From Winnipeg With Love

Greetings, folks. My name is Algoma "Allie" Witashnah and I'm a young Aboriginal woman living in the City of Winnipeg, Manitoba. My father, George is Aboriginal, originally from the Sioux band, and my mother, Beatrice Kensington, is originally from Berkshire, England, but moved to Canada in the 1980s. I am the daughter of two worlds, but fiercely and proudly Canadian. These days, I'm a criminal justice student at the University of Winnipeg, and man have I got a story to share with you today.

Winnipeg, the town of my birth, is a place at a crossroads. It has the largest population of Native folks out of any city in Canada. Close to twenty percent of all Winnipeggers have some type of Aboriginal, Metis or First Nations ancestry. And our numbers can only rise. Relations between European Canadians and Aboriginals in Winnipeg have been tense at times. Trust me, as the daughter of an interracial couple, I would know.

My father George Witashnah is a stocky, dark-haired and bronze-skinned, proud Aboriginal man. Contrarily to what you might have heard about Native men, my Pops is a strong, intelligent and proud man. He studied at the University of Manitoba, earned his Law degree and started one of the first Aboriginal law firms in Winnipeg. While visiting relatives in Ottawa, he met my mother Beatrice Kensington, a tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed newcomer from England, at Carleton University. It was love at first sight, I guess. They got married and had little old me, along with my brothers Jared and Scott.

My brothers Jared and Scott opted to study outside Manitoba, and truth be told, this didn't surprise me. My dad wanted them to stay but as a lot of young people would tell you, there's not a lot do to in Winnipeg. Jared is studying business administration at the University of Toronto and from what he's told me, he absolutely loves it. He's dating a young Japanese woman named Melody Yasimoto, and from what I gather, it's pretty serious between those two. My other brother Scott is gay, and that's the source of much conflict between him and our father.

Scott lives in Montreal with his French Canadian boyfriend Jean-Luc, much to my father's everlasting shame. I love my dad but he can be pretty set in his ways. I blame his strict Catholic upbringing. Personally, I don't believe in the doctrines of Christianity, even though I do believe in a supreme being. I just find white people's religious rules absolutely ridiculous. If there's a heaven, all decent people who performed good deeds while on earth should go to it. If there's a hell, all wicked people who did evil while on earth belong there. Christianity would have us believe that if a person is good, but doesn't accept Christian theology, then his soul is doomed to hell. Give me a break, folks.

That's why I follow Native spirituality, which appeals to me. It's the spiritual belief system of my ancestors, and it teaches people to connect with Mother Nature, and to respect her works. I find that belief far more enriching Judeo-Christianity, and its offshoot, Islam. No offense to the white folks and their Christianity and the brown, black and yellow people and their Islam, but we Native folks have our own way of doing things. Abrahamic monotheism might be what most people believe in but it's not our way.

As you can imagine, I am very proud of my Aboriginal origins and culture. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, neither fat nor thin but "sturdy", as my father puts it. I've got long black hair, light brown eyes and dark bronze skin. My features are a beautiful blend of Aboriginal Canadian and Caucasian. Other Natives can tell that I am at least part white but most white people simply assume that I'm Metis. To be honest, as much as I love my mother, I prefer to embrace my Aboriginal heritage.

Not all Natives with mixed ancestry feel the way I do. There's this guy named Kyle Abukcheech in my sociology class and he's originally from Cornwall, Ontario. The dude came to Winnipeg to get in touch with his Aboriginal roots but he's completely clueless. He doesn't identify as Aboriginal because his mother is Native and his father is white. The fool hangs out with the white students at school, and scoffs at me whenever he sees me wearing traditional Sioux clothing. I'm the Vice President of the Aboriginal Student Club or A.S.C. which welcomes all students of at least partial Aboriginal, Native, Metis or First Nations ancestry.

We work hard at fighting against the stereotypes of the Aboriginal community as being lazy, prone to drunkenness and lawlessness. The University of Winnipeg and the University of Manitoba are full of Aboriginal students. We're studying to become lawyers, doctors, captains of industry, engineers, and other professional jobs with great titles. Of course, the biased western media doesn't show this. They'll walk right past the law firm of a successful Aboriginal man like my father and showcase instead the drunken Metis lout on the street corner, and proclaim him to be representative of ALL Native people. As if! I don't have to look far to see a drunken, homeless white guy, but I doubt CBC would proclaim him as representative of the entirety of Euro-Canadian society. Of course not. These fuckers are biased and don't play fair. That's why I don't like them.

I swear, sometimes I don't know what frustrates me more. The clueless Aboriginal guys I see on campus, or the insensitive white students who say stupid things about my people. When I share my frustrations with my parents, they tell me to relax. I can't relax. I'm an Aboriginal woman in twenty-first century Canada. To be racially and culturally aware is to be angry at the injustices perpetrated against one's people by the majority. I want to change things. I want to educate Natives and teach them to fight for their rights. Can anyone understand my pain and my struggle?

I honestly thought no one could, until I met Vincent Jacques Desmond, a big and tall ( at least six-foot-four ) young Black man of Haitian descent I met while visiting my brother Scott at his apartment at the University of Montreal. Scott has recently broken up with his boyfriend Jean-Pierre, and one drunken night, got attacked by some homophobes outside a bar. Off-duty security guard Vincent Desmond happened to be walking nearby, and jumped in. This guy saved my life and now we're friends, Scott told me, after introducing me to Vincent.

