Excerpts from “Diary of a Lost Girl”:

AMAZON: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1592320120/ref=nosim/aalbccom-20

CHAPTER 9--"The Devil's Pass Key"

(page 173)

My life, literally, became locked away from me and only Osama possessed the key. He installed me in one of the most beautiful and prestigious getaways in all of North Africa--the famed La Maison Arabe of Medina--the breathtaking walled city of the ancient ruins of Marrakech. It’s actually a Moorish estate (a bed and breakfast back then) hidden at the end of a secret road that leads into the central abdomen of the Medina’s fortess. I cannot describe it to you other than to say that I have never lived anywhere more heartstoppingly grand and that one must see it to believe it (*Boof does go on to describe it in much detail later on). It is guaranteed to take your breath away.

      On moving in, I was told that Winston Churchill had once occupied the room that I was to live in and that other people like Princess Diana, Mick Jagger, Anwar Sadat and Denmark’s Queen Ingrid had either dined or slept on the premises or both.

      Osama and I lived there at the same time that Prince Fabrizio Ruspoli was renovating and upgrading the place into the more Hotel-like property that it has become today. I think his partner was a man named Philippe Kluzelle and I remember them to be completely wonderful, friendly people--totally welcoming and a teensy bit curious about who I was, because I had arrived without Osama and lived there quite a few days by myself (a kitchen worker thought that I must be Whoopi Goldberg, while another said Naomi Campbell). Still, no one asked me any questions--and when Osama finally arrived, no one asked him any embarrassing questions either.

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      On Fridays, Osama, his gang and I (about ten of us) would go to some mountainous or forested location and hunt for quail, snipe, teal duck and wild boar, sometimes camping out, or--whenever we went deep sea fishing, which was something Osama and I were both pros at, we’d stay at the Doumss hotel in Dakhla, and Osama would eat at the Samarkand Restaurant and just stare out at the ocean for hours and hours. Dakhla is near a military base and most of the women in that town are prostitutes--they sit painted in the windows and even in that Muslim country, everyone knew and accepted that it was a prostitute town--so Osama’s men would forage the local women and have a good time. But it was the hunting that Somi loved best, and he loved to be in the midst of old oaks, or him and his men making tea by camp fire and praying out in the open under the blue blue skies before going out to bag snipe (a kind of water bird) along the “oueds” (rivers)--and snipe was Osama’s favorite, because he said he loved the challenge they gave even the best hunter.

      Osama very rarely ever ate meat--but after I literally conquered his men with my delicious snipe recipe, he’d have a little of that. My secret was one that Mommysweet had taught me as a little girl--using the cheese from water buffalo milk (if you can get it) in place of cow or goat’s milk cheese. They all taste different, the goat’s milk being the sweetest, but the water buffalo cheese is the best for cooking, because it traps in the flavors. So I’d take the birds (they look like killdeer only they have an orange spot cover on the back) and I’d get them all plucked and greased with palm oil (stuffing them with chopped onion, garlic, a few salted pond rocks and couscous) and then wrap them in very thin shards of Robiola cheese (made from the Water Buffalo milk), thin slices of Prosciutto and cabbage leaves, all tied up with string. Of course, you season your layers to taste. But it was with that recipe that Bin Laden’s men warmed up to me a little. They just adored my cabbage baked cheese snipe with sugar-water porridge.

      It got to where I really looked forward to my Friday hunting trips with Osama and the men. That part was fun.

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(page 189)

      The abuse by Osama, however, started long before Isam arrived. Osama’s hand would be resting in my hair, his eyes glued to the pages of his Mohammed Quttub books wile I read Galway Kinnell. And we would be laying there in bed and out of the blue he’d say, “African girls are good for a man’s lower pleasures, but what need have you of a womb? Does your race really want hair like this?”

      And, of course, I would feel so insulted--not just to the heart, but to the soul.

      “I like my hair”, I usually responded. And then I’d go back to reading Galway Kinnell’s bone white stanzas--only I wouldn’t be able to make out the words for the tears standing in my eyes.

      Other times he would humiliate me by making me get up and dance naked. It was such a strange thing, because for the most part, Osama believed that music was evil and I remember how angry he’d get if any guest at the estate played music (Isam, for instance, did enjoy music)--Osama would cover up his ears and not uncover them until he got the managers to have the “poison” silenced. But then he’d become this other guy who wanted to hear Van Halen or some B-52’s. To this day, I hear the song “Rock Lobster” in my sleep. I would be jerking around like a white girl (because, he would instruct me, “dance like a caucasoid girl!”) and his eyes would track my jiggling tits from one side of the room to the terrace to the other side. Constantly telling me not to turn around , because in his opinion, “Your ass is too big--show me the front.”

      Osama had no preference between being either vicious or tender, you understand. These were like the two sides of his face and by a mere wrong step you could find yourself facing either cheek at any moment.

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(page 201)

--and don’t forget his quasi-feminist mother who’d bore only one child and refused to wear a burka...all this to say, that truly at heart, Osama Bin laden was a “deeply religious” hopeless romantic, a dreamer and a fanatic, a person emotionally out of control but intellectually unwavering in his committment to his political and social “obligations”; his beliefs.

            Anyway, I had to think of a way to escape, because once Isam Turabi arrived--there would be no mercy on my past. Osama would find himself in an embarrassing situation and would likely take it out on me--with violence.

      I decided that I would wait for a moment to come when he was tender and calm, and then I would dramatically throw myself at his mercy. I would even present him with switches with which to whip me--because Osama didn’t know how to whip with switches--so that was better than his fists or sticks.

