Young, East-African Girl

I stared at him as he laid there with his eyes wide open. Angry, abandoned, and hurt that someone he loves so much took a gun and put a bullet through his skull. Shouldn’t I feel some kind remorse? I mean after all I did just kill human being. A man that was only my lover; the husband of my sister but also my employer. When he was kind he was extremely kind, generous, I dare to even say loving. But when you mess with the man’s money the kind Muslim man disappeared. He turned into a monster like you have never seen. He would tell me “I drink the blood of those who steal from me”. Often times I would try to fight back the urge from just laughing. I mean come on, what a drama queen right? He watched too many American films I tell you. The fragility of a rich middle eastern man’s ego. "Uff ya rebbel alemin forgive me but it had to be done". I did my sister, his daughters, and his other women a favor. Men like him, men that pray to Allah Five times a day; wearing their zebiba on their forehead like a batch of honor; while simultaneously prostituting women in secret and taking all the money for themselves. Well that’s beyond "HARAM" (forbidden)!

My name is Sieda, last name not important. I was born to an absent father, and a psychotic narcissistic mother. Yes, that’s me, just another tragic sad story from war torn east African country. And just in case it’s not obvious, just like everywhere else its male dominated. My father had four wives. My mother the first wife could only provide him two daughters. He did not like that, so he went and got himself three other wives. My sister Fatma was born first. She has beautiful light brown eyes, fair, and long straight black hair. Then came me. “Ekkk she is so ASWAD” people would often say, which means black in Arabic. I remember I would scrub my skin with soup three times a day in hopes that I could get as light as Fatma, but it never worked out for me. My father had two Saudi Arabian wives, so naturally he moved from Eritrea leaving his two African wives behind to Saudi Arabia. My mother hated my sister and I. She blamed us for her husband leaving her behind. Somehow it became our faults that we came out girls instead of men. Tragic, right?

Fatma came to resent my mother and could no longer deal with her chaos and abuse. Nor could I. So Fatma and I decided that we were going to go to the promised land. Saudi Arabia. Where money practically grows on trees Right? My oh my was I wrong. Shortly after moving to Saudi my sister met a man named Fuad. He was short, big gut, but he had beautiful eyes. He head full of hair. “Big gut” I said to my sister, “girl we are going to eat”. My sister married him becoming his second wife. shortly after I moved in with them as their house keeper. Fuad insisted. My sister was now my mistress. Once again my sister gets to be the princess while I'm her maid. They paid me good. It provided my mother with food and shelter back in Eritrea. Living under one roof and Fuad having a wondering eye, started paying attention to me. “I have always liked Aswad women” he would say. My heart would sink and my blood would turn cold because I knew the feeling I had for Fuad was "haram".

He was the only man that has ever paid attention to me. We slept together you know. Betrayed my-self. My sister and my faith. I wasn’t only his "side chick" but I also helped run his prostitution business. I recruited widowers who needed to provide for their children. Young naive teenage girls who came to Saudi from surrounding countries to make money. And sometimes even men. “When are you going to make me your wife” I would ask him. He would respond with some bull-shit like “anyone can be a wife but not any women can be a loyal friend. A business partner and a lover at the same time. Why ruin it with marriage”? I knew he wasn’t going to marry me. I was even willing to settle for a third wife. But he didn’t want me, I’m "aswad" after all. I’m only good for fulfilling fetishes. I knew this; because I was told this my entire life. I learned to accept my destiny living in this misogynistic racist fucked up world. He beat the shit out of me too. Not just me but also the other women I recruited. If Fuad ever felt like we were stealing from him or keeping some money to ourselves we were dead. He knew somehow and it was dangerous. Remember when I said that man doesn’t play with his money? Which brings to the present day, why and how I killed Fuad.

I noticed that I started to feel weak. l had a headache. I felt fatigued. I was just sore. I thought to myself “am I pregnant”? I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited. “Me a mother; alhamdulillah” I said to myself. But my excitement turned into dejection real fast. With a disgust on the doctor’s face he told me I had “HIV”. My soul left my body. I saw myself sitting there on the doctor’s office.“You look pathetic. You look weak. You look stupid” I told myself. “You deserve it you adulterer. You whore. You weak shermutah” (which means bitch in Arabic). I was alone and I knew what I had to do.

I told Fuad that I was tired of this lifestyle and I needed money to move back to Eritrea so I can be with my mother. He slammed me against the wall and put his gun to my mouth and said “you are not going anywhere. You breathe when I tell you to breathe. You sit when I tell to sit. And you work for me, I own you. Do you understand”? “GET OFF OF ME FUAD” I screamed”. He slammed my face against the wall several times. “Enough is enough” I thought to myself. “I have nothing to lose; this bastard does not own me.” I sat there crying till fuad let his guard down and put his gun down on the coffee table as he ate his apple as if nothing just happened. Just eating his apple and watching T.V as if he didn’t just kick the shit out a human being. I wiped away my tears and sat right next to him. I gave him a hug and apologized for my audacity to ask for what’s mine.

Fuad being the stupid fool that he was fell asleep on my lap. I stared down at him I thought to myself “if you knew how much I love you asshole. You terrible human being,” I leaned over quietly and picked the gun. I gently put a throw pillow on his face and shot him on his head. Left his body on the sofa. I then quickly went to the his safe where he had 20,000 American dollars from his American clients. I showered. Booked a boat ride down to Eritrea. You can say I lived comfortability till the day I died. If there is a "hell" in the after life it is not where I belong.