looks like something out of The Thousand and One Nights in some aspects, and in others, it's a thoroughly modern metropolis.

My former boss Mustapha Mahmoud has offices in places like Doha, Riyadh, Dubai, and, interestingly enough, New York City and Toronto. The Arabs are truly coming up in the world, and with their fabulous wealth they're living like kings and queens. Even the wealthy Westerners must contend with them. What Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders and Australians don't realize is that just because you have higher learning, wealth and technology doesn't make you civilized. They've pulled the wool over the West's eyes, but now that I think about it, the Westerners haven't been fooled, they simply don't care.

Indeed, I don't consider most Westerners to be civilized myself. Look at the way European-descended Americans and Canadians continue to treat people of color, especially Native Americans and Blacks, within their borders. Look at the way France, Spain and England talk down to African, Latin American and Caribbean nations in this day and age. They still believe themselves superior to those different from themselves. You can have all the technology in the world but if you mistreat your fellow man simply because he looks different from you, then in my eyes you're nothing but a barbarian. The civilized man is he who respects his fellow human beings, not the racist and imperialistic technocrat.

I was a man of some learning when I came to Qatar. I spent six years living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, with my father's brother, uncle Ammanuel, and his Canadian wife Shirley, along with their daughter, my cousin Jerusalem. I studied business administration at Algonquin College, and graduated with a diploma in that field. I thought about building a life for myself in Canada but the xenophobic Canadian government refused to grant me permanent resident status. If you're a newcomer to Canada and you're not White, the Harper government doesn't want you sticking around. They've had enough of us 'visible minorities.' They fear the fact that Blacks, Arabs, Asians and others are changing the demographics of Toronto, Montreal, Calgary, Ottawa and Vancouver. There'll come a day when Whites are minorities in urban Canada.

Can't spread my wings and soar in an environment that's hostile. That's why I returned to Ethiopia and got a job with the government. I figured that with a Canadian College degree, my chances of getting a decent job in Ethiopia were pretty good. I ended up working for the Ministry of Technology in Addis Ababa, and for a while, I lived like a prince. What does that mean? Townhouse, fancy car and beautiful Ethiopian, Somali and Eritrean girls. At last, I was living the good life. Unfortunately, that job didn't last long. I got fired, and my riches vanished like water in the sand. I still don't know what possessed me to move to a place like Qatar. In hindsight, that was one of the worse decisions I ever made.

I should have been suspicious when my Qatari sponsor, a man named Mustapha Mahmoud confiscated my passport, and put me to work in the burning hot Qatari sun, working twelve-hour days on a construction site. His latest resort, I guess. My co-workers were Nigerians, Filipinos, South Sudanese, and even a few Hindus and Pakistanis. None of us were Arabs, though. That was the most important distinction. The Qataris are among the most lazy sons of bitches on the planet. I swear, a lot of them are fat because all they do all day is eat and watch television. They have hired hands to build their houses, and imported servants to clean for them. I've seen more fat women in Qatar than I did in visits to the U.S. and Canada, and considering the number of MacDonald's restaurants in North America and Western women's fondness for them, that's saying a lot!

I quickly distinguished myself on the construction sites and Mustapha Mahmoud took a personal interest in me. He paid me more than the others, granted me more responsibilities and also took me to his house to discuss his plans. Mustapha lived in a gorgeous, opulent section of metropolitan Doha, a magnificent villa with a huge, fenced yard, an indoor swimming pool, and a rec area that would make Donald Trump green with envy. The guy has a fleet of cars, from Lamborghinis to Mercedes and fancy models I can't even name. He's one of the richest men in Doha, a town crawling with Arab millionaires, and that's saying a lot.

Mustapha Mahmoud lived in a gorgeous villa with his two overweight, middle-aged Qatari wives, Rana and Hamidah, their assorted sons and daughters, and a young woman of Qatari and Filipino descent named Hessa Hussein. At first I thought she was one of his wives, but later learned that he'd purchased her. Apparently, Hessa was born and raised in Qatar to a Qatari father and an Filipino mother who was a domestic servant. Tall, curvy, bronze-skinned, dark-eyed and sharp-featured, Hessa was decidedly more exotic-looking than the average Qatari woman. Her facial features are a beautiful blend of Asian and Arabian.

According to what she told me, Hessa's father Farouk Hussein left the City of Doha and went into exile after some business dealings gone bad. Simply put, the man had enemies and they wanted him dead. In order to save his own skin, Hessa's father Farouk sold his half-breed daughter to his friend and former business partner Mustapha. The guy took the money and left Qatar for greener pastures, and Mustapha got Hessa out of the deal. See what I told you about the Qataris? Human rights mean nothing to them. Women and racial minorities are possessions and nothing more.

