The couple

Calgary, January 2023

Martin was lying in bed, embracing his wife Chioma, hugging her, kissing her neck. They weren’t young anymore, have been together for many years, had adult children, but Martin still liked to feel Chioma’s naked breasts pressing against his body. It was a nice beginning of a day. It also reminded him how wrong everybody was. “A marriage between a black woman and a white man cannot last,” they kept saying. Well, they were mistaken, it did last. Buy it wasn’t easy and there were times when it looked impossible. Martin and Chioma were immigrants living in a foreign country, had different background, and adjusting to their new home and to each other sometimes required accepting the unacceptable.

Martin was born in one of those east-European countries, and his parents provided a good home for him. Martin was a smart kid, was a good student, attended university and graduated with an engineering degree. After graduation he worked for a local branch of a large medical equipment manufacturer, Siemens Medical Products division. It was interesting work and Martin was gaining valuable experience, but he wanted more from life. He wanted to travel the world, to have an adventure. His homeland belonged to E.U. and he could work in any of those countries, but it was only Europe, not the world. Martin was considering United States but getting a work permit was difficult. The Canadian Immigration Point system offered a better chance of success. Martin looked for job opportunities in Canada, send out resumes, applied for the Landed Immigrant status, was accepted, and ended up working for StarFish Medical, Canada's largest medical devices design and development company, located in Toronto. Part of his job was to do presentations for potential customers and that’s where he saw her for the first time. A black woman who didn’t seem to fit into the mostly white male attendance. In the evening Martin went to the hotel restaurant and she was also there, sitting alone.
“Hello,” he approached her. “Did you like my presentation?”
“It was interesting,” she said without any enthusiasm.
“I know, those things are boring, but it is part of my job.”
“We each have our jobs. My is to go to presentations nobody else wants to go.”
“Sorry to hear that, but after the presentations you can talk to interesting people like for example me.” Joking and entertaining the audience was also part of Martin’s job.
“That is true. Talking to interesting people or having dinner with them. Are you alone?”
“Yes, and I will be delighted to join you.”
Martin sat down at her table, they introduced themselves and talked about their background. Her name was Chioma, she was from Nigeria, her dad was a rich Muslim businessman, she lived in New York and recently graduated from the Colombia Medical School. Now she was working for a company called Labcorp Drug Development doing clinical trials.
“That is impressive. I presume it was hard to get accepted to the Colombia Medical School and studying there must have been very expensive,” commented Martin.
“Yes, but my parents are rich, and my dad knows the right people.”
“You are lucky to have parents like that.”
“Sometimes I am not so sure. My dad wants me to get a degree from a prestigious university, marry a son of one of his business associates and be an ornament of his family.”
“But you don’t want that.”
“No, I don’t. I want to have my own life.”
The dinner was over, it was a pleasant, and before leaving they exchanged business cards. “To let you know if I have another boring presentation in New York,” commented Martin.

At home Martin couldn’t get Chioma out of his mind. He sent her emails and hoped for another trip to New York, but there were no more New York presentations. “I have no more trips to New York. Do you want to meet again?” he finally wrote her. “Yes,” she replied. They decided on a place halfway, Binghamton, about 3.5 hours’ drive for each of them. There wasn’t much to see in Binghamton, but they didn’t come for sightseeing, they wanted to see each other. “I want a separate room,” said Chioma when they met Friday evening at the lobby of the hotel. Martin was disappointed but understood. Chioma was from a Muslim family, and she had to obey the rules of her religion. In his country no such restrictions would apply. But still, Martin was happy to see her, and they had a nice weekend. More trips followed and at one of those Martin suggested: “What about having a holiday together. Would you like it?”
“Yes, I would but…”
“I know. You want separate rooms.”
“Yes.”
They reserved the time, Martin booked a hotel near his home and for the following two weeks they did what tourists in Toronto do: went to the top of CN Tower, visited museums and galleries, did a trip to Niagara Falls, and spent few days in Ottawa, the capital of Canada. On the last day of their holiday, after dinner at Chioma’s hotel, she invited Martin to her room. “Sit down and wait,” she said. Then she disappeared in the bathroom and in a few minutes re-emerged back in the room, naked. “You can have me,” she said. That was something Martin didn’t expect. He saw a beautiful young black female body, and not even knowing how, in the next moment he was holding her in his arms. “I was waiting for this for such a long time,” he whispered to her ear. They made love, it was the first time for Chioma, and Martin stayed with her overnight. Then, in the morning while having breakfast, Martin asked: “What about your marriage to a son of your dad’s business partner?”
“It will not happen. Muslim bride must be a virgin.”
Martin realised the enormous commitment Chioma made to him. In his country a night like that wouldn’t mean much, but for Chioma this night determined the rest of her life. It disqualified her from Muslim marriage and probably from the Muslim community. But it also put a lot of responsibility at him. Now he was the only person she had.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I know a man who wants to marry you. His name is Martin.”
She smiled at him. “But it wouldn’t be easy. Racism and religious prejudice exist everywhere.”

That was true, but first they had to decide where to live: in Canada or in the United States? Getting the US Green Card always have been difficult. Also, Martin was a citizen of Canada, therefore Chioma applied for the Express Entry to the Permanent Canadian Residency, for which she, with her degree from Colombia Medical School, was certainly qualified. The process normally takes about half a year and in the meantime, she was looking for a job in Toronto. Also, they continued with trips to Binghamton, only this timed they didn’t ask for two separate rooms. Then came the big day, Chioma got the Canadian Permanent Residence permit, she moved in with Martin and shortly after started her new job in one of the Toronto large, multinational biotechnology company.

