"Alright, I've had enough of this shit," Yassin said, shaking his head as he walked out of the third-year law class. Deep inside the Southam Hall building at Carleton University, Professor Niklaus Kovacevic droned on and on about the responsibilities of state and citizen within the context of Canadian law. As usual, he fawned over his favorite student, Liam something or other, whom he referred to as Mr. Alberta.
"Good answer, Mr. Alberta," Professor Kowalski said, smirking as he looked at the tall and slender, vaguely effeminate, dark-haired white male student who sat on the front row. The prof also made a point of ignoring Yassin Ambroise whenever the young man had his hand up, overlooking him for whatever white student was nearby. The dude had been at it all semester, and Yassin had finally gotten fed up with it.
"Sir, when a prisoner exchange happens between Canada and America, it's called extradition, when a similar exchange happens between the state of Maryland and the state of Massachusetts for example, it's called rendition," Yassin all but blurted out, and that's when every head in class turned in his direction. The professor had an incredulous look on his pale face, and shook his head.
"Um, I think he's right," said a young female student named Aisha, after checking out the answers on Wikipedia. Professor Kovacevic looked at Aisha, then at Yassin. Refusing to admit that he was wrong for once, he cut his eyes at Yassin, shook his head, and then moved onto another discussion point. Yassin, fed up, decided to exit the room. This subtly bigoted bozo had to have his cake and eat it too...
"Moving on," Professor Kowalski said firmly, and Yassin swiftly exited the room. Hurrying down the hallway, he took the steps two at a time and rushed to the main floor of Southam. Outside, freshly fallen snow reminded him that winter had indeed come to the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Heedless of the cold, Yassin didn't even zip up his coat as he rushed outside, and made a beeline for the Mac Odrum Library. Once inside, he headed to the third floor...
Yassin sat at the row of computers near the Learning Commons, his favorite spot. The big and tall young black man logged onto a computer, and immediately went on Facebook where he posted about the incident. For weeks he'd been enduring the silent hostility and condescension from Professor Kovacevic. The creep seemed to pick on him the most, singling him out for mistreatment simply because he was guilty of a fundamental crime. The crime of being black, male and intelligent. Something which made middle-aged white males fear him, apparently...
Yassin Ambroise quietly fumed, remembering days not too long ago that weren't so different from today. Born in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, to a Haitian immigrant father, Yusuf Ambroise, and a white American mother, Joanna Crowley, Yassin knew all too well what it was like to be an outsider. To his classmates at Boston Latin Academy, Yassin was either too black or not black enough, depending on whom you asked.
Yassin remembered the way people looked at him and his parents as they walked around the Braintree Mall one Friday evening. It was during the month of Ramadan, during Yassin's final year at B.L.A. and Yassin's father Yusuf, who converted to Islam even before coming to the United States, walked about the shopping center in Islamic regalia. Kufi hat, plus the obligatory Thawb, the works. Everywhere the family went that night, people gawked...
What seemed to irk a lot of on-lookers was the chubby, youthful Yassin holding hands with his tall, dark-skinned Muslim father and his short, blonde-haired, fair-skinned and blue-eyed mother. The denizens of Massachusetts considered themselves a progressive and liberal bunch, as evidenced by their pride in electing Deval Patrick, the State's first African-American Governor. Still, the sight of an interracial couple and their son out and about at the mall on a Friday night apparently bothered them. Who could have guessed?
"Haters are bigoted and insecure, don't let them get to you, my son, your mother and I see them too and we're not afraid," Yusuf Ambroise said to Yassin, as his mother looked on, smiling. The trio went to grab a bite at a nice Chinese restaurant in the food court. Yassin's mother Joanna took advantage of the occasion to read a letter which she found in the mail the day before.
"Yassin, I have a letter from Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario," Joanna Crowley-Ambroise said with a smile, as she placed the letter before Yassin. The young man looked at his father and mother, then put down the forkful of orange chicken he was about to bite into, and took a deep breath. Smiling nervously, Yassin opened the letter. Ready or not, life happens, he thought. Yassin's heart skipped a beat as he read the letter out loud.
