I was in downtown Ottawa today for a haircut. That took 10 minutes, so I went for a walk down Bank Street in the sweltering heat. Immediately, I came across a new Asian restaurant (202 Bank St.) that screamed BUBBLE TEA in two-foot high letters. To my delight, they served bento- a Japanese box lunch. As I sat by the wide-open double doors and people-watched, I picked up one treasure after another with my chopsticks: tempura shrimp, yam and bean; candied chicken satay; california rolls; gyoza; chicken teriyaki with rice. It came with a green salad and miso soup. Took me back to Japan- yum. And only $10.99.

I was unable to eat it all so I gave the leftovers to some pigeons in a small square. A gull came and harassed them, but they got a bit. One male pigeon was all fluffed up- larger than the rest- and uninterested in food. He was hounding a pretty female who kept 2 steps ahead of him at all times.

A smelly man, quite drunk at 1 p.m., stopped and watched with me. “The gulls are bullies,” I said. “Everyone’s gotta eat,” he answered.

A young Chinese man stopped me for directions to Rideau Street. We chatted and I learned he was from Shanghai and would study at the University of Ottawa. Today was his first day in Canada, so I walked with him down Sparks to the Rideau Centre where he would find the monthly bus pass he wanted. That made me happy…and hot, so I slipped into the Lord Elgin Hotel for some air conditioning.

The hotel is quite posh, but I thought that since I was wearing a fedora and the holes in my cut-off shorts were few, that I could fit in. I chose a comfy couch by the window of the lobby and read a newspaper someone had left behind. The bathroom is the cleanest that I know of downtown, one George Costanza would approve of.

Once refreshed, I hit Elgin Street and soon crouched beside an ancient black man sitting on a step playing the harmonica. Summertime blues. A little further down the street, at the Human Rights Monument, I came upon a rally for peace. The flags were Palestinian and as I got closer I read the signs: “Stop killing our children!” “Violence must end.”

I’ve known many Palestinians over the years, and I wandered through the crowd looking for Students I Have Known. No familiar faces, but familiar music, familiar black and white scarves, familiar troubled expressions. I wasn’t the only white Canadian there; I settled on a stone and watched.

Soon four men in black coats, round furry hats, beards and ringlets by their ears came walking toward the crowd. Hasidic Jews. Without a word, they stood in the middle of the crowd and unfurled their signs: “Stop the violence!” “Judaism does not condone war.”

Emotion caught in my throat as a throng of Palestinians gathered in front of the Jewish men to read their signs. Eyes comprehending; eyes meeting and touching. I had no camera, so my mind took the shot- a moment to remember.

I walked away then, but all the way back home I felt grateful to be living in Canada. And so grateful for all the people who have made it here, no matter why they came. This is a good place to be.

summer reading

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In The Word Not Spoken, Jess and Leigh comment on the seriousness of their Turkish neighbours. “They’re not silly.” But in a later scene, these same neighbours get silly at the park in the dark when they let their headscarves fall back and they take turns shrieking their way down a rickety slide.

Leigh comes to the conclusion that the Turkish women’s lives left little room for silliness, what with all the chores and expectations. She believes that poverty and fear put the entire neighbourhood under stress.

“Happy British Muslims” are attempting to dispel the stereotype of the Serious Muslim with the creation of a video set to “Happy” by Pharrell Willimas. It’s gone viral- have a look.

Some Muslims don’t sing and dance, just like some Christians don’t sing and dance, but most do- with heart. I teach English to adult immigrants. Every Thursday we sing: “O Canada” is their favourite, but they can belt out “Bye Bye Love” (Everly Bros), “Here Comes the Sun” (Beatles) and even “All the Same to Me” (Anya Marina). Occasionally dancing erupts in class. I think it testifies to the safety of the place.

There is a great deal of silliness in my classroom and in my school. In fact, I sometimes judge these adults to be immature and their humour incomprehensible. Other times, I eat lunch at my desk listening to the laughter & the many languages in the room.  They touch each other a great deal- Somalis, Iraqis, Bhutanese- they lean on each other to laugh and grab hands. They press food on each other and me. I don’t sit in the classroom to eat unless I can reciprocate their generosity- just like Leigh, I’ve learned that giving back is essential.

A dramatic lifting of stress: Last year, a student being abused by her husband was rescued by a neighbour who called police. (She told me that in her country no one helped her, although many knew and heard.) The student, who was over-tired, quiet and slow in the past, started smiling, calling out correct answers, acing tests…

Tom Boileau ran an experiment in Johannesburg. (Facebook April 18, 2014). He played the drums at night in a townhouse complex and rec’d complaints from neighbours knocking at the door. The following night, at the same volume, he played a tape of a woman screaming, a man yelling, sounds of hitting, banging, crashing. No one knocked on the door.

Some people come a long way for the safety of Canada. I watch the healing going on in my classroom with gratitude.

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