Regina Community Center
"She runs the Somali community center in Regina—a thick ebony widow who unites a scattered diaspora. When he volunteers for her programs, she puts him to work. Some work is done in private."
The Somali Community Center of Regina serves two hundred families.
Muna built it from nothing—grants, donations, sheer willpower. It's the heart of a diaspora that's still finding its feet in the prairies.
I show up to volunteer.
"What can you do?" She looks me over skeptically. Fifty-four years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of community leadership. Ebony skin, practical clothes, the exhaustion of someone who does everything.
"Whatever you need."
"Ilaahay—famous last words." She hands me a mop. "The bathroom needs cleaning. Start there."
I clean. Then I teach English. Then I fix a broken computer. Then I drive elders to appointments.
"You're still here," she says after a month.
"You said 'whatever you need.'"
"Most volunteers last a week." She studies me. "Why are you different?"
"Because this place matters." I set down my tools. "And because you matter."
"Waas." But her eyes soften.
"My husband and I dreamed of this center."
We're closing up after a late event. The building is empty except for us.
"He died before we opened. Cancer. Fast and cruel." She straightens chairs. "I built it anyway. His memorial."
"It's a beautiful memorial."
"It's exhausting." She sits heavily. "Fourteen years of giving everything. The community takes and takes. Nothing left for me."
"You deserve something for yourself."
"Deserving and getting are different things."
"Come to my office."
It's late. The center is dark except for her window.
"I need to tell you something," she says.
"What?"
"That I've noticed you. Your dedication. Your kindness. The way you look at me when you think I don't see."
"You see everything."
"I see loneliness." Her voice cracks. "In you. In me. Maybe we can be lonely together."
"That's not lonely. That's connection."
I worship the community leader.
In her office that serves hundreds. Her body is the community—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly full of giving.
"Fourteen years—" She gasps as I undress her. "I've given everything—"
"Tonight someone gives to you."
I lay her on her office couch.
Where families have cried for help. Where she's solved a thousand problems. Her body deserves solutions too.
I spread her thick thighs.
Serve her.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—fourteen years of self-sacrifice breaking. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"
I give until she's overflowing. Three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—fill my emptiness—"
I strip. She watches with those tired, hopeful eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Community service."
I push inside the community leader.
She cries out.
"So full—" Her arms wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I fill what's been empty.
Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.
"Ku shub—" She's crying. "Complete me—"
I release inside her.
We lie in her office.
"The center opens in six hours," she murmurs.
"I'll help."
"You always help."
"I always will."
One Year Later
The Somali Community Center of Regina is thriving.
And so is Muna.
"Macaan," she moans. "My best volunteer."
The community leader who gives everything.
The woman who finally received.
Together we serve.