I looked at this very tall, dark-skinned, roughly handsome young man. Vincent Desmond was something else. We don't get a lot of black folks in Winnipeg. For the most part, black Canadians are found in Ontario, Quebec and Nova Scotia. Vincent politely greeted me and offered me his hand to shake. From the way he looked me up and down, I could tell that Vincent was checking me out. I found that flattering, but told myself he'd never get a chance at me. I'm a conscious Aboriginal sister. I can only share my bed with a man who understands my struggle. One of my people.

At least, that's what I thought in those days. I stayed at Scott's for a few days, and since Vincent lived nearby, I ran into the burly Haitian quite often. One day, I ran into Vincent at the coin wash and we had a little talk. I was surprised at how much Vincent and I had in common. The dude is in his third year in the criminology program at Concordia University and he wants to be a police officer someday. I smilingly told him I wanted to be a lawyer. Agents of evil, Vincent said, then laughed.

Did this fool just call members of my future profession agents of evil? Vincent had a lot of nerve and I ought to correct him but I didn't. For I was distracted by his nice smile. That's why, when he asked me for my number, to, ahem, discuss the differences between Quebec law and Manitoba law, I acquiesced. What can I say? I've always been the type to go with my gut feeling. And something about Vincent Desmond appealed to me.

That night, I went to bed with a smile on my face. I thought of Vincent, the handsome guy from the Caribbean and sighed happily. The next day, he called me and asked me out for coffee. We met at a Starbucks near campus, and spent three hours chatting and laughing. Vincent regaled me with stories of his life back in the Caribbean, and I found myself visualizing the sunlit island paradise he once called home. I'm not much of a sun worshipper. Manitoba is nothing but snow most of the damn year.

Montreal fascinated me with its diversity and culture. Winnipeg is fairly diverse as a city but it's symbolic of old Canada, with its Aboriginals and whites. Montreal is home to so many people from places like the island of Haiti, Bangladesh, Lebanon, Nigeria, China, and countries I didn't even known existed. I think that next to Toronto and Vancouver, it's the most diverse town in Canada. Vincent offered to be my guide in it, and I happily agreed.

I've always felt apprehension at leaving Manitoba because, to me, it's the real Canada. A part of me always felt that places like Ontario and Quebec with all their immigrants, well, they were fast becoming foreign lands. Vincent showed me how wrong I was. Walking around the city of Montreal and the Concordia University campus with Vincent, I met quite a few people from countries outside the European Union and they were friendly, warm and inviting.

Folks, I've got a confession to make, on the subject of all the brown, black and yellow people moving into Canada's major cities. I once saw these people as invaders, but they showed me more warmth and friendliness than white Canadians ever did. Visible minority immigrants are not a threat to Aboriginal interests. These people are our friends. They can relate to what we go through. I realize that now. And I owe it all to Vincent.

My tall, dark and handsome, friendly and smart, sinfully sexy new friend. In the few days I'd been in Montreal, Vincent and I spent almost every free moment together. What can I say? The guy just grows on me! I like the way Vincent thinks. You see, he's involved with the African Unity group at Concordia University, and often speaks out against racism and discrimination. He invited me to a meeting of the A.U. group and let me tell you, the brother can speak.

Vincent likened the mistreatment of black youth by police in the streets of Montreal to the disenfranchisement of Aboriginal youth in the Prairies. At first I was shocked that Vincent would compare the two, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how right he was. Whether black or brown, our young people are being persecuted and targeted by the Powers That Be.

White supremacists, the ones in suits working in Canadian and American government offices, not the ridiculous, Confederate-flag waiving assholes in cartoonish robes protesting downtown, are terrified of the black, brown and yellow population growth across North America. That's why our young people are targeted. Strong leaders like Vincent and I need to combine forces against white racism. I can see that now. I never thought I'd meet a kindred spirit...until I met Vincent. The brother gets it!

One night, as Vincent and I walked out of the movie theater, after watching Hercules, I linked my arm with his. Clearly surprised by this move, Vincent looked at me and smiled hesitantly. I looked at him, and did something which surprised us both. I stood on my tippy toes, and planted a kiss on Vincent's full lips. That's right, the seemingly shy and demure Aboriginal gal from the Prairies kissed the big and tall Haitian guy. Right on the kisser.

Vincent hesitated, briefly, then he pulled me into his strong arms and kissed me full and deep. Right there, on the movie theater steps, Vince and I shared our first kiss. When we came up for air, Vincent grinned and asked me what that was for. Ever the mischievous one, I smiled and told Vincent I wanted to shut him up. The dude is smart and sexy but he's a TALKER. I talk too, a lot actually, but I'm more of an action woman. In every way.

Arm in arm, Vincent and I went back to my place. No, we didn't fuck. I'm a Sioux woman from the Prairies, and while we're a passionate people, whose women are fiercely beautiful, we don't give the cookie to every bozo who comes calling. Not that I'm implying that Vincent is a bozo by any means. I like the guy, and I find him interesting. That's why I want to take my time with him. Make damn sure he's worth my time. I promise you I'm worth the wait, folks. Vincent is smart, sexy, politically conscious and, judging by his university records, definitely going places. I'm excited at what we can accomplish together. Wish us luck. Peace, as my new 'boo' would say.