From Indonesia With Love

I have to put on a fake smile and remind myself to be patient with idiots who mistake me for others who may or may not be part of my ethnicity. Price I pay for being Asian in western society, I guess. My name is Armida Waluyo, and my friends call me Amy. I was born in the City of Pekalongan, Indonesia, and moved with my parents, Fajar and Nisrina Waluyo, to Ontario, Canada, in the tenth summer of my life. Ten years later, I'm a second-year student at Algonquin College in Ottawa, struggling to make ends myth. The North American Dream, what they sell you on TV, it's not easy to achieve.

If there is one Canadian town with a clear divide between the haves and the have-nots it's Ottawa. I truly do wish that Canadians would stop beating us immigrants over the head with their multiculturalism slogan. Seriously. They don't like us, I wish they'd stop pretending! Where am I going with this? Let me elaborate a bit. If your last name is Chang, Hussein, Yamamoto or something else that's obviously not western, and you're an educated person shopping your resume around, don't bother. At least not in the City of Ottawa. It's a fairly conservative town, which is a polite way of saying that it's not minority-friendly.

I've met people of African, Asian, Hispanic and Arabian descent who hold degrees from schools like University of Ottawa, Carleton University and the University of Toronto and they're working at Starbucks downtown because the white people in the fancy offices won't hire them. Even entry-level positions are routinely denied to non-white applicants in both the public and private sector. Breaks my heart when I see such talented young people unfairly denied the chance to shine. What can I do? I don't run this town that runs on systemic discrimination.

When it comes to landing good jobs in Ottawa, you've got to get really creative if you're a minority. I work at a Call Center downtown. They pay me seventeen dollars per hour, and I have an ID badge that lets me into the building. It's got my picture on it and everything. I wear it on a lanyard around my neck to show it off to the bigots who stare hard at me as I ride the OC Transpo bus from Orleans to downtown Ottawa where I work. How I got that job is one for the ages. I called them and sent them my resume. They said they'd call me back but didn't. Four weeks went by. I was in dire straits, so something had to give.

I finally showed up at the Call Center, and got past security. I managed to get to the human resources department, and ran into one Betty Madison. A short, red-haired and stocky, masculine white woman. Out of ideas and out of break, and looking over my shoulder for the approaching security guards, I frantically handed her my resume in a hail Mary move. As the security guards got ready to escort me out, the odd woman promised she'd call me. And she did, I came back for an actual interview. Yup, that's how I got hired!

I love working at the Call Center. The other workers suck, and there's a lot of backstabbing and name-calling but that's okay...as a Muslim woman living in western society, I was ready for it. After living in Canada's Capital region for over a decade, I have lost all traces of my Indonesian accent. Anyone looking at me would see a five-foot-six, slender, bronze-skinned, brown-eyed and raven-haired Asian gal in her early twenties. I speak English and French fluently, having attended a bilingual school in Orleans shortly after my folks moved there. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, I'm a proud citizen of Canada. Took the oath of citizenship downtown ages ago, when I was still in high school. And yet not a day goes by without some fool, usually of European descent, asking me where I come from.

Sometimes I like to flip the question on them, the almighty Euro-Canadians. Where are you from, buddy? I ask them, deadpan. They usually stare at me blankly and say they're Canadian. Smirking, I ask them where in Europe are they from since they don't look Native. This usually irks them, at which point they either walk away or cuss me out. Sorry for being somewhat flippant but someone has to keep these fools in check. The planet Earth is the abode of all humanity. From the darkest man in Africa to the peoples of South Asia, the Latinos, the Caribbean people, the Arabs and the Europeans. No single group can lay greater claim over this world than any other. For the Most High hath made us all...

Sorry if I'm bitching but I really get frustrated with them people in Ottawa. My parents live in Toronto now and they love it. It's where most of the newcomers to Canada love to stay. Lots of Arabs, Africans, Asians and Latinos in the Greater Toronto Area. I think whites are on their way to becoming a minority in the GTA if current population trends hold. It's a lovely place and it's quite diverse but I can't afford to live there. Besides, I'm close to earning my bachelor's degree in business at Algonquin College. Why quit when I'm so close to the finish line? Yeah, didn't make much sense to me either.

Besides, I have one reason to stay in Ottawa, and his name is Garaad "Gary" Suleiman. I met the six-foot-four, athletic and dark-skinned Somali stud under less than ideal circumstances. It was nighttime and I was hanging around the Rideau Center. I wanted to catch the number eighteen bus to Vanier, because I was staying with my friend Leanne Abdullah at the time. Leanne is tall and skinny, dark-haire d and fair-skinned. Born in Lebanon to a Maronite Christian family, she's really into Muslim guys for some reason. I guess that's why she loves the east end so much. Anyhow, while waiting for the bus, I got accosted and hassled by three creepy white guys.

They leered at me, smoking, drinking and smirking. The Rideau Center's bus stop is one of the scariest parts of Ottawa at night. All the whackos hang around that place. The bozos who get into fights for no reason, the crack heads, the poseurs, the thugs and the wannabe thugs. If you're a young woman in a short skirt just waiting at the bus stop, you're just asking for trouble. At least that's what some people seem to think. So, these guys started hollering at me and I told them to fuck off. Didn't deter them, in fact it spurred them on. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by them. When racist creeps get some alcohol in their system, they're all the more dangerous because they feel invincible.