Where I come from, we respect women. I was raised in the Orthodox faith, and while there's a great deal of sexism both within my church and Ethiopian society as a whole, we're leagues ahead of the Arabs when it comes to respecting women's rights. A woman isn't property, you can't buy her or sell her. As I spent more and more time in Mustapha's household, I got to know Hessa a bit better. We became friends. Like it or not, we were in the same boat. I'd been treated like shit by Qataris of both sexes because I'm a dark-skinned man, and a non-Muslim and oh yeah, Mustapha Mahmoud owned me! Hessa was the first native of Qatar who treated me like a human being.

Hessa and I began an affair, and tried our best to keep this from Mustapha. Women in Qatar have more freedom than they do in places like Saudi Arabia, so Hessa would often drive out to the east end of Doha, the foreigners quarter, where I lived. There, we met, and gave solace to one another. Before I came to Qatar, I had only been with Ethiopian Christian women, and one White chick named Wendy Parker during my time in Ontario, Canada. As a Muslim woman of Qatari and Filipino descent, Hessa looked beautiful and exotic to my eyes, but that's not all that drew me to her.

This five-foot-nine, curvy, raven-haired, bronze-skinned and sharp-featured, curvaceous beauty had the mind of a four-star General. Even though Mustapha Mahmoud viewed her as a plaything, she was quite adept at pulling his strings. How else could you explain how he paid for her to get a University education? Hessa had an accounting degree from Brunel University in England, a fact that surprised me. I thought that to men like Mustapha Mahmoud, someone like Hessa was just a pretty face and nighttime entertainment. Why would he invest in her?

When I asked her about it, Hessa smiled and told me she lived in the Uxbridge sector of London for seven years with Mustapha while he tried to get his business off the ground in the U.K. When his attempts at conquering the real estate market in the United Kingdom didn't work out, Mustapha returned to Doha, Qatar, and later set his sights on the U.S. and Canada, thus explaining his satellite offices in Toronto and New York City. The guy was sleazy but ambitious, I had to give him credit.

I want to make something of my life, Hessa told me, as we lay in each other's arms one night. Making love to that woman can be an exhausting proposition. I swear, she can go on and on like the energizer bunny. At times I lay on the bed as she straddled me, my dick buried in her wetness. I love rubbing her big, beautiful breasts together as we make love. Hessa isn't into the love-me-tender style of sexing. No sir, this gal likes the rough stuff. She loves it when I put her on all fours and give her big butt a firm spanking as I thrust into her cunt from behind. I thought I knew my way around the female body but Hessa taught me a thing or two.

I mean, I like to pleasure a lady with my mouth and I delighted in having Hessa lie down on the bed, legs spread, while I gave her hairy cunt a good licking. I love the smell and taste of her pussy. No two women smell or taste alike, and Hessa tastes wonderful on my tongue. I always thought Muslim women were chaste and repressed, but Hessa knocked all these preconceived notions out of my head. In the bedroom and outside of it, she was decisive and stubborn, always determined to have her way.

Hessa can be bossy to the extreme in the bedroom, and it surprised me that I liked it. I remember the first time she introduced me to her toys, especially her strap-on dildo. I had watched a lot of pornos while in Canada, so I knew about such, ahem, apparatuses. Still, seeing a gorgeous, naked Muslim woman sporting one, now that took the cake. Turn around and bend over, Hessa said in a commanding tone. Grinning, filled with excitement and a bit of fear, I did as I was told.

Hessa got behind me, and ordered me spread my ass. I obeyed, and felt her apply something slimy against my asshole. Go easy on me, I pleaded. Hessa smacked my ass and told me she was running the show. Then she pressed the dildo against my ass and pushed it inside. And that's when I screamed. Look, um, I won't bore you with the details but it was a fun experience. Female dominance can be a lot of fun in the bedroom, and I did enjoy getting strap-on fucked by Hessa. Whoever thinks Muslim women are soft, weak and submissive clearly hasn't met her. I had fun, but this isn't something I see myself doing regularly. Once in a while sounds okay. For the most part, I like regular sex. Nothing compares to having Hessa suck my dick before I slide it between her thighs. That's my idea of paradise.

