Haitian Immigrant Looks at Canada

The sun rose over Ontario, Canada, and I rose with it. I've been living in this place for several years now and even though my passport now says permanent resident of Canada instead of dubious terms like refugee claimant and all that crap, this place still doesn't feel like home. Maybe it's because of the cold, hateful stares I get from random people as I walk through the City of Ottawa. It's one of the most racially diverse places in Canada, with scores of Arabs, Hispanics, Asians and Aboriginals living there, yet a Black man still attracts unwanted stares. I've learned not to mind them, or at least that's what I tell myself.

The name is David Jacques Villiers and this is my story of getting by in provincial Ontario. I was born on the island of Haiti in 1984. In 1998, my parents, Julien and Marianne Villiers sent me to Boston, Massachusetts, to live with my aunt Ginette Jean because our family was being persecuted for our political beliefs. I lived in Boston from the summer of 1998 until December 2008. I grew up in the United States and in my heart I considered myself a citizen of this great nation but the reality was quite different. You see, when my parents left me in Boston they neglected to tell me that the trip was strictly one-way. I got dropped there with no legal papers, nada.

Through my aunt's efforts I was able to go to public school, where I excelled. I finished high school a year early and won an academic scholarship to the University of Massachusetts in Amherst because of my high scores on the statewide MCAS exam. It's a requirement for all public school students in Massachusetts, to earn a high school diploma you have to pass the MCAS. If you do extremely well on it, you may win a scholarship to any of the public colleges and universities in the state. I went to UMass-Amherst, where I studied Criminal Justice. I was three years into my program when a glitch came along.

You see, I enrolled at UMass-Amherst as a scholarship recipient, but the state still needed certain pieces of identification like a drivers licence, a social security number and things of that nature from me. I got numerous requests from the student life office for these things and ignored them for three years. You see, I have a Haitian birth certificate, and since I was neither a permanent resident nor a U.S. citizen, I lacked a drivers licence and a social security number. You need these things to function in America. Now, my aunt Ginette was a true angel. She cared for me, housed me and clothed me as best as she could. She never married or had any offspring of her own. Indeed, many people in our family suspected that she might be a lesbian but they never asked because such things are not discussed in Haitian society and culture.

Anyhow, I had only a year left before graduation in my program when UMass-Amherst revoked my scholarship and dumped me unceremoniously. That was in November 2009. I was crestfallen since I had lost everything. Honestly, I considered suicide. You got no idea how it feels, man. To be brilliant, decent, church-going and law-abiding and yet to constantly feel like the society around me is punishing me for something I did not do. When my parents left me in Boston in 1999, I did not ask them any questions because I was a mere pup. What did I know? I mean, America is supposed to be the land of opportunity. If you are smart and a hard worker, you are supposed to make it. Well, I think I did everything right. I went to school, I went to church and I went to the library, that is about it really. My aunt constantly reminded me that if I ever got in trouble with the police as young Black men in America tend to do, I would get deported. Since I did not want that, I tried to keep as low a profile as I could.

I often heard other young Black men I knew in high school and at the university complain about their problems. They often whined about the system being set up against them. A lot of these bozos actually went out to do stupid things like get into fights over silly stuff, doing drugs and things of that nature. Oh, and they also had a habit of impregnating women and leaving them high and dry. Now, I am not saying that America is not a racist place. I have being followed around the mall by suspicious clerks simply because of my skin tone, and I have also encountered teachers who simply did not believe that Black male students could be as good as anyone else. You should have seen the looks on some of their faces when I won one academic award after another. I surprised a lot of people. I am a Black man who does not play any sports, nor do I listen to rap music. No, I am not whitewashed. I know where I come from, I know who I am and I know where I want to be. I simply refuse to be what North American society expects me to be because of my race and gender.

I was born on the island of Haiti, the first independent Black nation in the New World. The place where white imperialism was first defeated by an army of former slaves who fought for their freedom against arrogant European colonial forces who underestimated them. Yes, I do believe in myself as a Black man thank you very much. I respect everyone and I fear absolutely no one. I respect all religions but I am a proud Christian. I will never apologize for my faith the way I see some people do in Canada. Bunch of fools. Apologizing for who you are is insane. Anyhow, let me tell you how I ended up in Canada in the first place.

When the University of Massachusetts at Amherst revoked my scholarship because they found out I was an illegal immigrant, I thought all was lost. That's when my aunt Ginette told me about a program she heard about. Illegal immigrants living in America who feared the U.S. would never accept them were being taken to Canada through a program run by both governments. The program had a facility in Buffalo, New York, where these would-be immigrants to Canada, most of them refugee claimants of some sort, waited before crossing the border at Fort Erie. I thought about it. I loved the United States of America, but after ten years in this country, I had nothing to show for it. I don't have a single blemish on my record, yet I cannot vote. I have never committed a felony yet I cannot drive. I was a nonperson. That's why I chose to try my luck in Canada. Who knows? Maybe my lousy luck would change in the Great White North.