So far everything went smoothly, but now came the hard part. How to announce they intention to marry to their families? Martin’s parents were good people, but interracial marriages were outside of the social norms of their country. It was considered improper. At Chioma’s side it was even worse, Koran prohibits Muslim women to marry a non-Muslim husband. But Martin and Chioma didn’t want to hide their desire to marry, there was nothing shameful in it. So, they wrote long letters to their parents, explaining the situation and offering to come for a visit to introduce their partners, but the suggestion was rejected. The reply they got was more or less the same for both of them:

Dear Martin / Chioma, We are happy to read about your intention to marry, but less happy about the choice of your partner. You know that in our country the interracial / interfaith/ marriage is considered inappropriate / prohibited by Koran/, and your visit would only cause an unwelcome attention. It would be better if you will discreetly, without any announcement, invite us to your wedding.
Yours lowing,
Mom and Dad.

“At least they are not threatening to disown us,” commented Martin.
“Yes, but it means we wouldn’t be able to visit them as a couple.”
“Not for a time being, but perhaps later things will settle down.”
Their wedding was a modest event, only the parents and some friends from work were invited. The big question was how the parents will accept the new members of their families, and how much tension there will be between the rich, black, upper-class Nigerians and the not so rich, middle-class, white east-Europeans. Fortunately, all went well. Martin was very respectful to Chioma’s father and mother, introduced Chioma to his parents, and the encounter between the new in-laws was polite, helped by the fact they couldn’t understand each other. Martin’s parents didn’t speak English.

After the wedding Chioma’s parents returned to Nigeria, her dad had business obligations there, but Martin’s mom and dad stayed for one more week. It was their first trip to Canada; they saw the typical Torontonian crowd, full of visible minorities, and realized that perhaps their son’s marriage wasn’t so strange after all. In Nigeria Chiomas father, who was used to deal with the western world, didn’t consider his daughter’s selection of husband scandalous. He was disappointed that his daughter wouldn’t be the ornament of the family but understood that by sending her to study in US, something like that had to be expected. He just didn’t want them to come for a visit and cause a disturbance within his business circles.

The problem for the newlywed didn’t come from their families, it came from Toronto’s hard-core Islamic radicals. The news that a daughter of a rich Nigerian Muslim married a white, non-Muslim man spread round, and Chioma started to get threatening letters: “Disobeying Koran is punishable by death!” said some. “You are a traitor!” said others. Chioma was terrified.
“They will cause us harm, perhaps they will kill me!” she cried.
“We must go to police,” insisted Martin.
The did go, showed them the letters, but it didn’t seem to make much of an impression. For the police this was nothing new. “We will investigate,” said a man in a uniform, but nothing happened, and the letters kept coming.
“We cannot leave it like that. We must do something,” demanded Chioma.
“What do you want us to do?”
“The only thing we can do is for you to convert to Islam.”
“Me convert to Islam? To believe in Allah, to pray five times a day and to observe Ramadan?”
“Of cause not. It will be only a formal conversion; we will have a Muslim wedding in a mosque and hopefully that will be sufficient. This is the only way I can see how to stop the threats.”
Martin knew that Chioma was right. It was the time to accept the unacceptable.
“O.K., but you organize it.”
Chioma contacted the Toronto Islamic Center and explained that her husband wants to convert to Islam, and they want to have an Islamic wedding. It turned out the conversion to Islam is a simple procedure, all it requires is saying one sentence in Arabic: "I bear witness that there is no true God except Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the final messenger of God." Chioma set up the meeting in a mosque, the Imam taught Martin how to say the sentence, then he read something from Koran, Martin and Chioma exchanged their marriage vows in front of the people in the mosque, and that was it. She then asked the head of the Toronto Islamic Center to make sure that Martin’s conversion and their Islamic weeding is well publicised, but it didn’t stop the threats. “You are a traitor,” was the new intimidation. Chioma didn’t know what to do. “Maybe I will have to return to Nigeria,” she was thinking sadly.
“You father is rich, and money can buy everything. Write him a letter, he might help us.”
This was the only option left to them. Chioma wrote about Martin’s conversion to Islam, about their wedding in the mosque of the Toronto Islamic Centre and included the threatening letters. Her father read it for a long time and knew that money can buy everything. He sent all what Chioma wrote to the head of the Toronto Islamic centre with a comment that he is prepared to give him a substantial donation if they leave his daughter alone. “Money can buy everything including me,” thought the head of the Islamic centre and sent Chioma’s letter, including the names and addresses of the people who were threatening her, to the Toronto police. There was a court case, Martin and Chioma were called as witness and those culpable were deported from Canada.

The life settled to a normal routine of a working couple: work, shopping, home improvements, making love. Then came children and they were, like most interracial children, very cute. The grandparents loved them and despite the great distance, visited them as much as they could. Time was flying, children grew, became adults, had their own families, and Martin and Chioma retired from work. Now they had more time for themselves, and my story ends the same as it started. They were lying in bed, Martin was holding Chioma in his arms, pressing her body against his chest, kissing her neck. It was a good beginning of a new day.