WE ARE CANADIAN
I sit on the bus, earphones in, music blasting. Not so surprisingly, it’s an American singer, but that’s what everyone listens to.
I take my bag off of the seat next to me, knowing that we’re coming to the stop outside the YMCA. It’s an organization that helps community members, helps people find homes and jobs, recently helping refugees resettle into this new and bizarre land.
Many of them live by me, the YMCA owning many apartments in my neighbourhood. They get bus passes and take the bus, because they can’t drive here, not yet. Most don’t own their own houses yet, either. But that’s okay, the government is helping them, we’re helping them. We approach the stop and many climb the stairs, making their way onto the bus and taking empty seats where they can find them.
A girl sits next to me; she sits next to me a lot. I’m not good with words and she knows little English. In a weird way, it works. She probably doesn’t remember me. That’s kind of how it is on the bus for me, I pass many strangers, some of them becoming regulars, but we don’t really know each other. Probably never will.
The bus moves forward quite aggressively, but we’re all used to this by now. The bus drivers have a schedule to keep. Sometimes they speed up a little, but who doesn’t every now and again? Besides, most of these drivers are older and have been driving for many years. I feel safer with them behind the wheel than anyone else.
Some of the people who just came on the bus laugh to themselves as he starts and stops behind a vehicle at a red light. It makes me smile and laugh, too. Their laughter is contagious. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but people around here wouldn’t laugh so freely. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just me.
As we drive along, I pull out one of my earphones; an interesting conversation is going on a few rows of seats ahead of me. A few of the women from the YWCA are talking to two women who were picked up from another bus stop. They’re both First Nations, born in Canada, and one of them is rather loud. It’s not obnoxious or annoying. She’s just very excited to be talking. I admire that.
She’s talking about Jesus, God, and religion. I immediately cringe, afraid of where this is going to go. I’ve seen so many videos on YouTube of hate spewed and blood shed over religion and race. It’s ridiculous, but it happens, and I am wary. But it doesn’t go in that direction. The woman simply asks them if they believe in God. The other women look confused.
A language barrier has made itself known, so the woman tries a different tactic. She asks them if they go to church. It takes a few minutes of them going back and forth before the women from the YWCA start to understand what she is asking. They shake their heads, saying “mosque, mosque, mosque,” in response. The woman nods her head and says plainly that they go to mosque. She asks if it’s like church and they nod their heads a little, unsure if the language barrier is getting their meaning across.
The woman then asks them about how they came here to Canada. She asks if they came from Syria or the Middle East. She then goes on to ask if they like it here. I’m not sure how much the other women understand, but they say something like, “want be here.” Their meaning is clear to me and anyone else on the bus. They are happy to be here.
The louder woman laughs and nods her head, agreeing with them. One of them mentions how cold it is here, and even I chuckle at that. The cold is something I worried about when they first mentioned refugees coming here. I wasn’t sure about climate, and it’s a big shock to come to Canada if you’ve been in a warm place all of your life, especially if you’re coming to Saskatchewan. The woman than says: “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You are welcome here. You are welcome.”
I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement, even if none of them could see me. The bus driver pulls up to my stop; someone else must have pulled the stop request while I was distracted. The girl beside me moves out of the way so I can get by. I make my way down the rows of seats and out the door. I look back one last time, seeing both the YWCA women and the two First Nations women laughing with each other.
As the bus pulls away, I smile.
I wasn’t sure about climate, and it’s a big shock to come to Canada if you’ve been in a warm place all of your life, especially if you’re coming to Saskatchewan.