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Chapter 10--“Be and Be Not Afraid”

            Meanwhile--the U.S. government suspected me of being a terrorist and under the Patriot Act, I could lose my citizenship and be deported. I had no choice, you see, but to reveal to the U.S. inspectors that I had been Osama’s mistress against my will and that my loyalty and my love lay completely with the United States (which it does). Luckily, to back me up on that fact was the word of Prince Fabrizio Ruspoli, the owner of La Maison Arabe (where Osama had kept me, but is now a hotel resort), and it was Prince Ruspoli, I am told, who told the State Department guy that I was not happy to be at the estate, that I appeared to be a “sexual servant” and that I had been clearly afraid for my life and clearly fearful of Osama Bin Laden. So as you can see--I was an African mother trying to protect her children by protecting my citizenship, but things would get much worse.

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      Once I admitted to the media that I had been Osama’s mistress, the media discovered that I was a black woman, and worse--one who looks black. They thought first of presenting me as a bimbo--like the type Bill Maher routinely dates, and that tabloid image would have come and went, but my activism and literary works ruled that out. Media attention would only lead Americans to my body of work and my outspoken beliefs on race, sex and religion, thus forcing them to seriously “affirm” an African Goddess Image in a society where only mixed light-brite “imitation black women” are allowed to be portrayed as having “cosmopolitan” life experiences or being “desirable fodder” for rich men. I was not the right image, you see. It was constantly said that I wasn’t “pretty” enough, and in my novels, I was openly attacking White Supremacist culture and was just as “weird” as Osama himself, so they immediately began to do two things--(1) discredit and dispute my story and (2) not report my story; make me invisible.

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(page 236)

In October 2002, a reporter from The New York Times contacted me to say that Gerald Boyd, the “Senior Editor” of the newspaper (a black man), felt that Kola Boof was unfairly prejudiced against Muslims and Arabs and that she needed to be “confronted” (*these were his exact words). I told the reporter to tell Gerald Boyd to “kiss my black ass”, and I declined to be interviewed by the paper--but then a week later, Julie Salamon, a regular features writer for the TIMES called to say that she had been commissioned to write a feature article about me whether I cooperated or not. I spoke with Ms. Salamon in snippets on the phone, very little, for about four weeks. It was my hope that if I answered their questions and presented my case, politically, they would write a fair and balanced story rather than the “confrontational” attack that I felt was being hinted at by the Boyd aid. But when the feature article ran on Dec. 11th, 2002, it was filled with the most shocking lies and distortions about my character--for instance, I am only quoted one time in the entire article saying:  “I can’t deny that I’m a conniving person.” Which is something I would never be stupid enough to say about myself in an interview, but of course, because it’s The New York Times, people still believe that I actually said that. Then as well, the newspaper claimed that they weren’t sure that I was a real person (despite the fact that I’d done a 90 minute photo shoot with them the day before the article ran). They didn’t use a single shot from our photo session, but instead took a movie still from one of my old Arabic films and “darkened it” and used that as the lead picture--with a childhood photograph of me they got from Unicef on page 3 of the article.

      Along with these deceitful things, they misquoted Deng Ajak, my SPLA commander in London and reported that they had interviewed the terrorists Hasan al-Turabi, Gamal Ibrahim and Sheik Omar Bakri and that these men had claimed that there was no fatwa issued against me and that none of them had threatened my life.

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(page 245)

      FOX NEWS came after me next.

      And I say “came after me”, because that’s exactly what it was--they wanted to discredit my story and dispel the notion that I was some female Amiri Baraka espousing Conservative Republican views on the issue of Arab Muslim extremism--when what I really represented to FOX NEWS and the rest of the “conservative media” was yet another uppity black woman writer, promoting abortion, attacking christianity, and telling Black Americans to eschew assimilation and get “blacker”.

      Anyone who has actually watched the interview that FOX NEWS did with me remembers two things--(a) just like the New York Times, they “darkened” my image on t.v. and had me sit at a very strange angle that was unflattering--and (b) they kicked me off the show before my interview was even finished.

      So for all those Democratic Kola haters in the liberal media who claimed that FOX NEWS liked Kola Boof and wanted to confirm her story--that’s camel shit.

      I was treated horribly by FOX NEWS.

      For two weeks...two weeks...FOX NEWS assigned more than 25 “fact checkers” in North Africa, London and Spain to investigate my story (and of course, by then, an April 9th report on the floor of the United Nations had confirmed that the Sudanese government had put a fatwa on my head--so that much they knew), but many other details...such as my relationship with Osama Bin Laden and other essentials, they were determined to discredit and make look like some “deep dark scary” militant jigaboo woman (view the tape online).

      “This is going to be worse than the New York Times”, my handlers worried, and so I insisted that FOX NEWS allow me to appear in their national news “Special Feature” about Kola Boof--to refute whatever claims they raised and to defend myself.

      The U.S. government had removed all public records of my adoption and my 1993 citizenship declaration, so I was forced to show them my passport to prove that I was Naima Bint Harith.

      If you watch the show, you can see how terribly nervous I was (because I had come in fully expecting a fight)...but to my shock...FOX NEWS had been able to confirm just about every aspect of my recent life--the fatwa and the affair with Osama Bin Laden (again, Prince Fabrizzio Ruspoli confirmed that I had lived with Osama and a cook at the estate also confirmed it, although her life was threatened afterwards). At last, my experiences had been validated, and no matter how rude I was treated by FOX NEWS (as I said, they kicked me off the show right after announcing that they had confirmed my story), and no matter how conservative and right-wing their network is, I will always be grateful that they took the time, spent the money, and by accident--ended up proving that my story is true and that...I do exist.

      I am Kola Boof.

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