Haitians & Ethiopians at Carleton U

When life gives you lemons, you shouldn't make lemonade you should run like hell! The name is Samuel Champagne. I'm a young American man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I'm having a Devil of a time in the Capital region of Canada. It's nothing like the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, where I was born. Sometimes I can't stand it, and other times I find it puzzling in the oddest of ways. Canadians are a weird bunch, man. Seriously. Or perhaps it's me. Either way, I feel like a fish out of water here. Here's a story of the turning point I eventually reached.

Anyway, I am presently in the Carleton University Library, typing up an assignment for my Criminal Law class. Canadian laws are so weird. I so don't belong here. For the thousandth time I curse my parents, Louis Champagne and Leona Jean-Renaud Champagne of West Brockton, Massachusetts, for sending me here. I was having such a good time at Northeastern University last year, man. I joined this kick-ass fraternity and the Irish and Italian guys who ran it made me the Grandmaster of Ceremonies. Meaning that I'm the chief of all parties. We partied it up, man. Keg parties in Boston's South End. Hooking up with sexy escorts on Yachts in Cape Cod. Beach parties in Provincetown. Sounds cool, huh?

You name it, we did it. The fraternity I joined is one of the oldest in the United States of America, and its past members were often wealthy and powerful. And since many of them lived around New England, they didn't mind letting us new recruits party it up in their fantastic residences on weekends. I felt like I was being given the keys to the frigging kingdom. And I'm just a poor Black guy from Brockton who won an academic scholarship to Northeastern University. I was living it up. Unfortunately, all good things really do come to an end. I was hanging out with my buddies Devin Winston and Clyde Burke at this club in Boston one night. Devin is a tall, red-haired Irish guy from Plymouth, Massachusetts. The son of legendary Massachusetts legislator David Winston, Devin was definitely New England royalty. And he liked women of color, especially Black girls and Hispanic women. The problem with Devin is that he doesn't know when to stop, either partying or drinking. Clyde is a little more easygoing. He's mixed, born to a Chinese-American mother and Irish father. He comes from money but he's a really nice guy.

Devin and Clyde were at the club with me, doing their thing. I was doing my thing, dancing with this tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed chick named Rachel Haworth. This chick comes from the City of Galway, Ireland, and was studying Criminal Justice at Boston University. Cool, we got the same major! I loved her thick Irish accent, and liked her nicely rounded ass even more. Rachel and I were tearing it up on the dance floor, and I forgot all about Clyde and Devin. Last I saw Devin, he was chatting with a big-booty Jamaican chick named Stacey. And she seemed to be buying what he was selling. I thought Devin was working his magic. I swear he's like catnip to Black chicks. The moment this White dude starts talking, they start dropping their panties. Me? I don't mind. Let the player do his thing. Personally, I like White girls!

I was having a really good time making out with Rachel when Clyde suddenly interrupted me. I swear I wanted to smack the Chinese dude. Seriously. You do NOT interrupt your buddy when he's playing tonsil hockey with the hottest blonde in the night club. Didn't this dude learn anything from hanging out with players like Devin and me? Huh, Chinese guys are such squares! Clyde whispered into my ear something which chilled my blood while Rachel looked on, annoyed. I excused myself and followed Clyde. He led me to Devin, who stood in a corner of the men's washroom. Oh, silly me. I almost forgot to mention that Stacey, the big-booty Jamaican chick, lay unconscious on the bathroom floor with her ultra-short red skirt hiked up, revealing Black Lycra panties. I gasped in shock. This definitely didn't look good. I glared at Devin, demanding an explanation.

Devin stared at me, and I noticed that his eyes were red and his breath stank of alcohol. Miller Lite, if I'm not mistaken. He shrugged, and gave me the rundown. Apparently, he and Stacey were having a really nice time dancing and making out. He took her to the men's washroom for a quickie, and apparently they had a disagreement. I told him that the 'disagreement' didn't explain how she ended up unconscious on the floor. Devin told me that she went nuts when he patted her ample derriere, and smacked him. Well, he kind of smacked her back and next thing he knew, she was on the floor. I paced nervously, suddenly feeling quite scared. What the fuck did this White dude get me into? I told him we should call 911. Devin shook his head. Standing nearby, Clyde looked just about ready to faint. Devin stood there, looking all calm and shit. It always amazes me how calm White people, especially White men, can look while other people are suffering. Devin looked at Clyde and I, and in a cold voice he told us to help him grab Stacey and dump her in the back of the club. There was a fire exit near the men's bathroom. I stared at Devin, wondering aloud if he lost his damn mind. He suddenly got in my face, and next thing I knew, we were shoving each other. That's when one of the night club's security guards came in. What happened next was the beginning of my nightmare.

