Welcome to This Thing Called Love, where Black Love shines in all its raw, real, and unforgettable glory. Each week, we share deeply personal stories of heartbreak, joy, and the lessons learned from relationships that shape who we are and who we become.
Today: A laidback Catholic babe falls for a semi-staunch Muslim who turned out to be the biggest mistake she ever made.
Have a love story worth sharing? Email us at emilycottontop@gmail.com or tessnimo3@gmail.com, and we’ll feature it on This Thing Called Love every Friday. Because your love story deserves the spotlight, don’t you think?
Now, let’s get into it, shall we?
P.S. Names in this story have been changed to respect privacy.
I met Ali a week after my 29th birthday. I’d gone home to visit my best friend, who had just given birth to her beautiful baby girl. Since she didn’t have a nanny, I decided to treat myself to a quiet dinner at our favorite restaurant and maybe follow it up with a drink or two at our local spot.
It was a Thursday night, so DT (our local spot) was pretty empty. Luckily for me, a few of my homies showed up, and before I knew it, my “one or two drinks” turned into four beers, ten tequila shots, and a couple of Jager bombs. What can I say? It escalated fast.
Across the table sat this calm guy sipping soda and chewing miraa (also known as khat, a flowering evergreen shrub that is abused for its stimulant-like effect). At that point, I disliked Miraa chewers. To me, they always looked like goat-chewing cud.
But after three years of being painfully single and lonely, I guess it wasn’t a big deal anymore. I was ready to date, and since “dating my type” clearly hadn’t worked, I figured giving “the not my types” a chance wasn’t such a bad idea. Every other podcaster and love guru says it might be the first step to marriage, so why not try it?
I’m a very old-fashioned babe, so I didn’t make the first move, but given how much this guy was staring, I figured he liked what he saw, and he did.
We chatted briefly, then drove to another club where we partied till sunrise. I was drunk at this point, and when I’m drunk, I’m very suggestible, so when he said we should continue the party somewhere else, I “hell yessed very quickly,” and off we drove in search of an Airbnb.
While at the Bnb, Ali confessed that we had met three years earlier and that he’d always had a crush on me but never approached me because I always seemed preoccupied. I laughed it off, apologized for not remembering him, and quickly changed the subject to, “So, what do you do?”
It was important for me to know what he does because Somalis in our country always seem to have money, but no one ever knows what they really do for a living. Ali told me he was a civil engineer but was currently working freelance.
He said he had previously done medicine (which takes about six years in school) but had quit because “medicine wasn’t challenging him enough,” so he opted to shift to engineering (which takes five years to complete) because he felt that it was his calling.
He shared that he was a seasoned traveler with dual citizenship in Kenya and South Africa, which excited me because South Africa (Cape Town especially) has always been my dream destination.
He also opened up about having a child who was currently living with his mum. The child’s mum had allegedly given up her parental rights and relocated to Australia with another man, who happened to be Ali’s best friend.
He said his ex-wife always seemed more interested in “applying makeup” and indulging in “extravagant shopping” than caring for their child.
He recalled one morning when he left for work, only to return hours later to find her lounging without a care in the world while their baby suffered from a severe diaper rash. The poor child hadn’t been fed or changed all day. That moment, he said, was the final straw. He filed for divorce and took his child to live with his mother.
Ali painted himself as a responsible, wronged man who had stepped up when no one else would, and that really moved me. His vulnerability was refreshing, and I couldn’t understand how someone so open and seemingly kind was still single.
Yes, he was Muslim, and yes, he was short and chewed miraa, but isn’t a man’s character defined by his level of responsibility, vulnerability, and accountability? That’s what I told myself.
We spent the night, exchanged numbers the following morning, and off I went to my best friend’s place.
A week later, I was back in my house and still hadn’t heard a word from him. Disappointment settled in, and I was frustrated with myself for even caring. But there was no way I was going to call him. I’d rather be caught dead than make the first move. Besides, he’d have reached out by now if he were interested.
But just as I was about to write him off, he finally called. He apologized profusely for disappearing and explained that his phone had been stolen. It had purportedly taken him days of asking around to get my number.
Being the understanding person I am, I told him it was okay. From there, we started talking, learning more about each other (you know how the talking stage goes), and by December 2023, we were in a full-blown relationship.
He was busy throughout the holiday season, so we hardly spent time together. And since Muslims don’t celebrate Christmas, I completely understood and didn’t take it personally. He was in Nairobi, handling his business, and as far as I knew, we were all good.
That was until New Year’s Eve – December 31st, 2023.
By then, my best friend Lauren had found a nanny, and her cousin Bon Bon, also a good friend, was home for the holidays. We made plans to ring in the New Year together.
The original idea was to have a cozy night at Lauren’s house, sip some drinks, and watch the fireworks from her balcony. But after a chat with some medic friends, we decided to take the party outside.
I didn’t update Ali about the change in plans. As far as he knew, we were at Lauren’s house.
Around 11 p.m., he called to ask how the party was going. When I told him we’d switched locations and were now at the medics’ house, he completely lost it.
For what felt like an hour, he scolded me over the phone. He called me inconsiderate for changing plans without informing him, accused me of having “relations” with the medics, and told me that wasn’t how “proper” women behaved.