I don't know what I would have done if Gary hadn't stepped in. The tall black dude in the Kufi hat and overalls stepped between me and the creeps, and told them to buzz off. Racist white guys tend to be weary of big and tall black men. It's the one guy that makes them nervous. A brother who's strong-looking and wouldn't mind beating them up if he had to. They'll fuck with anybody except the brothers. Bigoted white guys are terrified of black men, it's a well-known fact. That's why they feel the need to swagger and act all tough when they've got the advantage of numbers. Yet five white guys aren't bold enough to take on three well-built black men, not unless the predictably bigoted cops are around to jump to the white guys rescue. Cowards, the whole lot of them. I mean, to feel like real men, they surrounded me, calling me a chink bitch for rebuking their drunken advances and I, a wee little woman, as I've often been called, stood up to them.

Well, I did, until they started shoving me. That's when Gary stepped in, and shoved them back. They sobered right up when they saw him. Big and tall and black, the personification of everything they hate and fear. They seized him up, and I guess they felt like they could take him. Well, I stood by his side, this perfect stranger who stuck up for me. I drew a pen from my purse, and held it before me like a dagger. The three bigoted schmucks looked at Gary, then at me. One of them grunted something about Canada letting in too many damn chinks and niggers, then they walked away.

Gary started after them as they cross the street but I stopped him. They're not worth it, I said, halting him by laying my hand on his arm. Gary looked at me, hesitated, then nodded. Finally, he returned to the bus stop. There were quite a few people who'd been observing the whole exchange between myself, the drunken racist thugs and my eventual rescuer. I looked at Gary, and thanked him for his help. Nodding, he shrugged and said it was the right thing to do. Before I could reply to that, the number nine bus came and Gary got on it. He waved me goodbye, and I stood there, blown away by the whole event.

I got to Leanne's place that night, a bit rattled, as you can imagine. The two of us stayed up late that night, and I decided right then and there that I would never go anywhere near Rideau Street on my own at night again. Not unless I had a revolver or something and as you may know, handguns are illegal in peaceful little Canada. I went to bed that night thinking of Garaad, my hero. I figured I'd never see him again. Ottawa may feel like a small town but it's got about a million people. You can go ages without running into some people...even if they never leave town.

I went to school the following Monday, and guess who I saw coming out of the library. Gary, the tall Somali dude from that unforgettable night. Except he was wearing a black and red sports coat with the words "Carleton Ravens" written all over it, blue jeans and boots. And there was a short, slender young Black woman with him. I approached them, and much to my surprise, Gary actually remembered me. As Salam Alaikum Amy, he said. I nodded, and shook his hand. This is my sister Maymuna, Gary said, nodding to the gal next to him. I shook Maymuna's hand and gave her the run-down about how I met her brother. That's my brother he's a real hero, Maymuna grinned. I smiled and nodded at that.

I stood there, smiling awkwardly at Gary and Maymuna, and wondering what else I could say. Fortunately, Maymuna was a real sweetheart who invited me to grab a bite with her and her brother. We ate at a Quizno's restaurant located not far from Algonquin College, off of Baseline Road. Thus I learned a bit about Gary and his sister. Gary's in his third year in the criminology program at Carleton University. The tall Somali brother spoke with pride as he told me his dream of one day becoming a lawyer. You can totally do it, I chimed in enthusiastically. Maymuna shot me a look but said nothing.

We continued talking. Indeed, Maymuna told me about her prowess in the police foundations program here at Algonquin but I didn't really listen. My eyes were riveted on Garaad "Gary" Suleiman. The brother was well-spoken, and quite handsome! After lunch, we parted ways, for Gary had to go back to Carleton. He was only visiting his baby sister at our school. Always one to seize the moment, I took out my cell phone and gave each of them my number. I don't know a lot of people in town, I said sheepishly. Maymuna rolled her eyes, apparently seeing through my ploy but Gary seemed to buy it. I wished them both well, then went back to class.

I went to the library and did the creep thing on Facebook, hunting for one Garaad Suleiman. Lucky for me, my 'potential new love interest' had a profile. I checked it out and sent him a friend request. To my surprise and delight, he added me as a friend mere minutes later. Hmmm. Apparently he's got Facebook on his iPhone. Cool. Gary called me a few hours later, and we made plans to hang out. I told him I'm a very outgoing person who loves to meet new people. As you can imagine, Gary was delighted to hear that. When he invited me to go see a movie with him, I jumped at the chance.

Look, I know I seemed eager but fuck it, life is too short to fool around, you know? A lot of girls make the mistake of fooling around and driving off the good guys while chasing the bad ones. Me? I know better. Garaad Suleiman is definitely the type of guy I could see myself with. He's good-looking, intelligent, ambitious and going places. Oh yeah, and he saved my narrow Indonesian ass the first time he saw me. He's a fellow Muslim, being Somali and all, and seems like a good guy. That's got to count for something. So, yeah, I decided I'd go out with him and see what happens. That was six months ago....we've been together ever since. What can I say? I've got it like that. Peace be upon you.