When she was only 11 years old, the school bus Emilia Becker was riding in was involved in a crash and rollover. What her family first thought was a concussion turned out to be much worse. At times, her courageous comeback from brain trauma has been slow and arduous. While she will forever live with the effects of the injury, now, after years of hard work and with the help of friends, family and University of Regina faculty and staff, Becker is celebrating her graduation at the University’s spring convocation.

Emilia Becker doesn’t remember the moment of impact. One instant, she was riding in the school bus, and the next, she was being driven to the hospital. Everything looked white. Later she was told that when the bus collided with another vehicle and flipped over, she hit her head on the roof. She was originally diagnosed with a concussion, but after several weeks of no improvement, it became clear that she had suffered a moderate brain injury. She was only 11 years old.

Physically, the injury left her dizzy and in pain, making walking difficult. “I knew in my head how to walk, but my right leg didn’t listen to me very well. It would drag and my toes would turn in and curl up,” she says.

Emilia and Heather Getz
Becker and one of her strongest supports, her mother Heather Getz. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Then there were the changes in her personality. Her mother, Heather Getz, noticed it right away. “She was very literal. She behaved quite childlike; she was like a three-year-old. One of the biggest things was that she lost her sense of humour,” she says.

Getz took a year off work to get Becker to physio appointments and do whatever she could to help her daughter heal physically and mentally. Cross-country skiing and swimming assisted with mobility, and tricks such as drawing pictures and making up stories helped with memory. “I used to rub her feet, because the right side was impacted. Her right foot was always colder and didn’t have as much sensation. I would try to remind her brain that it was there. I thought if I could remind the brain that those parts are there, maybe they will work better,” Getz says.

"What I’ve learned is that you grieve the change when a child is injured, particularly with brain injury, but it’s the same with any child as they grow up. Who they are may not be what you anticipated, but you have to love them and not push them back into something you thought they would be, because who they’re turning into is remarkable.”

Particularly concerning was when the pediatric neurologist told Getz to be prepared for the possibility that Becker may never be able to live independently. “That was really shocking, because I kept thinking she was getting better. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wouldn’t get my old girl back,” Getz says. “It was hard to accept that we had to let go of the girl she had been, grieve who she was and accept who she is. What I’ve learned is that you grieve the change when a child is injured, particularly with brain injury, but it’s the same with any child as they grow up. Who they are may not be what you anticipated, but you have to love them and not push them back into something you thought they would be, because who they’re turning into is remarkable.”

Returning to school was a struggle for Becker. Before the injury, she had straight As and was involved in Girl Guides, tap, jazz, ballet, Spanish lessons and more. Afterward, she couldn’t even remember how to read or do math. “I’d read a sentence and would forget the beginning of it by the end of the sentence. I went back to reading kids’ [picture] books,” Becker says.

a man and a woman talk at a table
Becker and her fiancé, Sebastian Wolfmueller, take a break from studying. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

 

Getz made flash cards to help Becker learn simple math again. “She cried because she knew how to do things like multiplication but had to relearn it the second time,” Getz says.

All of that hard work paid off. By the end of Grade 8, Becker had one of the highest average in her class. “It wasn’t an option for me to not be the best I could be. I was always a really determined kid. It didn’t occur to me to just accept it. My family really believed in me and sacrificed a lot to get me back to where I was. Without their support, I wouldn’t have been able to do all the rehab that I did,” she says.

Brain injuries are permanent, however. Becker still suffers effects from her injury, including exhaustion and mental health issues such as depression and anxiety. Despite these challenges, Becker enrolled at the University of Victoria in 2013, where she studied sociology for two years.

“I’ve always been ambitious academically, and they knew that the future I wanted had to be achieved by going back to university,” she says. “They believed in me, helped me figure out my finances and really inspired me to take the plunge. I may have gone back eventually on my own, but they were a huge factor.”

When she came home to Regina for the summer in 2015, she contracted a virus that left her bedridden for months. That time off made her realize how much her mental health had been taxed during her time away at university. “Up until then, I’d been coping, but with the added stress of accommodations, living away from home, school and my mental health, I decided it would be the healthiest decision to stay home, near family and friends, and take a break from the stress of school,” she says.

She kept busy working a few different jobs, including with the federal government, Laser Quest, a gym and the Regina Bypass. She also volunteered with CC RezQs, a local dog rescue, by fostering dogs in her home, and she started painting as a hobby. She soon became dissatisfied with the entry-level positions she could find without a university degree. Her mother and boyfriend (now fiancé) started nudging her to go back to school.

