Nothing quite like coming home to my lady at the end of a battle-weary day, folks. My name is Alan James Voltaire, A.J. to my friends, and I was born in the City of Cap-Haitien, Haiti, and raised in the City of Montreal, Quebec. My parents James and Marie Voltaire moved with my siblings and I to provincial Quebec in the tumultuous 1980s.
I came to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, at the age of twenty three, after graduating with a bachelor's degree in business from the University of Montreal. Been struggling here ever since. Someone forgot to tell me that educated and ambitious Black men are not welcome in Ottawa, one of the most backwards places in the continent of North America.
Seriously, the local White guys are intimidated by any Black man who's well-spoken and happens to be even slightly more educated than they are. As a six-foot-three, burly Black man, I get stared at a lot in this boring little town. My education also seems to set me apart. I spent two years earning my MBA at the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University, only to discover that I was overqualified for a lot of the jobs I was applying for. With student loans debt piling up, I took a job with RBC as an account manager. Had to pay the bills and keep a roof over my head, man.
Now, this isn't what I spent six years in University for, that's for damn sure. It only pays twenty one bucks per hour, but it sure as hell beats working a damn minimum-wage job, which is what a lot of highly educated minorities in the City of Ottawa are doing, since White folks won't hire them in their chosen field of study. Sad but true reality for a lot of people of color in Ottawa, man.
Given the state of the Canadian economy, the highly competitive job market and the brazen racial discrimination I experienced as a Black male University graduate in Ottawa, I'm actually thankful to have a job that doesn't require me to wear a uniform and/or a hairnet. I wear a suit and tie to work every damn day and conduct myself in a professional manner. It's not easy, given the bigoted clients I sometimes have to deal with.
Banking is an increasingly female field and at the branch where I work, there are eight women and three men. Other than Nancy Chang, a short forty-something Asian woman and Ahmad, a middle-aged Arab dude, everyone else at the office is White. I am the only Black person working at the branch. Isn't that awesome? You should see the way people look at me when they walk in and see me behind the desk.
I always greet them with a smile and look them in the eye, which intimidates the hell out of them. They know I mean business and stop their foolishness at once. Usually. Some of them I've had to politely but firmly put in their place. Luckily, the branch manager, a fifty-something twice-divorced White lady named Muriel Kensington, is sweet on me. The feeling is decidedly not mutual. I don't sleep around at work. I politely turned down Muriel's advances when she requested some hot chocolate from me at a company party.
Now, please don't think of me as close-minded when it comes to racial relations. I see people as people, that's it and that's all. I've got nothing against interracial relationships but White women in the environs of Ottawa just don't do it for me. Too flaky and two-faced for a real brother like myself. In Montreal, a town that's been racially diverse for decades, people don't bat an eyelash when they see a Black man with a White woman. I've dated French Canadian girls while in Montreal. I would never do that in Ottawa. It's a very different world down here.
Still, with all the things I've had to endure as a brother working in corporate Canada, I felt lonelier than ever. I joined a local Haitian church, and thought I'd meet a lovely sister. The Black church is a mostly female institution nowadays, and if you're going there for the ladies, you're bound to meet quite a few of them. I met this fine-looking Haitian chick named Esther, a second-year medical student at the University of Ottawa.
This self-described "future doctor" is the niece of the church pastor, and carries herself like a queen. Queen Esther, that's what people called her at the church. I was drawn to this tall, confident and curvaceous beauty from the get go. Someone forgot to inform me that church women are the most intolerant, judgemental creatures on the planet. I found Esther too close-minded for my liking. Our relationship did not last. Esther turned everyone in the church against me and I stopped going there. May the Lord forgive me, but them church women are too much for a brother.
I found myself quite lonely in Ottawa. The local White women are flaky and two-faced, quick to have fun with a brother but they never have your back when the shit hits the fan. The local Black women are too mean for my liking. I figured that I'd meet the right woman someday, and focused on my job. I got promoted to assistant branch manager at the RBC and this turned a lot of heads considering I'd only been working there for a little over a year.
A lot of people felt that the boss lady Muriel passed them over when she promoted me. The truth is that everyone else at the office has less education than me. They've all gone to Algonquin College or Everest College or Herzing College or La Cite Collegiale. Pathetic excuses for schools if you ask me. I attended world-class Universities and hold an Executive MBA.
No bones about it, folks. I know my own worth, thank you very much. I am DAMN qualified to run a bank! Nope, all of my competitors at the branch hated me because I was Black, male and overeducated. Well, let them be White, bitter and undereducated. The world is passing them by. It's just the way of the Universe. Adapt and survive, or fall behind and perish.
