It’s about that time, everybody — cue Boyz II Men’s “End of the Road” for dramatic effect. Closing up my final year, I can safely describe this ending as rather bittersweet. With big wide eyes and being rather used to the West as a privileged Nigerian, I had great expectations coming into my first year and didn’t want to take the opportunity of studying at U of T — an opportunity that many do not have access to — for granted. But inevitably, my realities regularly fell short of that.
It was my African parents who were particularly fond of Canada and the chances it could give me for upward mobility. The choice to attend the University of Toronto was also heavily guided by them. While I wasn’t expecting the great social extravaganza shown to me in movies and books, a girl could dream.
I wasted no time in my first year not living up to these expectations. Yes, I identify as a Black African woman, but it’s been interesting acknowledging that I have been rather privileged to have limited experiences with overt racism. Shuffling between Nigeria and England until I was 16, and having travelled to various places around the world, I rarely registered my race as a salient factor in my bad experiences with people. I might just not remember as a result of young naïveties, but it’s still something I’m in the process of dissecting. Having matured though — rather aggressively in the recent political climate — I’ve had to reconcile such favoured experiences with the subsumed guilt of knowing the experiences of Black communities across the world. Either way, I took it upon myself to get an education and better understand their situations.
But only through living in Canada did I get a practical understanding of the nuances of covert racism and racial microaggressions. Coming in, my parents had already advised me to shorten my native name, Oluwatamilore, to the more Western abbreviation, Tami, to ease communication with people and have a simpler tool for blending in. It’s not my parents’ fault; they just understood how the system worked and they were right. You could see it in people’s breaths of relief when they didn’t have to put in that extra effort with pronunciations. It was the first step to being seen.
By the end of my first year, I had already been ‘randomly’ picked out and trailed by attendants in stores several times, accosted with unwanted touching of my hair, praised for speaking ‘good’ English, and more. I was regularly struck by the sheer ignorance of many Canadians about realities outside of their immediate world and how comfortable they were in that lack of knowledge and their refusal to educate themselves. I’d been fed, or rather, shoved with so much knowledge about Western cultures and ways of life that it felt unfair to not be afforded the same act in return. So I grew bitter toward this country, its people, and its shell-like appreciation of foreign cultures.
Though I tried to overcome this bitterness over the years, these feelings affected my relations with Canadians at work and school. I became overly cynical of others and our interactions. I took their questions about my culture at face value, assuming they already had their stereotypical preconceived notions — so why bother trying to correct them? I allowed my disdain for Canada to wholly consume me.
To be honest, it wasn’t until my third year that I finally allowed myself to be more open to embracing Canadian culture. Before, I felt forced to choose between becoming the ‘digestible’ foreigner — changing my speech, clothing, and all that — or keeping true to my identity. Eventually, I realized that I shouldn’t have to compromise. By fourth year, my experiences at university and outside of it made me see the value in my identity as a proud Black African woman. I gravitated toward school associations that coincided with my national and racial identity and worked to involve myself in these communities. Thankfully, I decided not to diminish myself in order to make others comfortable.
Quite happily, I took in the poutine, maple syrup, theme parks, and monuments. But most importantly, I took in what I believe to be the most beautiful thing about this country: its social progressiveness. Especially since I come from an environment filled with rather regressive mindsets about the rights of women, LGBTQ+ people, children, and other minorities, Canada has served as a stark example of a high-functioning society, something for which Canadians should be truly proud and appreciative. Through my years here, it has enabled me to be a more forward thinker, and encouraged me to do my bit in supporting equality for all.
With my degree soon to be completed, I have chosen to be pleased with this chapter of my life. It’s safe to say that the university experience was just okay for me. It wasn’t the wondrous journey of a lifetime I’d envisioned, but the experiences I’ve had and the people I’ve been able to meet have made for great memories. I’m proud of myself for overcoming the struggles, for those moments were sometimes all too overwhelming. These years have taught me to stand strong in my truth and convictions. Convictions of what I feel, and a holistic recognition and acknowledgement of all parts of my identity should be warranted by society. I guess it explains why, through my writing, I’m venturing into a field that seeks to educate people on topics and issues that many can’t begin to fathom beyond the borders of Canada. Yes, I’m anxious, but more so, I’m so ready for the future ahead, in whatever part of the world I choose to fulfil it.
Only time will tell if I will be able to achieve all the things that I have naturally assumed I will, and overcome the stacked odds of systemic gender and racial discrimination working against me. But then, with all this, I remember that I’m also an African. Failure just hasn’t been presented to me, or rather, internalized by me as a feasible option. Even if I do happen to falter or fall below my own expectations, I will write about it.
