As a Muslim gal from Saudi Arabia, I'm supposed to be weak, submissive and easily dominated. That's what I hear all the time, and not just from uneducated ruffians but from university people, those who ought to know better. My name is Azeeza Bin Sultan and I'm here to destroy or at the very least do damage to your impressions of what a Muslim woman is. Whether you're a Muslim or someone from the outside world, take heed. Instead of making assumptions about people you don't know, how about asking them a question or two?
I first saw the light of day in the City of Duba, on the northern Red Sea coast of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. My father Djamal is of pure Saudi descent, and my mother Dahab is mixed, for her own mother was Somali while her father was Yemeni. In July 1999, during the tenth summer of my life, my parents moved to the City of Calgary, Alberta. Canada is about as different from Saudi Arabia as night is from day, so we had trouble adjusting at first. While my parents struggled with the social mores and norms of Canadian life, ( not an easy feat for citizens of the world's most conservative Muslim country ) I embraced our new country wholeheartedly.
I devoured everything that Canadian life had to offer. The people of Alberta have a reputation as rednecks, but trust me, life in Saudi Arabia was far tougher than anything they could throw at me so I handled myself well in this new land. My mother and I stopped wearing burkas the day we came to Alberta from Saudi Arabia as refugee claimants. We knew how western society sees Muslims, especially Saudi Arabians, and the last thing we wanted was to give them any reason to send us to the hell we just escaped from.
You see, we didn't come to Canada simply because we felt like a change of scenery. We were running for our lives. My father irked some of the Saudi nobility's key people with his condemnation of their wasteful and greedy ways, their splurging and general misuse of our nation's resources. Saudi royals party in Vienna, London and New York City, make friends with American billionaires and European tycoons while the average Saudi citizen lives in abject poverty. You don't see that on CNN or RDI. What you'll see is the King of Saudi Arabia hanging out with the Queen of England in London or shaking hands with world leaders like Obama or Putin. You might see pictures of a Saudi princess spending money like it's going out of style in Paris most expensive shopping centers. You won't see the downtrodden Saudi citizenry, eternally oppressed by the greedy royals. They make sure we're effectively invisible, male and female alike.
My parents encouraged me to excel in everything that I did, and I often amaze my western friends when I tell them that. It surprises them that there are progressives as well as liberals in Saudi Arabia, voices calling out for change, not just uber-religious megalomaniacs who feel the need to control every aspect of human life inside the Kingdom. In every society there are radicals, moderates and liberals. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is no exception.
Long before the west started paying attention to the fact that we Saudi women have to wear burkas whenever we leave the house and that we're not allowed to drive, men and women like my parents were vocalizing their opposition to such draconian sexism. What westerners don't understand is that you cannot free a people from oppression. They have to stand up for themselves and demand change. Do you think the men of Saudi Arabia would continue to enforce their society's sexist rules against their wives and daughters if those women revolted en masse? Of course, many Saudi women would suffer terribly during such a conflict but it is my belief that when women in large numbers demand something, we typically get it.
In September 2007, I enrolled at the University of Calgary to study civil engineering. I've always had a head for numbers and I like working with my hands. I was quite the tomboy growing up. My father, Allah bless him, is not the most technical or hands-on guy in the universe. Lots of guys are handy around the house, fixing doors, pipes, etc. Not my father. And of course my mother was no good at such things either.
Why is that, you may ask? Old habits die hard, and habits never learned are hard to acquire once you reach a certain age. As former members of the Saudi middle class, my parents grew up in households with servants. Me? I don't know what it's like to have to depend on others to do things for me. I know how to fix a computer, and I can also use a hammer and nails to fix an old door instead of flipping through the yellow pages for a technician. Just call me The Handy Woman.
Much of what I learned about fixing computers and working with my hands I learned from my neighbor Bernard Marceau. A tall, burly Haitian guy who lived right next door to us. Bernard's wife Eileen Sanford is a tall and somewhat chubby, red-haired and green-eyed white woman. They have two sons and a daughter together, Abraham, Jacob and Sarah. In our neighborhood, we were the only immigrant families. I thought Bernard's wife was Canadian but as it turns out, she's an immigrant from Berkshire, England, whom he met while attending the University of Alberta a long time ago. They met, fell in love and got married.
I'd like to say that our two families got along wonderfully but that would be a lie. My father is fairly secular and forward-thinking, but he was initially reluctant to deal with the Marceau family, both because they're a mixed-race family and proud Christians. Me? I played with the Marceau brats because they were the only youth of color in the neighborhood and they treated me like a friend and neighbor, like a playmate, instead of an alien. Being a hijab-wearing Muslim gal in Alberta is not the easiest thing in the world. You'll meet your share of racists, that's for sure.