"Dear Yassin Ambroise, we thank you for your interest in Carleton University, we have quite a few international students from the United States, we welcome you into our freshman class for the fall 2016 school year," read the letter, and Yassin smiled at his parents, who practically glowed with pride. Yusuf Ambroise and Joanna Crowley-Ambroise exchanged a smile, for they couldn't be prouder of their only son.
"Our lad is going to Ottawa, Canada," Yusuf said, smiling, and the Haitian-American Muslim scholar, writer and community college professor took his wife's hand and brought it to his lips. Joanna smiled at her husband, touched by such gentle and touching gestures. Yassin looked at his parents, both annoyed and charmed by their tenderness. He couldn't quite believe that soon he would be moving away, far from them, but, oh well...
Six months later, Yassin Ambroise was cursing himself for those very words. Sitting inside the Carleton University library, Yassin cursed his infernal luck. After seeing the rise of xenophobia in the United States, he opted to study at a Canadian university instead of one of Boston's myriad schools. Naively Yassin thought that Canada was a bastion of tolerance as he watched people protest President Barack Obama's policies while a bigot like Donald Trump inched closer to the ultimate seat of power...
Yassin only visited the City of Ottawa once, during the summer of 2014. His paternal uncle, Louis Ambroise, was getting married to a local lady, Catherine something or other, from the Ojibwe nation of Ontario, Canada. The wedding took place at a rented spot on the Carleton University. Yassin marveled at the sheer size of the campus, and its obvious racial diversity. Two years later, he regretted his decision to enroll there as he clashed with a bigoted prof...
"Is this seat taken?" came a feminine voice, snatching Yassin Ambroise out of his train of thought. Startled, the young man looked up, and found himself gazing at a vision of beauty. Aisha Haddad, the beautiful, annoying smarty pants from his law class. There she stood, tall and sexy, brown skin glowing as if furbished, her curly dark hair tucked away under a Hijab cascading off her shoulders. Clad in a black leather jacket, red tank top, black jeans and boots, Aisha looked good and damn well knew it.
"Aisha, um, no, go ahead," Yassin replied, and Aisha Haddad smiled and sat down. Yassin looked at her, wondering what in hell she was doing sitting next to him. They'd clashed numerous times in class. Aisha grinned and shook her head, quietly marveling at him. Yassin looked at the lovely, intriguing young woman sitting next to him, wondering what was going on inside her pretty head.
"Dammit, Yassin, I just don't get you, you get up and leave class after proving the professor wrong, and now, the cat's got your tongue?" Aisha asked, and she flashed Yassin that fearless smile of hers. Yassin shrugged, feeling at somewhat of a loss for words. This afternoon had been quite hard on him, and he was in no mood for witty repartee with Aisha, even though she was quite cute...
"Professor Kovacevic is a dick, and he hates me because I know all the answers and I'm not white," Yassin said, matter-of-factly, and Aisha blinked in surprise. Yassin sighed, wondering if Aisha was going to get into an argument with him. In Canada, he noticed that passive-aggression, rather than overt confrontation, seemed to be most people's recourse. In Boston, where Yassin grew up, people were open about how they felt, as far as race and religion were concerned...
"I figured as much, Yassin, but you're not the only one the old douche hates, I'm half black and half Lebanese, and I got to say, I definitely know a hater when I see one," Aisha said, grinning, and Yassin looked at her, utterly surprised by her words. Smiling faintly, Yassin nodded and, impulsively, he made a fist. Aisha bumped her fist against his, then they both burst out laughing...
"You know what, Aisha? You're alright," Yassin said, and Aisha nodded and shrugged. They sat down and talked for a bit, and Yassin learned a bit more about her. Truth be told, Yassin was surprised to hear that Aisha had an Arab immigrant father from Lebanon and a Somali mother. He hadn't seen a lot of Black/Arab couples during his time in the City of Ottawa, that's for damn sure. Interesting surprise...
