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In the eyes of the world, I am many things. She-male. Tranny. Chick with dick. Those are the names they’ve got for me. What do I call myself? I call myself Angela Shay. Anyone looking at me would see a five-foot-nine, curvy Black woman in her mid-thirties with a nice rack, wide hips and a big round ass. I hate the terms she-male, tranny and chick with dick, by the way. I am a Transsexual. I live in the City of Toronto, province of Ontario, and study Criminal Justice at Seneca College. Does it surprise you that someone like me believes in getting an education? Hmmm. How little you understand and what makes me tick. Oh, well. I guess that’s why I’ve decided to educate you.
We’re all human at the end of the day. People tend to forget that when dealing with individuals of my particular background. I have a job, I pay taxes, and I live my life my way, just like most normal folks in Canadian society, thank you very much. I work at the mall, and I sell phones for Bell Canada. I’m actually the manager of one of our downtown locations, does that surprise you? I have a real job. I have friends and family. I am not a porn star, an escort or a prostitute. Oh, and I don’t do exotic modeling either. On weekends, I sometimes look after my nephew Jason and my niece Katharine while their parents, my older brother Jonathan Shay and his wife Beatrice have a date night.
It might also surprise you that my brother Jonathan Shay, a big and tall Black man of Jamaican descent, supports me in who I am and what I do. He didn’t always understand me but we’ve made up and smoothed things out before I underwent the change and evolved into what you see before you. Most people who meet me never guess that I’m a Transsexual unless I tell them. I am thankful for that because we live in a world where those who are different get mistreated. Ah, the wonders of twenty-first century technology, what can I say? Being who and what I am has made me sensitive to the plight of others.
Take uşak escort my dog Marquis for example. He’s half pit bull and half German shepherd, and kind of huge. A lot of people think large dogs are dangerous. I say there is no such thing as a dangerous dog, only lousy owners. Bad parents often produce bad sons and daughters, any psychologist or cop will tell you the same thing. Why is it so hard to believe that bad owners produce bad dogs? I am the owner of a large breed dog and he’s the most gentle creature I have ever seen. See? Don’t make snap judgements about that which you don’t understand. Keep an open mind and an open heart.
Today, I am feeling pretty good about myself. My boyfriend Rahim Muhammad bought me a lovely necklace. My sweetie is oh so good to me. Hmmm. How I met Rahim Muhammad is a story in and of itself. I was visiting my aunt Gina in the City of Ottawa and we were having dinner in the food court of the Saint Laurent Mall when I spotted a tall, dark and handsome young Black stud sitting with a hijab-clad, chubby Black woman wearing a somber dark robe. Somalis by the look of them, I thought. Now, I don’t speak Somali. I only understand three languages, Jamaican patois, English and profane, the truly universal language. Still, no need to understand a particular language to understand when two people are having a disagreement. All you got to do is pay attention to their facial expressions.
While eating some delicious Manchu Wok, I looked at the Somali couple surreptitiously. After a while, the hijab-clad Somali woman got up, scoffed at the man what I assumed to be a parting shot, and then walked her big ass out of there. The young Somali man sat there, looking crestfallen. I mean, I’ve seen guys look down after getting dumped by their girlfriends but this dude looked like he was at death’s door. When my aunt excused herself to go to the ladies room, I went over to the young Somali man and asked him what muglalisahidi.com was wrong. I looked into his eyes, and saw something quite familiar.
All at once I knew what was going on with him. His eyes told the whole story. The look of elemental pain and confusion I knew all too well. A lot of young gay and bisexual men go through this, especially in the Black community where homophobia runs rampant. Whether Christian or Muslim, Black folks are NOT tolerant of gays and bisexuals, especially men. The young Somali man looked at me and told me he was fine. He clearly wasn’t okay, but I could tell he didn’t feel like talking to me. So I handed him my card. Bell Canada agent. Just in case you need a new phone, I said with a wink before returning to my seat just as my aunt emerged from the ladies washroom. And that’s how I met the young man destined to be the love of my life.
That same night, I got a call from Rahim Muhammad, and even though it took much wrangling, I got the story out of him. Rahim was bisexual, and that’s not considered okay in the Somali Canadian community. The majority of Somalis are Muslim, though I hear there’s a growing Christian minority in Somalia these days. Islamic law sees gays, lesbians and all non-heterosexuals as perversions in the eyes of its strict doctrine, and Somalis follow its tenets to the letter. Rahim told me he’s married to a Somali woman named Fatima, the lady I saw at the mall, and they have a daughter together, little Aisha. When news about Rahim Muhammad’s bisexuality got out, his wife decided to divorce him even though he swore to her he’d been faithful throughout their marriage.
I learned quite a bit about Rahim Muhammad that night. He was twenty six years old, a recent graduate of Carleton University with a bachelor’s degree in Criminology. He worked for the National Gallery of Canada as a techie and hoped to join the RCMP someday. He considered his wife Fatima and their daughter Aisha to be his reasons for living. I could hear the pain in his voice, and he thanked me for being so understanding. Then he asked me why a Jamaican beauty like myself would be so friendly to a bisexual Black male since my people are notoriously homophobic. I held my breath. This sweet young brother thought I was what I appeared to be, a normal woman. I could lie to him, but I couldn’t bear it. So I told him what I was. A post-operative Transsexual living a normal life. Complete with family, house, car, job, and dog. I even go to church, a non-denominational ( and mostly African ) church in Mississauga.
When I confessed this to him, Rahim was most understanding. He told me he found me beautiful. I smiled, and thanked him, then wished him goodnight. Three days later, we met for dinner. He told me his wife Fatima decided to leave him for good, and divorce was inevitable. I gently touched his hand and offered him my support. And that’s how it all began. Rahim Muhammad’s soon-to-be-ex-wife Fatima put him through hell in their divorce, and by the time she was done with him, he basically only had the shirt on his back. I supported him, though. I wanted to be there for this wonderful brother who was enduring all these trials and tribulations. The Somali community and the Islamic community as a whole disowned Rahim Muhammad. Apparently, one cannot be gay, bisexual or lesbian and be a practicing Muslim. Rahim still gets death threats in his email.
In the end, Rahim Muhammad had to leave Ottawa because a lot of the Somalis he considered his friends and family members were after him. He moved to Toronto, where he got a new job and started a new life. His ex-wife Fatima still won’t let him see his daughter Aisha and it is killing him. Seeing Rahim in pain just about killed me, but I swore that I’d be there for him. He stayed at my house, and I cooked for him, cleaned for him and all that. I’m in love with the guy, what can I say? In time, he noticed how much I cared for him, and we became lovers. We are together now, and we’re happy. A Black Transsexual woman and her hunky bisexual Somali Muslim lover. It takes all kinds, that’s for sure.
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