Copenhagen Social Worker
"She helps Somali refugees adjust to Danish life—a thick ebony widow who fights xenophobia daily. When he needs help with integration, she offers extra support. Some support is very personal."
Nørrebro is Copenhagen's immigrant heart.
Fatima works there—helping Somali refugees navigate Danish culture, language, and increasingly hostile politics.
I arrive with nothing but hope.
"Soo dhawow." She's tired but kind. Fifty-four years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of advocacy. Ebony skin, practical Danish layers, the exhaustion of swimming upstream. "Let me help you."
She helps me find housing, register for language classes, understand a country that doesn't always welcome people who look like us.
"You're working too hard," I tell her after months of watching.
"Someone has to." She files another form. "The government makes it difficult. I make it possible."
"But you're burning out."
"I've been burning out for fifteen years." She looks at me. "That's just the temperature of this work."
"My husband was Danish."
We're at a cafe in Nørrebro. Her rare break.
"He believed in integration. Real integration—respect going both ways." She stirs her coffee. "He died eight years ago. The country has changed since. Harder. Colder."
"Why do you stay?"
"Because running away doesn't help the next person who arrives scared and alone." She meets my eyes. "Because someone helped me once. And I'll keep helping until I can't."
"You're remarkable," I tell her.
"I'm stubborn."
"Same thing."
She almost smiles. First time I've seen it.
"Come to my apartment. I want to show you something."
Her apartment is Danish design meets Somali soul.
"This is what integration looks like," she says. "Both cultures. Neither denied."
"It's beautiful."
"It's lonely." She turns to me. "Eight years of building bridges. Coming home to silence."
"Let me fill the silence."
I worship the social worker.
In her integrated apartment while Copenhagen sleeps. Her body is the bridge—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.
"Eight years—" She gasps as I undress her. "Helping everyone—"
"Tonight I help you."
I lay her on her Danish bed.
Where she's slept alone for years. Her body deserves integration too.
I spread her thick thighs.
Join her cultures.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—eight years of advocacy finally receiving. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—stop ikke—"
I advocate for her pleasure until she's satisfied. Three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—integrate yourself—"
I strip. She watches with those tired, hopeful eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Full integration."
I push inside the social worker.
She screams.
"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I integrate completely.
Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.
"Fill me—fyld mig—"
I complete the integration inside her.
We lie in her apartment.
"Denmark is cold," she murmurs.
"Not tonight."
"Nej." She smiles. "Not tonight."
One Year Later
I'm a Danish resident now.
And Fatima's apartment is my home.
"Macaan," she moans. "Min bedste sag—my best case."
The social worker who helps everyone.
The woman I helped remember warmth.
Fully integrated.