Quebec Women Simply Rule

Sylvester Chartier is the name I go by. I'm a big and tall Black guy of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I work as a Security Guard at the local Art Gallery. I'm just trying to make some money before school starts. In September 2011 I will attend Carleton University. It's why I moved to Ottawa, Ontario, from Boston, Massachusetts. Yep. I just wanted to go to school and make something of myself. I wasn't doing anything productive in Boston. Yeah, man. I was just wasting my time and wasting my life. Ottawa is boring but I'm much more productive here than I ever was in the United States.

The life of a Security Guard in Ottawa is boring and I must say I like it like that. The last thing I want is too much excitement. I don't want to get in trouble, man. A lot of the other Guards act like superheroes on the job. I don't want to get my ass shot for thirteen bucks an hour. I just don't think it's worth it. And that is okay by me. Ottawa is very different from my native town of Boston but hey, maybe that's a good thing. Life in the City of Ottawa is dull and boring. And that suits me just fine. Ottawa is full of boring, stuffy people. They're not used to diversity down there. And the different minority groups, whether we're talking Asians, Africans or Arabs, simply don't get along. In the States, we form loose alliances against racism and discrimination. Not so in Canada. I guess that's why this place is so backwards culturally.

I know what I came to Ottawa for, man. Get my degree in Criminology from Carleton University, and then return to Boston to have a stellar career in law enforcement. It's not easy. As an American student living in Canada, I get charged international rates. I moved to Ottawa in November 2009 and I've since applied for Permanent Resident Status. Once I get it, Carleton University will charge me regular rates. I started school a few years ago, back at Bay State College in downtown Boston. I flunked out and began leading an unproductive lifestyle, to say the least. My parents, Richard and Helene Chartier convinced me to give life in Ontario a try. Especially since things were really going nowhere in Massachusetts. I took the chance, and ended up in Ottawa.

At first glance, Ottawa basically had nothing to offer someone like me. This town is lily-White and quite boring. Even though close to thirty percent of its population are a mixture of African, Arab, Asian and Native American, you don't really see them. Visible minorities, that's what they call all of us who aren't Caucasian. I was bored out of my mind in Ottawa. And my relatives weren't helping. My parents wanted me to stay with my uncle Thaddeus Moreau and his wife Nadege Etienne. They live in Orleans, this little French town outside Ottawa. Now, my uncle and aunt were nice enough people but I wanted my own space. In order to get it, I needed a job.

How does a young Black man born and raised in America find work in Canada? The Canadian government makes newcomers to Canada wait for everything. I had to wait for months in order to get a work permit, and once I got it I went and got a security license in order to work as a security guard. It was the only job I could get. There's a hiring freeze across Canada these days, and even in the best of times, young Black men aren't the ones they like to hire. I began working as a Security Guard at the Art Gallery. I worked your standard forty hours a week. I didn't make much money but I was able to pay my rent. I got this one-bedroom apartment in the town of Nepean. The owner is this uptight Chinese guy named Wilson and he really gets on my nerves. The apartment building is full of other guys from nearby schools like Algonquin College and La Cite Collegiale.

After getting my place, I began working on a plan. I went to the local branch of the Royal Bank of Canada and made an account with them. They asked me for my driver's license, health card and social insurance card in order for me to get the account. Oh, and my U.S. passport too. I guess they don't trust foreigners, especially Americans. Whatever. My employer has direct deposit with the Royal Bank of Canada so every two weeks, I got my pay wired directly. I found myself using my debit card way too often for groceries and other bills. So I went to the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce or CIBC to create a second account. They gave me the same deal as RBC, only with more restrictions. Anyhow, I decided to use my RBC debit card for daily purchases and use my CIBC account as a savings account. Every paycheck I got, I saved two hundred dollars on my CIBC account and wired the rest to my RBC. That's how I planned on paying for a couple of classes at Carleton University this coming September.

First, I had to get in, though. I called Bay State College in downtown Boston and sent them a transcript request. It cost me ten bucks. They sent it to Carleton University right here in Ottawa, and after several months, I got a message in my email. Apparently I got in! Cool. At last I could officially call myself a student. I hadn't been inside a classroom since 2008. That's when I washed out of Bay State College. Three years later, in a different country, I was about to finish what I started. Yeah, I was a really goal-oriented kind of guy. It's not like I had many distractions. I mean, outside of my job and my occasional visits to my church, I had no social life. I attend All Nations Full Gospel Church, this big African church in Ottawa. They have thousands of members all over Canada and parts of the United States and Europe. Yep, there are Black mega-churches in Canada too apparently.

