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Many girls were orphaned when their parents died in the disaster, and were left to fend for themselves, often having sex with men in order to secure a place in a tent or under a tarp. The problem was exacerbated when organizations stopped distributing food in the camps. Cheat Sheet A speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know and nothing you don't. You are now subscribed to the Daily Digest and Cheat Sheet. We will not share your email with anyone for any reason. Madeleine had no vocational skills, and so when some girls from the camp told her she could make money as they did, working as a prostitute, she went with them.

She says she was so ashamed Girls to fuck in cap-haitien she could not go back the following evening. Eramithe Delva, one of the co-founders of KOFAVIV, a Haitian grassroots organization founded by and for rape survivors, says that of the 35 girl prostitutes the organization has been working with since the earthquake, 19 have become pregnant. Imogene was apathetic, awkwardly holding the baby as if she was not quite sure what to do with him. Delva says that sometimes the babies die, because their mothers are too young to know how to properly care for them. KOFAVIV has been offering training for the girls—sewing, jewelry and pottery making—to try to give them another way to support themselves.

She had been living with her aunt and stepmother before the earthquake, however, they were killed when the house crumbled. A few weeks after the earthquake, Jeanne was sitting outside her collapsed house, begging for money for food. Her plan was to continue until she could save enough to return to school, but two days ago, a doctor came to KOFAVIV with results from a recent check up and informed Jeanne that she is pregnant. Even with the training she has received from KOFAVIV, she is not sure how she is going to care for a baby when she can barely support herself. I always had in my head I could have gone to a professional school and I could have learned something to make money, but now look what happened.

Madeleine has been raped and beaten several times, and sometimes, after the men have sex with her, they refuse to pay. Then she returns to the tent, where she sleeps in a cramped corner on a dirty blanket on the floor with her brother. I cannot buy rice, but I prepare spaghetti, something that is very easy and cheap. She jokes, laughing raucously with neighbors, and stands in the doorway to the tent painting her nails a deep brown. She does this every week, she says, because it makes her feel pretty. But as she stares at her hand, waiting for her nails to dry, she becomes wistful.

Standing five-foot-eleven, with dark brown skin, long Black hair which I almost always tuck away under my Hijab and light brown eyes, I am as Somali as they come. Down to the curvy body and the, ahem, forehead. I don't always wear traditional clothing. I am just as comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans as I am in traditional Islamic feminine attire. I am only me. I consider myself as Canadian as Prime Minister Stephen Harper himself, the haters and xenophobes who disagree be damned. I am a proud Muslim, a Canadian citizen, and an feminist. You can kiss my shapely Somali derriere! I swear, in Canada, with the rise of passive-aggressive racism and systemic discrimination disguised as nationalism especially in the Conservative Partyvisible minorities like myself feel under attack.

The Islamic community is the single most hated and embattled of all recent immigrant groups across the vastness of Canada. The federal government hates us with a passion. A lot of White Canadians have no understanding of Islam, and the Conservative Party is using that to stoke their fears. It's like Canada is slowly being divided into two different halves. In small-town Canada, things haven't changed in centuries. It's backwoods White people, with their guns and their xenophobia, terrified of anyone who doesn't look like them. There are so many misconceptions about Islam and women's rights, seriously.

The world at large thinks that Muslim women are little more than slaves for Muslim men. Doesn't work that way.

If you want to find sexist pigs and brutal men who abuse women, you will find them in every race, every faith and every country. You don't think that in the lily-White realm of Western Europe, even as you read these lines, some Cap-haltien guy is beating on a White woman? You can bet against it I'm currently studying social work at Carleton University because I want to help newcomers to Ontario, Canada, many of whom face a tough time in their first ccap-haitien months in this country. I remember what it was like for my parents and I in Canada during these tough early days. If you forget where you come from, you Gifls know who you really are if you ask fuc.

Today, I'm a university student, and a working professional in the capital but I shall fuco forget my humble beginnings in Somalia. I work at a call center in the east end of Girls to fuck in cap-haitien. I'm the person on the other line when you call about your Mastercard or Visa, and I try my best to help you out. The job pays seventeen dollars an hour, I work in a cubicle, and I dress professionally. Considering how tough the job market is out there, I might stick around the call center after I get my bachelor's degree in social work from Carleton University next year. I've seen recent university graduates, mostly minority but some of them White, working at Starbucks even though they have bachelor's degrees and MBAs from Canadian colleges and universities.

Well, life isn't fair. I got hired by the call center because I'm good with numbers and I speak English and French fluently. While working at the call center, I met a woman whom I simply cannot get out of my head. Joanne Magloire, a six-foot-tall, sinfully sexy Haitian cutie with light brown skin, long, neatly braided Black hair and sharp features. Educated at Concordia University, trained as an accountant, Joanne got hired by the call center last year and quickly rose within the ranks. I joined three months before Joanne did, and this bitch is my manager.

A lot of people I know think that only White people can be abusive, uptight managers. Well, I'm a minority and a woman working in a corporate environment and my supervisor, Joanne Magloire, is a Black woman and a total bitch. No, we don't get along. I can't stand the bitch. Honestly, a lot of the women working on the seventh floor, the dreaded Marketing Department, can't stand Joanne. Well, I used to be one of them. Alright, I've got to stop beating around the bush at this point. I, Faduma Ismail of Somalia, am a lesbian. Yes, Muslim lesbians exist. Hijab-wearing women who love other women do exist. I go to bars sometimes. Not too often, though.

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The lesbian nightclub scene in Ottawa is kind of dull. White lesbians and White gay men are just as racist as straight White people, if not more so. I avoid the lesbian clubs because there's always some annoying queer White chick who asks me really crude questions, and not in a fun way. Nope, I haven't had much luck with the ladies here in Ottawa. I went to the bar that night, not expecting much. I ran into Joanne Magloire, the bitch from work.

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