Hessa and I were passionately in love, and as has been said before, love makes you do crazy things. Originally, my plan was sending money to folks back home who needed my help and eventually saving up enough to leave Qatar for good. Sadly, Mustapha Mahmoud was not about to let that happen. As one of a few construction site managers who actually knew what he was doing, I was quite valuable to Mustapha and he wasn't about to let me go. Especially since he was saving a ton of money by paying me considerably less than he would pay some American or European guy.

Mustapha Mahmoud owned me, but up until I began to talk of leaving, the guy had a laissez-faire policy when it came to my comings and goings. I was a dog on an extremely long leash, I guess. I had my own place in a poor section of town, and he'd even gone to the trouble of granting me a Qatari driver's licence. Something very few foreigners can boast of. Around the same time that Hessa and I began our affair, unbeknownst to me, she started rebuking his affections. Mustapha found her more fun in the bedroom than his boring, submissive Qatari wives. Hessa was feisty, and she'd introduced him to kinky sex. He couldn't get enough of her.

Hessa and I were careful, but not careful enough. Soon Mustapha began to suspect something was amiss. That's why he had both Hessa and I followed. Imagine his surprise when he found out we were having an affair! Mustapha made the mistake of coming to my house, alone, while Hessa and I were together one night. He confronted us, and told me I was finished. He waved my passport in front of me and threatened to tear it up. He glared murderously at Hessa and told her he'd beat her for her betrayal. That's when I lost it. The thought of him putting his hands on her sickened me. I took a kitchen knife and stabbed Mustapha Mahmoud, and he died.

Hessa stared at me as I stood there, standing over Mustapha Mahmoud's bloody remains, my hands covered in blood. What have I done? I whispered, my heart filled with fright. I knew what was coming. The Qatari justice system is swift and merciless. Anyone who kills someone must be killed, but that law only applies when a Qatari kills another Qatari. If a Qatari man kills one of his pseudo-slaves, or migrant workers, then it's not even considered a crime. It's completely unheard of for a migrant worker or sex slave to kill a Qatari. I think such a person would be made an example of by the Qatari authorities once they found out. I was dead meat and I knew it.

I looked at Hessa who stood there trembling, and held her in my arms. I begged her to return to Mustapha's house, and act as if nothing had happened. I didn't want anything to happen to her. I would bear the brunt of this alone. I can't let you do that, Hessa pleaded, and took my face in her hands. I stared at her, this wild, exotic and strange woman from another race, another religion and another culture whom I was willing to die for. Kissing me tenderly, she told me that she had a plan. I stared at her, stunned by her calm. Very calmly and coldly, Hessa told me what we should do.

Together, we disposed of Mustapha Mahmoud's car and body. Since he's always traveling, it was a while before he was reported missing. Hessa had been with him half her life, far longer than his two official wives, Rana and Hamidah. And she knew a lot about his finances. Imagine my surprise when Hessa wired tens of thousands of dollars to her accounts in British and Swiss banks, and prepared travel documents for herself and me. I couldn't believe it. That fool once told me everything, Hessa said with a bitter smile.

Not for the first time I found myself thinking that Hessa Hussein was the most dangerous woman I had ever known. Later, she told me that she once thought about poisoning Mustapha Mahmoud but feared she might get executed if foul play was suspected. I felt guilty about what I'd done. Mustapha was cruel and wicked, but did he deserve to die? My Christian faith says all life is sacred. Much to my surprise, Hessa told me that she considered herself an atheist. To hear such a thing from a hijab-wearing, long-skirted, conservatively dressed woman born and raised in Qatar stunned me. Hessa was full of surprises, not all of them good. I love this woman, but she frightens me sometimes. Still, I have her to thank for my salvation. We boarded a flight from Doha, Qatar, for Europe, and made our way to London, England.

Once there, Hessa and I went to the U.S. Embassy and applied for visas. The American government does a lot of business with wealthy Qatari businessman and the name of Mustapha Mahmoud still carried a lot of weight. We were granted visas to the U.S. and once we arrived there, we immediately requested political asylum. By then, news of multi-millionaire mogul Mustapha Mahmoud's murder had spread like wildfire across the Gulf nations and the Arabs were crying out for revenge. Fortunately, the U.S. government refused to give us up. They knew we face certain death were Hessa and I ever to return to Qatar. That's the only reason we were allowed to stay.

Eventually, the brouhaha over Mustapha Mahmoud's death died down. I'm sure his relatives over in Doha will hate Hessa and I until the day we die, but I don't care. We are far away from their clutches. We're living in Boston, just a normal couple living our lives with our son Israel. I've started going to church again, there's an Ethiopian immigrant community in New England and they have several churches. I can't tell you how happy I am to be reunited with my people, albeit so far from home.