Long story short? The three of us got arrested. Only I'm the only one who spent the night in jail cell. Devin and Clyde lawyered up pretty quickly. Stacey was taken to Mass General Hospital. When she woke up, she claimed not to remember a thing. She did remember getting into an argument with Devin, though. This chick's testimony was shaky at best, and since there was no evidence of sexual assault when she was brought in, the authorities weren't sure what to think. The cops declined to press charges against Devin. After all, he's a good-looking, educated White male from a wealthy family. As for me, I was let go. Nothing on my record. However, Devin and his family didn't like my conduct during the 'event'. I was thrown out of the fraternity, which didn't bother me since I didn't want to be in it anyway. Not after what happened. Also, I found out that Northeastern University was expulsing me. Yep, they were kicking me out. Goodbye academic scholarship. Goodbye brilliant future. Hello, useless life as an uneducated Black male whom the wealthy White folks who ruled New England now had a personal vendetta against.

For this reason, and many others, my parents decided I should leave the City of Boston for a while. My mother's brother, Alfred Jean-Renaud, lives in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, with his East Indian wife Amrita Gauhar and their college-age daughters Avanti and Anuja Jean-Renaud. That's how I ended up in Canada's capital region. A place that to me seems as strange as the planet Mars. I'm not having fun here. However, I am here to start a new life. Boston's very own Northeastern University was kind enough to forward Ottawa's infamous Carleton University my transcripts. Most of my credits from my two years at Northeastern transferred to this very Canadian school. I enrolled in the Criminology program at Carleton University. Yay for me. I got banished from the town where I was born and now I'm trapped in Canada's second-rate capital. Could life ever be enjoyable again? How I cursed Devin and Boston's elite for what they did to me!

I was so lost in thought that I barely noticed when some huge object struck my head. I looked up, feeling a slight pain to my noggin. Right above the eyes. Suddenly, a very shy voice started apologizing seemingly at the speed of light. I rubbed my forehead, and looked at the 'intruder'. A tall and curvy, light-skinned Black woman dressed like a dude. Think butch chick from the ghetto and you'll have an idea what I was dealing with. Yet amazingly, the meek voice with the apologetic tone belonged to her. I held up my hand, and told her I was alright. She sat at the computer terminal next to mine, and logged onto her Carleton University student account. She looked up from her screen, and once more asked me if I was okay.

I looked at her, and finally my vision cleared up enough for me to have a good look at her face. Her extremely beautiful face. Wow. This chick looked....good. She held out her hand, and introduced herself as Jeddah Tegagne. I hesitantly shook her hand, and introduced myself. Samuel Champagne. Yes, like the drink. Jeddah smiled, and asked me where I came from. Apparently, she detected my thick Boston accent. I smiled, and told her I am a proud American. Jeddah Tegagne grinned, and seemed quite surprised to run into an authentic American at Carleton University in the heart of Canada's capital. I smiled, I honestly get that a lot. Jeddah smiled, and opened up WebCT. She began doing some work, and I resumed working on my Criminal Law assignment.

I decided to take a break because typing up crap and doing research made my eyes blurry after a while. As I leaned back in my chair, Jeddah Tegagne seemed to do the same thing. I smiled, and asked her what she was working on. She grinned, and told me she was working on Sociology. She's a Sociology major who hopes to do social work someday. I cocked an eyebrow. That's certainly an interesting choice of career. Seriously. I can't see myself doing social work. There are a lot of messed up people out there. Some of them, it's due to poverty and tough circumstances, others are in the crap they're in because of stupidity, criminality or some very poor decision-making. I didn't tell Jeddah all that, of course. Jeddah smiled, and told me that a lot of people found her choice of career kind of odd. I grinned, and told her I had nothing against it.

While bantering like that, I learned a bit about her. Jeddah Tegagne was born in the City of Bichena in the Amhara region of the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia. She moved to Ontario, Canada, seven and a half years ago. She's a Roman Catholic, and a new citizen of Canada. Jeddah Tegagne recently transferred to Carleton University from the University of Calgary in Metropolitan Calgary, Alberta. She grew up in the City of Calgary with her parents, who emigrated there a while back. Okay, that's a lot of information garnered from and about this gal in a short amount of time. We grabbed coffee together inside The Page Break, this little restaurant located inside the Carleton University library. Jeddah was really cute, I must say. And she seemed really easy to talk to.

By the time I was ready to pack up and return to my dorm, Jeddah Tegagne and I had exchanged cell phone numbers. I went to my residence that night with a smile on my face. I'm glad Jeddah and I met. I can honestly say that. I went back to my residence, showered and got ready for bed. Well, I watched an episode of Supernatural on my laptop and drank some chocolate milk before washing it down with day-old pizza from Pizza Pizza. I was ready to go to sleep, when I heard my cell phone buzzing. I checked who it was. I know about five people in Canada, and I'm not eager to meet more. I smiled when I saw whom the messages came from. The lovely Miss Jeddah. How about that? I smiled, and called her right back. And thus began a conversation which would last until the wee hours of the morning. And you know what? I really didn't mind. I've got a good feeling about this gal.