“I’ve always been ambitious academically, and they knew that the future I wanted had to be achieved by going back to university,” she says. “They believed in me, helped me figure out my finances and really inspired me to take the plunge. I may have gone back eventually on my own, but they were a huge factor.”

“I may take longer to write a test, but when I put my mind to it, I can still get 90s. I believe that disabilities just change the way we do things but don’t limit us.”

She picked up her studies at the University of Regina in fall 2017. The University was a natural choice for Becker, as she wanted to be close to her family and support systems. She also appreciated the diversity of classes available. She majored in sociology and minored in psychology, filling her electives with classes such as women and gender studies, biology, Cree, and interdisciplinary studies.

The University works hard to accommodate students with disabilities. The main accommodation Becker received was extra time to write exams, as well as a private room to write them in. “The extra time lets me take rests when my brain gets tired, without sacrificing the entire exam,” she says. Becker finds that after about half an hour on a multiple choice exam, she may be unable to comprehend what she’s reading. “It feels like I hit a wall.”

She has learned that the best way to continue writing is to close her eyes and rest for at least five minutes. Then she can usually continue for another small stretch. “The extra time helps me take my time and truly show what I know, without my disability getting in the way,” she says. “I may take longer to write a test, but when I put my mind to it, I can still get 90s. I believe that disabilities just change the way we do things but don’t limit us.”

Laura Ambrose
Laura Ambrose, Biology instructor, Luther College. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

One professor who has supported Becker in her academic journey is Laura Ambrose, who teaches biology at Luther College. Ambrose has a lot of experience accommodating students with disabilities. “When I meet with students about their accommodations, I am careful to be respectful of them as people, not just thinking of them as students that require more time from me. I like to have them tell me how they see their accommodations being met, as a starting point for the discussion, working together from there to determine the best strategies for the semester,” she says. “It is important to me that students feel comfortable coming to me during the semester if there is a problem with the accommodations in the lectures or labs. I let them know that I think they are the experts for their situation, and I am more than willing to learn new ways to create an equitable learning environment.”

Ambrose has some advice for other professors who may be new to accommodating students with disabilities. “I encourage my colleagues to see accommodations as an opportunity to get to know more about students and the way they learn, rather than more tasks for the to-do list. Meeting accommodations sometimes requires creativity and allows development of interesting strategies for teaching and assessing that will benefit all students. Classes with high enrolments are not great for getting to know students or hear their narratives, so meeting with students about accommodation is a great connection.”

Becker was in the Luther College library when she received an email telling her she had won the David Ryson Accessibility and Inclusion Award. She was so happy, she immediately started crying. After she had calmed herself down, a second email came in to inform her that she was the recipient of the Dr. Douglas and Patricia Vandenberghe Scholarship. “I burst into tears again. Then I went home. I didn’t get any homework done that day.”

portrait of woman sitting in wingback chair
As of the time of the writing of the story, Becker was one class shy of earning her degree. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Both the award and the scholarship are for U of R students with disabilities. “I want people to know how helpful that was for me and hopefully get more scholarships for people with disabilities. Paying for school is hard enough, but if you have a disability, it’s even harder,” she says. “A scholarship that is specific to people with disabilities gives them a better fighting chance to overcome their situation and achieve their greatest potential.”

With the award and scholarship, Becker only had to find $400 to pay her tuition that semester. She was able to do that by selling some of the paintings she had created. “I was able to say, ‘I paid for a whole semester of school with just my grades and my art.’ I didn’t have to dig more into my savings and my parents’ savings because of that.”

Becker is a self-taught artist. She has always been artistic but was inspired to start painting seriously in 2017, when she went to a Luther University Student Association Paint Nite fundraiser to support Astonished!, a non-profit on-campus organization that addresses the barriers young adults with complex physical disabilities face.

“I ended up going on my own and painting something, and it was really cool,” she says. What started as a hobby became a small business, with a realtor commissioning her to paint pictures of houses for clients, and others hiring her to do portraits of their pets. She is busy enough selling her art that she hasn’t had to work a typical part-time job for the past year.

woman working by desk light
Becker, a self-taught artist, has been seriously painting for a couple years. Her artwork not only helps in her recovery but she sells much of her output. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

The art has helped in her recovery as well, by engaging her fine motor skills and giving her another way to communicate. “Art is good at explaining what you’re going through. You can express yourself and occupy your mind and play and discover things. It’s separate from your disability, mental health issues, school stressors and life in general. You can escape everything for a while, and there’s no expectations, there’s no good or bad,” she says. “I think art is something everyone can do. It’s fun to get messy; we don’t get to do that very much once we grow up.”

artwork items on a tabletop
Becker’s art has helped her recovery as by engaging her fine motor skills and giving her another way to communicate. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Becker likes to focus on optimism and positivity in her art. “I think a lot of art comes from understanding struggles and hardship, but I want to focus on how to grow from it and what comes out of that.”

