I don’t know what happened to my PC, but it’s translating everything into Spanish. I guess it’s not a travesty or anything like that, since I can understand most of it, but I still don’t know how to fix it. On the subject of Spanish…on any normal day I can’t sing to save my life…like seriously can’t sing for shit. But for some reason I can sing very well in Spanish and Italian. I can belt Celine Dion’s “Aun Existe Amor” and “Sola Otra Vez” and “Amar Haciendo El Amor”. Or Josh Groban’s “Si Volvieras A Mi”, “Oceano” and “Per Te”. No one knows that about me. Well, now I guess everyone knows.
I was divulging this information to an acquaintance, Sandra, a 20 year old pixie-like Portuguese girl at a mutual friends house. Sandra, with her mop of curly brown hair and hazel eyes commented on my curls, much longer than hers and pitch black; a feature, she said, that made me look more Spanish than Asian. I wasn’t surprised, people tell me I look Spanish all the time but I gave her a brief breakdown of my heritage and we got chatting on all sorts.
At some point, Sandra confessed to me that she was in love and that she wanted to get married, but that he didn’t want to commit. She went a step further and told me that he is from the Indian community and that he’s Muslim. At this confession, I sighed and rolled my eyes heavenward, shaking my head. “He’s using you”, I told her. “What?” she asked incredulously. “You’re he’s white trophy”…I continued. She looked at me like a pair of horns just sprouted from my head. I had a feeling this was going to take a while, so I suggested we make some coffee and have a chat somewhere else where we didn’t have to scream at each other over the boisterous crowd.
I didn’t beat around the bush. I told her EVERYTHING. Every sordid detail…how a staggering 80% of the South African Indian (Asian) Muslim male population (have to be specific here) are made up of pure shit. I told her about all the guys I went to school with, how every one of them got 'white' girlfriends because they were the only ones who would sleep with them…how they promised heaven and earth to these girls, and then passed them around to their sleazy friends like cheap cigarettes.
I told her about Adil*, who went out with Yasmin* for 7 years, and then dumped her because he claimed he didn’t want to get married, then married someone straight out of school 6 weeks later.
I told her about Suhail*, who was living with another woman for 2 years, then proclaimed his innocence when he wanted to get hitched to Naseema*, pretending to be the angel he never was.
I told her about Husain* and hundreds of men like him, who had fathered children from the surrounding poor neighbourhoods, yet vehemently deny it and refuse to acknowledge the existence of these children.
I told her about Ashraf*, who was caught red handed with his long-time mistress, parading around in another Province by a family friend, and lied outright about it, even going as far as isolating those friends that knew it to be true.
I told her about Riaz, the legendary asshole, who bides his time ensuring that all the lonely housewives aren’t so lonely when their husbands are away at ‘work’ aka with other lonely housewives or mistresses.
I told her about Shuayb*, the local drug dealer that got married to a lovely lady who had no clue about his narcotic inclinations, and only really found out the first time he struck her with his fist when he was high, a blow hard enough that it left a permanent scar on her face.
I told her about Faraaz*, an acquaintance of the family whom we’ve known practically forever, who felt it necessary and appropriate to hit on my 18 year old sister, hoping to ‘get’ something out of it because, and I quote, “he can’t do that to the woman he wants to marry”. So my sister wasn’t deemed ‘marriage material’ because her parents are divorced, and he just had to take advantage of that fact…until she threatened his life if he came within 10 feet of her.
I told her about the men who only get married to 'white', fair women…because any woman with any kind of hue is considered unworthy, like she’s ‘dirty’ or something.
I told her that I have thousands of similar stories…of so-called Muslim men…overgrown pond scum masquerading like men more like it.
I told her about those repressed men Justin was talking about, the ones that go on like they’ve never seen females before…some of whom come and read my blog, then feel it necessary to send me emails asking me how can I speak like that…how can I 'perv' on men and say things like 'screw around' and how can I go on cruises and how do I expect to get married etc. It’s so 'unbecoming of a Muslim female'…while they have their drug dealers on speed dial and hide their subscriptions of Playboy under their beds and their porn on their PC’s in a folder named Templates or something like that…and get off on my uncouth language.
I told her about those men who think it’s ok to call me ‘sweetie’ and ‘baby’ because they reckon that I curse and use bad language and say things like ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’, so I deserve to be spoken to that way…much in the same tone that they justify that a woman wearing a skirt deserves to get raped.
I told her about that fucked up mentality that most of these men have…that it’s ok, perfectly fine for them to go on like animals, it’s justified because in their fucked up minds, only women get punished for these sins…not men. For men, it’s a rite of passage.
I told her how most of these men lack basic civility and are naturally rude to everyone, including their own parents. Their wives are their possessions, and the world their slaves…so words like “please” and “excuse me” are exempt from their vocabulary.
I told her about another kind of fucked up mentality, one where these men believe that they have no control over who they are because they’re men. We’re not supposed to walk past them or go to mosque because they can’t control themselves or their gaze…they give themselves so little credit because they’re so ‘weak’. No man with real Imaan (faith) acquiesces that easily, or is that ‘weak’.