I was stunned, but I managed to calm him down. I explained that the change in plans was impromptu and reminded him that I was allowed to make last-minute decisions (a statement that would come back to haunt me). Eventually, he saw the light—or at least pretended to—and let it go.
I then informed him we were heading to DT (our local spot) to keep the celebration going and promised to let him know when we got back to Lauren’s house.
I hate conflict, so I was willing to play nice and do as he asked. He was 35, after all—clearly more responsible and mature than I was—so I figured a little tough love and “straightening up” wouldn’t hurt me.
He said it was fine and calmly reminded me to update him once we got back to Lauren’s place. Crisis averted, or so I thought.
Shortly after, we arrived at DT, found a spot to sit, and just as we were about to order drinks, Ali appeared. Out. Of. Nowhere.
Was I hallucinating? No. Was I dating a magician? Probably (though I clearly didn’t get the memo) because there he was, standing in front of me in the brightest red jacket I’d ever seen, just staring.
All this time, I was certain he was in Nairobi (which is a good four-to-five-hour drive from our hometown). So, unless he hopped on a helicopter or pulled a Houdini in the last hour, I couldn’t fathom how he was suddenly at DT.
But then again, Ali always had a way of explaining things away or gaslighting his way out of situations. He claimed he’d texted me about driving back and suggested that I probably hadn’t seen it yet or that the message hadn’t gone through.
It was New Year’s, and I wasn’t about to start 2024 angry or spiraling into overthinking. So, I shrugged it off, playfully teased him about being Houdini’s long-lost in-law, and decided to let loose. The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, drinking, and soaking in the joy of the moment – exactly how a New Year’s celebration should be.
For the next few weeks, everything was perfect. We were completely in sync, more in love than ever, and I couldn’t have been happier. I felt content and deeply grateful to the universe for sending me someone who wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable and honest with me. Ali was everything my dad wasn’t, and that one fact alone made me love him even more.
Then, my best friend’s aunt passed away. This was still in January, FYI. I quickly rushed home to be there for Lauren and her family, helping with whatever was needed.
The night before the burial, Ali Face Timed me, and we made plans to see each other on Sunday once everything calmed down. It seemed like the perfect plan.
The next day, we went to the burial, supported my bestie through the emotional day, and mingled with friends and family, as you do at a burial. At one point, Ali called to check in and asked about my plans. I told him we were all heading to our local spot afterward, which he seemed cool with.
So, after the burial, Lauren, her cousins, our other friend Charlotte, and I headed to DT to honor her aunt’s memory. Thirty minutes in, Ali showed up. He asked to talk to me for a minute, so I stepped aside. But no sooner had I moved than he started yelling, demanding to know if I thought he was stupid.
“We made plans to see each other, right?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“Yes, we did. But today is Saturday. We made plans for Sunday,” I answered calmly.
“Sussy, do you take me for a fool? We said we’d meet today after the burial, and now you’re changing the plans because your friends suggested you drink. So, your friends matter more than I do, right?” Ali’s voice was getting louder with each word.
“We said Sunday,” I repeated, trying to remain calm. “I recorded the conversation, so I know we agreed on Sunday. And this isn’t the right time to discuss it. I came home for my bestie and promised to be here for her.”
“Okay, so I don’t matter to you. Lauren will be the one to marry you, right? Neither of your friends has a man, but they come first, no matter what, right?” Ali continued his words cutting through the air.
At that point, I’d had enough. I started walking away, thinking the argument was over.
Makosa…Big mistake.
Ali followed me back to where we were sitting, and because he knew I hated causing a scene, he asked me to step aside again. This time, the yelling continued without a pause.
“Now you’re walking away from me? You’re so disrespectful! I’m talking to you, and you just walk away? Were you never taught how to respect a man? That’s the highest form of disrespect! All because of your friends? And who are those men?”
The yelling went on for an eternity, each word slicing deeper than the last. And I just stood there, like a log, paralyzed and dumbfounded, as he tore me down piece by piece. He made me feel so small, like I was the problem like I was the one in the wrong. And every time I tried to explain, he shouted louder, drowning me out, refusing to see his faults.
Charlotte and Bon Bon finally had enough and stepped in to rescue me. I told them what was happening, and they couldn’t understand why I was letting him treat me this way. Their eyes said it all—girl, get a grip! He’s not worth it. They saw right through him, and they couldn’t believe I was settling for this.
But I was so desperate for someone to love me, for someone to be there, that I couldn’t just let him go. And just when I thought I could breathe again, Ali came back, aggressively grabbed me by the neck in front of the whole club, dragged me outside, and continued yelling.
It took everyone at the table, and I mean literally everyone, to pull me away from him and drag me to the car.
We drove off, heading to another club, but the whole time, my friends kept telling me to cut things off with him. They said he was abusive, and if I stayed, things were only going to escalate.
I knew that and was ready to walk away, but like the devil himself, Ali showed up, begging me to stay. And, despite everything, I stayed.
And that’s when the real clownery began.
@malikathag????.♬ original sound – Pretty Dior
Stay tuned for Part 2…