One of her favourite things is being commissioned to do a painting because she gets to work closely with people to figure out their interests and what they want in their home. “You have to really understand them and what they’re passionate about. I don’t have a specific style that I can apply to everything. I find out their reason why they want it painted and make a whole new creative process,” she says.

woman outside in red jacket leaning against a white fence
Glenda James, executive director of the Saskatchewan Brain Injury Association. (Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Becker has also been a spokesperson for the Saskatchewan Brain Injury Association. They made a video about her story, featured her on a poster with the theme, “You can’t see a brain injury,” and sent her on a summer speaking tour of service clubs. Glenda James, executive director of the Saskatchewan Brain Injury Association, notes that a speech Emilia gave at a fundraising gala was even more popular that the one given by the keynote speaker that year. “She can articulate her story very well,” says James. “One of the things I remember most is she said she wished she had a cast on her head, because the hardest thing about being a brain injury survivor is the invisibility. You can’t see a brain injury, but that doesn’t mean you’re not affected.”

“The only thing she needs from the rest of us is some understanding and a bit of accommodation. If we can give them supports and focus on their strengths, people can succeed as Emilia is doing,” she says.

James believes society should look at people with disabilities from a “strength-based approach.” This involves understanding what they’re going through and accepting them for who they are, so their strengths can be supported. “Let’s not discount people because of how they appear to us. Let’s dig a little deeper before making judgements. Let’s focus on strengths. Emilia is brilliant, artistic and creative. She is a very capable person, and she has all the things she needs to succeed. The only thing she needs from the rest of us is some understanding and a bit of accommodation. If we can give them supports and focus on their strengths, people can succeed as Emilia is doing,” she says.

To discover how you can make a difference in the lives of other students like Emilia who live with permanent disabilities, please consider a gift to the University of Regina Accessibility and Inclusion Award. For more information, please click here.
About the Author

Sabrina Cataldo is an award-winning writer and communications strategist in Regina.

Photos by Trevor Hopkin, University of Regina Photography Department.

WP_Post Object ( [ID] => 3041 [post_author] => 7 [post_date] => 2019-06-03 16:36:14 [post_date_gmt] => 2019-06-03 22:36:14 [post_content] =>

It’s been 26 years since Denis Carignan BA'93 walked across the stage to receive his Bachelor of English Literature from the Saskatchewan Federated Indian College (now First Nations University of Canada) at the University of Regina.

The goal of the company is to create and leverage a pool of 1,000 Indigenous software testers across Canada by 2022.

He is the first to admit being president of a company was not something he would have predicted back then, but that’s exactly what happened.

Sitting in a coffee shop armed with a laptop and a smartphone he has everything he needs to start his day as president of PLATO Testing – a software testing company. Established in 2015 in New Brunswick, it employs 60 Indigenous testers and has offices on or near Indigenous communities in Fredericton, Miramichi, Sault Ste. Marie, Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver and most recently Regina.

The goal of the company is to create and leverage a pool of 1,000 Indigenous software testers across Canada by 2022. Carignan joined PLATO Testing as its president in September 2016, but his connection to the company began long before then.

It is a tale of being the right person in the right place at the right time. He readily shares his story of how he became the leader of a cutting-edge IT company with anyone who asks. In fact, PLATO Testing serves as a concrete example of what true reconciliation can be.

(left to right) President of FHQ Developments Thomas Benjo, FHQTC Tribal Chief Edmond Bellegard and Keith McIntosh, president and CEO of PQA Testing. The three were on hand for an April 2 partnership announcement that officially launched PLATO Sask Testing, the only dedicated software testing company in Saskatchewan.

(Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Carignan, a member of Pasqua First Nation near Fort Qu’Appelle, believes his education and work experience helped lay the foundation for him to transition into the role he enjoys today. Shortly after receiving his first degree in 1993, he landed a job with what is now known as Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada (INAC). As a requirement of his job, he returned to the University of Regina where he received a degree in French.

“It was one of my lifetime goals to learn another language,” says Carignan, who was happy that he was able to learn French without leaving Regina.

He married, had children and worked at INAC for more than two decades. Things likely would have remained status quo had it not been for some changes within his department that required him to move from the Prairies to the Maritimes.

