"How did you meet your spouse?" That's the question every couple has been forced to answer since the beginning of time. My name is Amina "Mina" Kanu-Dumont, I'm a young woman of Gambian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I was raised Muslim, but consider myself a secularist these days. I am the happy wife of Marcus Dumont, the devoted mother to precious Tiffany, and how my boo and I met is truly one for the ages. Get ready to laugh and maybe cry, and cringe, ladies and gentlemen. You were warned.
September came and I greeted it with mixed feelings. I was starting my fourth and final year in the Accounting program at Carleton University. So much happened during that fateful summer. I marched with Black Lives Matter in Ottawa to protest the death of a Somali man at the hands of Ottawa police in Hintonburg. I broke up with Colin Woodson, the young man I'd been dating since I finished high school. I thought that Colin and I were meant to be, and then he cheated on me and ruined everything.
From the beginning, the odds were against Colin Woodson for a variety of reasons but I thought we would make it. For starters, we came from different worlds. I was born in the City of Lamin, Gambia, and moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, with my parents Ismail and Fatima Kanu during the sixth summer of my life. I've lived here ever since and consider myself as Canadian as anyone. Being a five-foot-ten, chubby, big-bottomed and very dark-skinned Black female in a land that worships skinny white girls isn't easy, but my parents raised me to be strong and love my blackness.
Colin Woodson, the blond-haired and blue-eyed lothario destined to break my heart was born in Uxbridge, England, and moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, with his mother Colleen Woodson a decade ago. We began dating shortly before our first year at Carleton University. I was crazy about him. Interracial relationships are never easy, especially given that Colin's mother and her less than enthusiastic attitude towards our being together. Still, we stuck it out, and would have made it if it hadn't been for Colin screwing up.
"How could you cheat on me with Khadija?" I shouted, confronting Colin about his infidelity, having discovered steamy texts and nude photos of my best friend Khadija Malik in his iPhone. The kind of punks who cheat on their significant others have one thing in common. They never think they're going to get caught and they almost always do. We were sitting inside the Starbucks located near the Ottawa public library downtown, one of our favorite spots, and Colin sat opposite me, a frozen smile on his pale face, which I once found so handsome.
"Mina, Khadija was a one-time thing, she meant nothing to me," Colin said, and he looked at me with those blue eyes I once found oh-so charming, and I seethed with rage. Before I could stop myself, I slapped Colin hard across the face, causing him to flinch and spill his Espresso all over himself. Rising to my feet, I grabbed my purse and got ready to go, but got in one last parting shot.
"Hope the bitch was worth it," I shouted at Colin, and he looked at me like I had two heads. Everyone inside the Starbucks stared at me, and I didn't care. I walked out of there, and hopped on the first bus I saw. Thus ended the longest romantic relationship of my adult life. In one fell swoop I lost my boyfriend and my less-than-trustworthy best friend. I felt like I was in hell. Life sucked. What's a gal to do? I had to move on.
Ladies and gentlemen, it sucks being single when you've been in a relationship for so long. Nostalgia gripped my heart, and the school year was just beginning. Life was forcing all sorts of changes on me. I had been at Carleton University for almost half a decade, and it was a wonderful time for the most part. Even on this racially diverse campus you'll encounter a few jerks and a few fake-smiling, passive-aggressive racists, but by and large, my experience was a positive one.
That fateful morning, I lined up at the Tim Horton's on the first floor of the University Center Building with my fellow peons, and got myself an egg and cheese sandwich, a bottle of lemonade and hash browns. I sat down and ate my meal, and then went to take the service elevator to get to the fourth floor. There was a tall, burly black dude in a construction worker's helmet and blue overalls pushing a heavy cart, and I had to squeeze by in order to get into the service elevator.
"Good morning," said the construction worker, and I looked at him and smiled. The dude was tall, easily six-foot-three, handsome and well-built, with dark brown skin and stylish dreads. Cute butt, I thought. There was a lot of construction going on at school, especially around the Mac Odrum Library and the Loeb Building. I personally couldn't wait for them to be done, because they're kind of in the way, you know?
"Fourth floor please," I said to the construction guy, and the brother smiled and nodded, and punched the fourth button, and the fifth one. I stood there, and checked my cell phone. My cell phone provider has lousy reception when it comes to basements, and I'd been meaning to switch companies or at least get a better plan. As the elevator reached the third floor, I heard a loud, metallic noise, and the elevator stopped.
"Oh damn, looks like we're stuck," the construction dude said, and I sighed deeply. I should mention that I am slightly claustrophobic, and began to hyperventilate almost immediately after the elevator stopped moving. I absolutely hate the confines of these hellish machines. The last time I got stuck in an elevator, I nearly passed out. I swore to never use them again. Of course, given the way the world is set up, that's really not practical. I tolerate the service elevators at Carleton University because they're big and roomy, not small and tight.
"What the fuck? Open the door!" I shrieked, and I started banging against the elevator doors with my fists, to no avail. The construction worker looked at me, shook his head and slowly let go of the cart handles. I knew I was having a spaz moment and needed to calm down, but knowing something and doing it are two different things. To make things worse, the sandwich and hash brown I'd just had at Tim Horton's didn't seem to agree with my stomach, and then the stomach rumbling began.
"Ma'am, calm down please, it's going to be alright, I'm Marcus, and I've been in such a situation before, just relax," the construction worker said, and he held his hands up. I nodded and forced myself to calm down, and when I opened my mouth to speak, I was about to introduce myself to the dude, and then the unthinkable happened. Looking back on that day, I laugh. A very funny series of unfortunate events, some might say. I didn't laugh then. It's not funny when it happens to you.