When I first came to Ottawa, All Nations Church was like a lifeline to me. Finally a place where a Black guy like me wouldn't feel like an alien. I get stared at by the white guys and white chicks all day and every day, man. They got some cold stares up in here. Part of why I can't stand Ottawa. A lot of these people in Ottawa are really not used to dealing with anyone who isn't white. They really live in a limited world. I thought I would feel like I belong at All Nations Church. Well, I didn't. I met lots of interesting young Black men and young Black women there. I made friends with some of them. Most of them were second-generation African immigrants whose parents came to Canada in the 1970s and 1980s. They came from places like Somaliland, Angola, Congo, Liberia, South Africa, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Uganda and others. As a Black guy from America, I kind of stood out. They knew I was different right away. My thick Boston accent didn't help matters much.

I found myself fascinated by these young Africans at All Nations Church. Especially the young African women. I met this cute Congolese chick named Christina. She was tall, sexy and mighty fine. The chick had it all. Face, body and booty. She attended the University of Ottawa and seemed to take a liking to me. Well, I liked her too. And I thought the feeling was mutual. Then she stopped talking me out of the blue. When I asked my Nigerian buddy Andy about that, he told me that Congolese women really preferred dating men from their own culture. Wow. I was shocked, but moved on. I met this lovely Somalian chick named Kora while at work. Tall, slender and gorgeously dark-skinned, with a nice butt. Kora was nice and friendly, but she was also a deeply conservative Muslim. She didn't believe in dating before marriage, or shaking hands with men. And she didn't believe in associating with non-Somalians. She seemed to make an exception for me, and we became friends. I kind of liked her, and let her know. Kora told me she was flattered, but could only see herself with a Somalian guy. Wow.

Thus my adventures in the City of Ottawa continued. The town was full of lovely African women, and they were smart, sexy and educated. However, they all had issues. Most of them didn't believe in dating outside their culture. It's a rare Somali chick who will date a Nigerian guy or a South African guy. Kenyan women mainly dealt with Kenyan men. Haitian women seem to be the only ones who like to date Black guys from other cultures, and they're not into Haitian men, or Haitian-American men like myself. Oh, and here's the really funny part. All of these uptight Black ladies who preferred to date within their culture had no problem dating white guys. Yep, Black women in Canada tend to say they don't date Black guys from other cultures, but seem quite okay with dating white men. Hmm. Now I know why just about every Black guy in the City of Ottawa is dating a white chick. The Black women of Canada all have issues! They constantly talk about how Black men with white girlfriends are sell-outs, yet they praise Black female/white male relationships. Even my aunt was part of that bandwagon. I needed to escape this madness. Didn't these chicks know theirs was an ugly double standard?

Man, I just about had it with the Black chicks of Canada. Now, I'm not into white chicks. Never have been. Not even back in Boston. Yet in Canada, the Black women I met loathed Black men and praised men of other races, especially white men. God I miss the Black women of America. The Black American woman loves the Black man and supports him rain or shine. Black Canadian women seem genetically designed to praise white men and denigrate Black men. And yet they get mad when Black Canadian men date outside the race. Black Love seems nonexistent in Canada. I grew up with the belief that Black Love was real love. My parents have been married for thirty years. And they're happy together. Black Canadians don't like their own.

That's the bizarre world I found myself living in. What's a brother to do? I decided to stop focusing on women. I focused on my job. After all, I was all on my own in Canada. My parents financial situation in Boston was dire. They were barely able to pay the mortgage of our refurbished duplex in the Dorchester section of Boston. My folks aren't rich, man. My dad is a patrol officer with the Massachusetts State Police and my mom works as a nurse's aide at Caritas Good Samaritan Hospital in Brockton. They spent a lot of their savings paying off my debt to Bay State College, which I didn't even graduate from. I felt guilty. So, against my parents objections, I sent them some money via western union once in a while. It was the least I could do, man.

Time went by, and I finally saved up the thirty four hundred dollars I needed to take three classes at Carleton University. I couldn't wait for September. This time, I swore to myself that I would take my studies more seriously. I would push myself not only to pass all my classes but to excel. Any idiot can pass. Real winners excel. I went to Carleton University one day for an impromptu visit. I've got lots of friends who go there, like my buddy Andy and his girlfriend, this mixed chick named Nadine. She's from South Africa I think. I walked through the Carleton University campus, taking in all the sights and sounds. The place looked okay. There were lots of students, as expected. I noticed quite a few of them were Black, Asian, Hispanic and Arabic. I didn't get stared at too much for being a six-foot-three, 250-pound Black male. That's really cool. Hurray for campus diversity, you know? Anyhow, I was walking around campus when somebody hailed me.

