We were at Peggy’s Cove, southwest shore Nova Scotia. Everything the travel photos had suggested. Quaint. Waves booming at the Lighthouse. Tasty seafood delights. Approachable people of goodwill.
We bumped into a young East Indian woman, sitting alone in the main restaurant. Her face registered pain and discouragement. My wife, in her usual fashion, found a way to launch a gentle conversation.
The woman was an overseas student registered for graduate studies at the university in Halifax. Lonely. Not rushing into new friendships. Missing the busy pace and exotic colours and aromas of her homeland. There would be two years here in separation. Hard work. Much reading. Intense exam pressure, and the dissertation.
“You know everything that I read in advance about your country told me about the moderation, courtesy, gentle humour, peacemaking. Diverse mosaic of cultures and colours mixing and moving forward. And your beautiful connections with landscape and frontier. I was really excited. Studying Sociology...But I have been disappointed. Must say so.”
She went on to describe accounts of bigotry, selfish me-first entitlement, a stranger breed of class consciousness. The Chinese, the Blacks, the First Nations people (Micmac), her own race. All targets. All limping with fresh hurts. And finding it pointless to ask why.
We knew that she was right. Ordered another round of Earl Grey tea and digestives. Listened mostly. My wife’s face registered that compassion and equity I knew to be hers. Outside a magical mist was enveloping the rocks and old dories. Maritime for sure, with some sea-gulls laughing. Pervasive smell of salt.
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