"Wake the hell up, Samson, we're going to be late for class!" Those words, coming out of my girlfriend Farzana Hashemi's luscious lips, roused me out of a very good and restful sleep in a quiet corner of the Algonquin College library. I looked up at her through sleepy eyes, and forced a brave smile. Man, I am extremely T-I-R-E-D today.
"Sorry, bay, I didn't get any sleep last night," I said, as I slowly got up and did the whole yawning and stretching thing before grabbing my backpack. I looked at Farzana, who stared at me impatiently. Gently I pulled her into a hug, and after a brief hesitation, Farzana hugged me back.
"What would you do without me?" Farzana said smartly, smirking as she clapped me on the shoulder none too gently. I nodded, shrugged and put my arm around her as we made our way out of the campus library, and headed to our accounting class.
My name is Samson Carl Clayton, and I'm a big and tall young Black man of Jamaican descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. My parents, Clinton and Gladys Clayton moved to Ontario, Canada, from their hometown of Malvern, Jamaica, in the summer of 1989. I was born two years later in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm as Canadian as anyone, even though folks around here ask me about my origins at least once a week.
"Dude, did you remember that we're having our accounting midterm today?" Farzana's borderline shrill voice said, snapping me out of yet another reverie. I daydream a lot these days, side effect of working thirty hours a week as a security guard while attending school at the same time.
"Bay, I've got this accounting shit down pat," I said, and gently kissed Farzana on the forehead. My sweetie looked at me and rolled her lovely brown eyes, but couldn't stop herself from smiling. By all accounts, Farzana Hashemi and I can be considered an odd couple.
I'm a six-foot-two, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome Jamaican-Canadian brother and my sweetie is a unique blend of South Asian and Persian. Farzana's mother Mariam Khan is originally from Pakistan and her father, Lucien Hashemi, is originally from the Islamic Republic of Iran. Standing five-foot-seven, with light bronze skin, golden brown eyes and curly black hair, Farzana is simply lovely. Most days I can't believe my damn luck, having a gal like her in my life.
Farzana and I met while I was visiting my cousin Ashton in Toronto a year ago. I was chilling with Ash in the Eaton Center, when I spotted a lovely middle-eastern chick walking through the food court, sporting a green and white sweatshirt with the Algonquin College logo on it. I just had to approach the lady, and it's a good thing I did.
"Excuse me lady, are you from Ottawa?" I asked her sexiness when I saw her standing in line at Manchu Wok. The pretty-faced, dark-haired young woman looked me up and down, and smiled hesitantly. Doubtless she was wondering who in hell I was and what I wanted from her.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" she said, and I grinned while pointing to the furry Thor, the official Algonquin College mascot, emblazoned on my T-shirt. When she saw that, Farzana smiled brightly, and introduced herself. Like us, she was from Ottawa and visiting family in Toronto.
From the moment Farzana shook my hand and flashed me that fearless smile of hers, I knew that I wanted her. That's why I invited her to grab lunch with my cousin Ash and I inside the Eaton Center food court, since we "Ottawa folks had to stick together". Not my cleverest ploy, I know, but it worked. Farzana joined us for lunch, and that's how it all began....
"There, we're on time, just like I knew we would be," I said smugly, and Farzana shot me a look as we strolled into the Accounting For Business class near the Transportation Technology Center. I'm only taking three classes this semester because the government of Ontario determined that my folks make too much money for me to receive OSAP.
My mother works as a manager in the TD MBNA Call Center in Gloucester, Ontario, and my father works as a corrections officer for the Ontario Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services. We're just a middle-class family, we're not rich people. Unfortunately, the Ontario government feels otherwise and since I don't want to burden my parents, I have to work as a rent-a-cop to pay for tuition, rent and groceries.
"Good evening folks," Professor Vincent Tremblay's melancholy voice said, and I looked at the rotund little man standing at the front of the class. This is the second time I've had this prof and I don't like him at all. Look, I'm going to be blunt here. If you're an intelligent young black man with ambition pursuing higher education, middle-aged white guys from the professional classes see you as a threat.
Not to toot my own horn here but I'm a damn good student. With strict Jamaican parents, I have no choice but to be. Profs like Mr. Tremblay here are used to thinking of young black men as delinquents and troublemakers. The fact that some of us want to get an education and achieve success is something many view as an anomaly. I think our prof doesn't like me, but I can't say that to Farzana, though. My gal thinks this dude's shit don't stink.
"Please grab your pens and pencils and place your student ID cards on the table while I hand out the midterm," Professor Tremblay said, and just like everyone else in the classroom, which holds about thirty students, I did as I was told. I fumbled through my backpack, looking for a pencil.
"I've got you," Farzana said, holding a number two pencil and shaking her head. I ignored her, and continued looking through my backpack. Finally, I found an old pencil with a chewed-up top, and held it up triumphantly. I looked at Farzana, and smiled like I'd just won the NBA championship or something.
