Saskatoon Social Services
"She helps Somali newcomers settle in Saskatoon—a thick ebony widow who knows every resource. When he relocates from Toronto, she becomes his guide. Some guidance leads to unexpected destinations."
Settling in Saskatchewan takes help.
Jamila provides it. For twelve years, she's been the first face Somali newcomers see in Saskatoon—helping them find housing, jobs, community.
I relocate from Toronto for work.
"Saskatchewan is different." She reviews my file. Fifty-two years old. Two hundred and forty pounds of prairie wisdom. Ebony skin, warm smile, the efficiency of someone who's helped hundreds. "Colder. Quieter. Lonelier."
"You're selling it well."
"I'm being honest." She hands me resource packets. "But it has its beauty. You'll see."
She helps me with everything.
Housing applications, driver's license transfer, all the paperwork of starting over. She treats me like family.
"Why do you care so much?" I ask one day.
"Because I was you once." She files my documents. "Came from Toronto in 2012. Didn't know anyone. Someone helped me. Now I help others."
"That's beautiful."
"That's obligation. We lift as we climb."
Saskatoon grows on me.
The wide skies. The sense of space. The community that's small but tight.
And Jamila. Always Jamila.
"You've been here three months," she says. "How are you settling?"
"Better than expected."
"The prairies surprise people." She smiles. "We grow on you."
"You've grown on me."
The smile falters.
"My husband brought me here."
We're at a river outlook. She wanted to show me her favorite spot.
"He loved the prairies. Said they reminded him of Somalia—flat, open, endless sky." She watches the water. "He died in 2017. Heart attack."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He gave me seven good years in a place I never would have chosen." She turns to me. "Sometimes the unexpected paths are the best ones."
"Is this an unexpected path?"
"This?" She gestures between us. "This is the most unexpected of all."
"Come to my house."
It's winter. Saskatoon is buried in snow.
"I want to show you how we survive the cold."
I follow her into warmth.
Her house is cozy.
Prairie comfort—quilts, fireplaces, the warmth of someone who's made peace with isolation.
"Seven years since he died," she says. "Seven years of surviving winters alone."
"You don't have to be alone."
"In Saskatoon, everyone is alone." She looks at me. "Unless they choose not to be."
"I choose you."
I worship the settlement worker.
In her prairie home while winter howls outside. Her body is warmth—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.
"Seven years—" She gasps as I undress her. "So cold—"
"Tonight we're warm."
I lay her by the fireplace.
Where she's spent so many nights alone. Her body glows in the firelight.
I spread her thick thighs.
Provide warmth.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—seven years of prairie isolation breaking. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"
I warm her until she thaws. Three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—settle inside me—"
I strip. She watches with those winter eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Built for the cold."
I push inside the settlement worker.
She screams.
"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I settle deep inside her.
Her massive body shakes by the fire. She comes twice more.
"Ku shub—" She's begging. "Complete my settlement—"
I release inside her.
We lie by the dying fire.
"Winter isn't so bad," I murmur.
"Not anymore." She curls against me. "Macaan."
One Year Later
I've settled in Saskatoon.
And settled with Jamila.
"The prairies surprise people," she moans as I fill her. "Best surprise of my life."
The settlement worker who helps everyone.
The woman I'm home with.
Prairie love.