I told her that even though some of these activities are prevalent in other religions, cultures and faiths, I’ve never come across such depravity in all my life; and the fact that they call themselves Muslims, makes it even worse because they should know better.
I told her that strangely enough, many of the British, American, Canadian and European Asian Muslim Males are not that bad…that it only seems to be an epidemic in South Africa.
I told her that even if her beloved did commit, that she only faced uphill battles…that it would most probably be met with contempt and hostility from most of his family members, his mother in particular…who would most probably seek the help of any witch doctor in a desperate attempt to destroy the relationship.
I told her that despite all of this, that there is still some hope by way of the 20% of decent South African Indian Muslim males out there.
I told her that a lot of women were just as responsible in perpetuating this fucked up cycle by accepting these pathological behaviours from these so-called men and even endorsing them. A lot of women are responsible for the trash that they call their sons.
I told her that she was contributing to the cycle too, by staying in a relationship that has no future, with a man that has no respect for her, and that she was better off with another Portuguese bloke who would at least open the door for her wherever she went.
After my tirade, Sandra looked at me positively HORRIFIED and was speechless. When she managed to gather her wits about her, she asked me about me and how I intended on going about finding someone in the proverbial sea of shit…what was I going to do? I smiled at her enthusiasm and told her that I have faith.
I told her that I will just know. See, my husband is the type of guy that isn’t hypocritical, in fact he hates hypocrisy. What’s good for the goose is equally good for the gander. He respects me for who I am, and isn’t trying to mould me into this perfect little being that he can parade around like an Olympic gold medal. My husband knows who he is. He knows his strengths and weaknesses, he knows his quirks and issues and he works on them for HIM, not for me. He knows he’s not perfect and he owns it. He’s confident enough not to mentally, emotionally or physically abuse me so that he can feel like a man, because he knows he’s already the man for having me in his life, and he knows what I’m capable of :D
My husband is not arrogant and has equal respect for everyone around him; everyone from his brothers to the men who pick up the trash. He’s not insecure and doesn’t need to compete with other men to ‘prove himself’ to anyone. He doesn’t care if I curse out of frustration or anger or if I tell the taxi-driver to “fuck-off” because he’s driving like an ass…because he knows that I will never direct the sentiment at him, because I respect him too much. He doesn’t care that I go out with my girls, because he knows he has ample time to do what he likes with the guys when he wants to.
My husband respects all women, regardless of their rank and status, with the same reverence he has for his mother. He doesn’t lust after other women, because he knows he has all the woman he needs. He knows he’s the man and he knows that he can control himself. He knows that I have no reason not to trust him, and that I won’t be needy, clingy or suspicious, simply because there’s no reason to be. He knows that once we’re married, every other male ceases to exist for me and that only people roam the earth. And when he talks to me, I listen intently, hanging onto every word…even when I don’t agree with him.
My husband is intelligent and educated and constantly seeks knowledge, he doesn’t just accept things to be doctrine. He is religiouslu inclined, but not fanatically or dogmatically so. He knows that most people have been brainwashed and make up their own rules and regulations to suit themselves or their cultures, and prefers to search for the truth himself. He is knowledgeable and always aware and conscious of God.
My husband knows that every single thing I do for him and our household is out of my own free will, he does not expect it of me and he’s grateful. He knows that I have my own interests and goals that are apart from our shared interests and goals and he supports that. He respects my independence, yet knows that I still want to and can depend on him. He listens when I speak and is my voice of reason when I’ve lost all hope in humankind. He knows I’m a tower of strength and likes that about me. He’s my comforter when I need a shoulder to cry on. He sometimes thinks I’m crazy, but will still indulge me and my antics.
My husband is not afraid to talk to me. He tells me when my hair looks like shit with a playful glint in his eye, and when he tells me I look beautiful, I know he means it. He comes to me when he’s plagued and needs someone to talk to because he knows that I will stand by him no matter what. Wherever he goes, I will follow. When he needs his space, I will wait patiently on the sidelines, until he needs me again. When he’s with the guys and they all mock their wives, he has nothing bad to say because he knows I’m not like them. I don’t have to nag him to get things done, he remembers and does them. I don’t whine about what we don’t have, I make do. I don’t demand material possessions because I’m indifferent. I don’t pick at his self-esteem and make him feel worthless or less than because I know he’s all the Man that I’ll ever need. I don’t expect him to jump hurdles for my affection, he has it unconditionally and the only thing I demand is his constant awareness of Us.
To my husband, I come first. If I’m not happy, then neither is he and vice versa. He knows that he comes first in my books too. I love and respect his parents and his family and treat them as my own…even when they drive me insane. We make each other laugh on a regular basis because we prefer to go through life grabbing the bull by the horns and actually Living. He knows that his job is to be the best father, husband and son that he can possibly be and he excels without even knowing it. He knows that beside him, he has my unwavering loyalty and more vigor than the Queen of Sparta. I know that he is a real man, not an imposter or a wannabe. I know that he is more than worthy of me, and I strive everyday to be worthy of him.
Sandra wanted to know who is he? I told her that I am confident that I will meet him if I haven’t already, either on this earth or in the Hereafter, and that he’d be worth waiting for.
*Names changed to protect the not-so-innocent.