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  »Thus Spake Zebeen

I am Canadian?

I have been living in Canada for 33 years and I have never felt like I belong.

I was born in Uganda, East Africa and in 1972, all Asians were told to leave their home. My father knew intuitively a year before that this would be our fate and left in 1971 with my mother to make a place for us in Canada. Like a good trailblazer, he cut down trees, weeds and carved out a path for my identical twin sister and me.

When the news came in 1972, my sister and I – then six – were boarded onto a plane destined for a new life in Canada.

As soon as the plane landed on Canadian soil, we were both escorted out of the plane and into a waiting room, which was divided by a glass partition. We were not allowed to embrace our parents because the white man on duty decided that we could not possibly be our parents’ offspring. The plane which brought us was kept waiting in case it was determined we had to leave. But to where?

After hours of interrogation – a lifetime for two young kids – we finally found solace and security in our parents’ arms. This was our welcoming mat to a new country. Land of the free.

Our path since that time has been charted knee-deep in racism, discrimination, and oppression. My mother, who was educated in England, was not allowed to teach as her interviewer claimed she did not speak English – this despite the fact that the whole interview was conducted in English. Finally, he said that foreigners and immigrants came and took away jobs. My father, who was a businessman, could not find work and was forced to create his own job. We moved so many times in our young lives, which added to the feeling of not belonging.

After a while, the negativity solidified and thus my destiny was formed. This was my foundation and it would determine which path I was allowed to take. This was further reinforced each time I was asked “who are you’? When I would answer, “I am Canadian,” the next question would be “no, really, who are you?” I decided that the next time I was asked this question, I would state proudly that I am an Ismaili Muslim first and then Canadian second. The white face that asked this question accepted this answer. It seemed palatable to him/her and it suited me just fine.

But during 9/11, I was neither Muslim nor Canadian; I did not know who I was. Thank God, I came out of the coma pretty fast.

I have been searching for my house of belonging. I have uprooted myself and I am on another journey. This time, the path in front of me is paved by my own choices and not by circumstance or by other people’s idea of what road I should travel. I have also come to accept that Canada will always be my second home. The struggle to belong has been replaced with peace of body, mind and spirit.

I do know where my home is and when the plane lands and I feel the ground beneath my feet, there will be no glass partition. There will be the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze and the open arms of a loving, accepting people. At this time, my search for the house of belonging would have ended. I will put down new roots, which would smell of paradise, and I would embark on another journey. I would have found my home.

Seven years ago I made a very conscious decision to bring my daughter Azynah into this world despite many reservation and fears. She has the most beautiful brown skin and the deepest brown eyes. She personifies for me a real Canadian. She is a blend of two cultures, two very different religious beliefs, but wonderful values. She is a product of an Ismaili Muslim and a Punjabi Sikh – in itself an unlikely pairing. She was born in a Canadian hospital, on Canadian soil and has a Canadian birth certificate.

I know that the journey she will take on the highway to her destiny will be smoother and she will have the sense of self-worth to be able to walk around potholes. The words that will be bestowed upon her will be “you belong, you deserve”. When she is asked the question of “who are you?” she will reply, “I AM CANADIAN.” And it’ll end right there.