My journey to Canada wasn't easy. For several weeks I stayed at the immigrant shelter in Buffalo, praying that the Canadian government would allow me to cross the border. There was paperwork to be handled by both U.S. and Canadian authorities. My turn finally came, and when I crossed the border, my uncle Harold, the older brother of my father, came to greet me. I would stay at his house until I got my bearings. Over the next few months, I went through the process. Had to go to the government to get a work permit, social insurance number and the like because you can't work in Canada without these things. Once I got my work permit, I began looking for a job. With a very bare-looking resume, and no work experience or references, I couldn't find a job. So I applied to work for Securitas Canada, the security company. They seemed willing to hire just about anybody. I trained with them for two weeks, and paid eighty dollars to get my security license after submitting the necessary forms to the Ontario Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services.

A month after my training ended, I got my security license in the mail. I immediately called Securitas Canada, they gave me my uniform and I went to work the next day. I was making eleven dollars and fifty cents per hour working security at a museum in downtown Ottawa. I didn't mind the job, though. At last, I had a job. I used my first paycheck to pay for a one-bedroom bachelor pad in the Baseline Road area of Ottawa. Now, I still a lot of things to worry about. One day I would have to appear before an immigration judge about my refugee claim, and whether they accepted it or not, this would decide my fate. Until that day came, I focused on working. I even got a health card by showing the Ontario health office at City Hall proof of employment along with a work permit, recent pay stubs and a letter from my employer. At last I began to feel...alright.

Now, I set my sights on something beyond survival. I wanted to get back to school and resume my interrupted studies. My aunt Ginette, whom I remained in touch with, constantly encouraged me to continue my studies. I applied to various schools with the Ontario Universities Application Center or OUAC. I wrote to UMass-Amherst requesting that they send my transcripts to Carleton University, the Canadian school of my choice. A couple of months went by and I finally got a letter of acceptance from Carleton University. They accepted me as an international student since I wasn't a Canadian citizen or a permanent resident yet. Hell, the Canadian government hadn't even accepted my refugee claim yet. Anyhow, I decided to work my butt off to pay for school. I saved about thirty five hundred dollars after working the whole summer, and finally I enrolled at Carleton and took two classes that fall. Carleton University has two programs connected to my old major, Law and Criminology. They don't have criminal justice as a major. I opted to study Law.

As much as I am thankful to Canada for giving me these opportunities, I cannot stand their xenophobia or bureaucracy sometimes. Any foreign student who comes to Canada is told that his or her credits from ( insert the name of any college or university outside Canada ) wherever they come from aren't valid. I've seen students from South Africa, Pakistan, Bangladesh and even Poland looking sad in the registrar's office when they are told that they will have to start their program from scratch at Carleton because Canadian schools rarely accept foreign credit transfers. Lucky for me, Canada has a love-hate/fascination with all things American. Since my high school diploma and university transcripts all came from schools located in Massachusetts, the officials at Carleton University assumed I was an American. That's why most of my credits from UMass-Amherst got accepted. I wouldn't have to start from scratch like all the other foreign students. Even in the Capital of Canada, it's cool to be an American.

At Carleton University, I experienced a very fascinating world. Man, I thought UMass-Amherst was a diverse place, until I began encountering so many Arab, Somali, Hindu and Chinese students at Carleton that I felt like I was at the U.N. or something. I made friends with students from all over the place. Of course, even this racially diverse school wasn't free of racism. I would get hateful stares from random white guys walking nearby, especially if they saw me chatting with a white female classmate. I'd get the same type of angry look from Arab men if they saw me talking with one of their hijab-wearing Arab women. What can I say? A lot of ladies seem fascinated by me at school. I'm a tall Black man walking around with the unmistakable inner-city guy's swagger and a Boston accent to boot. It certainly helped my romantic life, I tell you that much. I dated ladies across the spectrum, man. From lovely Ethiopian women to buxom Irish-Canadian beauties and even a Lebanese Christian gal or two. I don't discriminate based on color or culture. If I like a lady and she likes me, then everything is cool. Haters are going to hate no matter what.

And that's how my first year in Canada went, ladies and gentlemen. I continued working for Securitas, which wasn't easy since I was busy with my studies at Carleton University but a smart man makes time for that which matters. I did alright for myself. For Christmas the following year, I mailed my aunt Ginette some rare books and gave her two hundred dollars through Western Union. This woman has taken care of me for a long time. More than half my life, actually. I owe her everything. I thank God for her and everything that she has done for me. Life goes on, man. What can I say? I've been through all kinds of hell in my short years upon this earth. I haven't seen my parents in ages and I miss them. I miss my aunt more because in many ways she's been like a true parent to me. I live in Canada now and even though there's a lot of racism here, there are some good people who make the place worthwhile. I say this as a Black man who goes through all kinds of crap daily. Things could be worse. Soon I will get my Law degree from Carleton University, then I will move on to bigger and better things. I'm looking at various Law schools. The one at the University of Ottawa looks great, but so does McGill's. Who knows where fate will take me? As always, I thank God in heaven for His blessings.