This tall, skinny yet somehow curvy white chick with spiky blonde hair wearing a red tank top and blue jeans. I smiled cautiously at her, wondering what she wanted. She approached me, and introduced herself as Janine. I shook her hand out of politeness, not knowing what she wanted. Janine grinned, and asked me if I had forgotten about her. I narrowed my eyes. What was she talking about? Janine shook her head, then refreshed my memory. Apparently, she met me months ago at the Art Gallery where I worked as a security guard. She was visiting the gallery with her friend Heather when Heather inexplicably passed out. I was the guard who revived her. Hmm. A light flashed through my mind. Now I remembered the incident. I was still new to the Art Gallery, making my rounds when I came across this chick who had passed out and her frantic friend. I smiled at Janine, kind of shocked that she remembered me after all this time. Janine smiled, and asked me if I liked the campus. I nodded, and told her that I came all the way from Boston to attend Carleton University in Ottawa.

Janine smiled, and volunteered to give me a tour. I hesitated. Now, I'm not mean or anything but I stay away from women I don't know these days. Ottawa seems like a nice town but the local broads are insane. Janine sensed my hesitation, smiled and told me she didn't bite. Then she linked her arm up with mine and walked with me. I took a deep breath, and strode through the Carleton University campus with her. As we walked together, I learned a lot about her. Janine D'Avignon was a native of the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec. She used to attend the University of Montreal but her parents made her transfer to Carleton University in Ottawa because her partying in Montreal got out of control and made her grades suffer. Janine grinned and told me she was a reformed wild chick. I smiled, and told her I totally believed her.

Janine showed me around campus, and introduced me to her clique of friends. I met Joseph D'Arcy, a tall and skinny gay Haitian dude from Halifax, and Kelly-Anne Ambroise, this tall redhead from Calgary. Kenny Chang, this short, stocky Asian guy with a buzz cut. I also met Heather Tartaglia, her tall and dark-haired Italian lady friend whose life I had apparently saved months ago. Heather was all smiles when Janine reminded her who I was. She asked me to join them for supper and I agreed. We went to grab a bite at Saint Laurent Mall, and ate some delicious Chinese food. Janine and her friends were wonderful company. Heather was really flirty with me but I only had eyes for Janine. The lively Quebec chick had a presence, a way about her that I liked. And I'm not just referring to her nicely rounded, full bottom. She just seemed genuine and cool, like all her pals. Yep, I wasn't even starting school yet and I had made all these new friends. How about that? And that's how it all began, folks. At the end of the night, Janine walked me to the bus stop and did two things that surprised me. She planted a kiss on my cheek, and then slipped me her phone number. Wow. And I wasn't even trying!

I went home that night feeling optimistic for the first time in ages. For the first time in a long time, I felt that my life in Ottawa wasn't a dead end. I saw it as a new beginning. I debated with myself whether or not to call Janine right away. I called my buddy Andy, and he told me I should wait two days before calling her. To heck with that. I had to hear Janine's voice again. She picked up right away. I hesitated, then identified myself. Janine laughed, and said she was expecting my call. That surprised me. She giggled, and then we started talking. About anything and nothing. She wanted to know all about Boston, and the States in general. I did my best to inform her about the coolest things about Boston, from the election of our first African-American Governor Deval Patrick to the Boston Celtics acquisition of Shaq. Man, that chick made me talk. Before I knew it, we'd been talking for one hundred and sixteen minutes straight. It was all good, though. I liked talking to her. She was really cool, with a pleasant voice. I asked her if she wanted to catch a movie with me and she said yes. She asked me if I was single and I said yes. She laughed before saying "not for long" and wishing me goodnight.

Long after our talk, I lay on my bed, musing on the future. I think I like Janine, and I'm hoping ( okay, praying is more like it) that she likes me too. Why not? I'm not a bad-looking brother. I'm University-bound, and I make a little bit of money. Okay, barely enough to pay my rent and groceries, but no need to tell that to the whole world. I think I'm going to like my life in Canada. I hope better times are indeed ahead for me, God willing. I can't wait to start my classes at Carleton University. I hope the Canadian Government will grant me permanent resident status so I can get a student loan instead of paying my own way right away. Hmmm. Best not to put the cart before the horse. For now, I'm enjoying the after effects of one of the best nights of my life so far. I can't wait to see Nadine tomorrow. I think she knows I'm starting to like her but I'll play it cool. On the off chance that she doesn't know, you know? Us brothers play these things close to the vest. I never thought I'd say this but I'm glad I'm in Ottawa. This place doesn't suck as much as I thought it would. You just have to know the right people.