He says the decision to create an IT company that employs Indigenous people seemed viable based on some simple statistics. McIntosh says there are currently 190,000 IT jobs in Canada that need to be filled and, at the same time, there are pools of untapped labour available on any First Nation.

In 2015, while he was living in New Brunswick, he applied to be part of the Governor General’s Canadian Leadership Conference (GGCLC). The conference brings together 250 emerging leaders from across Canada to participate in the two-week program. Attendees come from the private sector, government, unions and non-profit organizations and are divided into 16 study groups and sent to a specific region within the country.

At the end of the two weeks, each group presents a report to the Governor General.

Carignan’s group was sent to south eastern Quebec, which included Montreal and a number of eastern townships.

What made this event different from others was the timing.

“The conference took place just prior to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s (TRC) final report,” says Carignan. “During our study group tour there were a number releases coming out related to it."

Having spent the majority of his career working on the Indigenous file for the federal government and also being an Indigenous, he began fielding a lot of questions about the TRC report and the 94 Calls to Action.

Keith McIntosh, founder of PLATO Testing and president and CEO of PQA Testing, one of Canada's leading independent IT testing firms.

(Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Among the group asking questions was Keith McIntosh, president and CEO of PQA Testing, one of Canada’s leading independent IT testing firms located in Fredericton, New Brunswick.

“It was June 8, 2015, Keith and I had a conversation just about what could be done to make a difference to create sustainable employment for Indigenous Canadians,” recalls Carignan.

McIntosh wanted to know if there were programs within government that could help train people to pursue careers in the knowledge economy such as IT. Little did Carignan realize, how significant that conversation would be, not only in his life, but in the lives of Indigenous people across Canada. The seeds for PLATO Testing were planted during that conversation.

Like Carignan, McIntosh can recollect details of the conversation almost verbatim. What motivated McIntosh to start PLATO was his desire to make a difference. He says the decision to create an IT company that employs Indigenous people seemed viable based on some simple statistics. McIntosh says there are currently 190,000 IT jobs in Canada that need to be filled and, at the same time, there are pools of untapped labour available on any First Nation.

Such a business is sustainable because the only thing a person needs to become a software tester is training and a strong Wi-Fi signal.

McIntosh recalls how during the GGCLC, his study group, which included Carignan, visited Montreal.

"We had dinner on fine china and drank out of coffee cups that were so fine that you could see the person sitting opposite of you," he says.

The next day the group visited a K-6 school located on the Kahnawke First Nation.

"It wasn't a mainline school, but they were teaching the children the Mohawk language," says McIntosh. "The little kids came running out to see all these important people and as the doors of the school opened, you could smell the water. It was a bad water smell."

He couldn't believe the stark contrast in basic living conditions that existed in Canada.

“From the schoolyard you could see the skyline of one of the most beautiful cities in North America and the water in this K-6 school was not drinkable," says McIntosh. "That was not right. That was embarrassing."

It is a realization that has stuck with him.

“I see us developing individuals in IT and I see these Indigenous professionals becoming very highly qualified developers. We are looking at growing our business in the tech sector,” he adds.

When the TRC released its 94 Calls to Action, McIntosh looked at what he could do in terms of reconciliation. He found his answer.

Action 92.1 states: Ensure that Aboriginal peoples have equitable access to jobs, training, and education opportunities in the corporate sector, and that Aboriginal communities gain long-term sustainable benefits from economic development projects.

Although McIntosh knew what he could do, he needed a bridge between his company and First Nations – that’s where Carignan came in.

McIntosh needed someone with knowledge about potential funding sources for training and education opportunities. He also needed someone with a clear understanding of Indigenous culture, as well as someone who was well versed in the historical and contemporary issues facing Indigenous people.

McIntosh laid out his idea of creating a network of Indigenous software testers across Canada that could compete for lucrative contracts from any company in the world, while never having to leave their home communities.

Carignan knows the realities many face while living on-reserve and trying to earn income. Jobs are almost non-existent on most First Nations and many have to leave their own communities to find work or to pursue education or training opportunities. If jobs come to reserves, the spinoffs are immeasurable.

A smile immediately comes to Carignan’s face when he recalls the last words he spoke to McIntosh after their conversation about building a business that will not only train, but employ 1,000 Indigenous software testers.

(left to right) Keith McIntosh, Denis Carignan and Thomas Benjoe on the occasion of the April 2 launch of PLATO Sask Testing.

(Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

“I said you build it and I will come work for you,” he says with a laugh.

Three months after he uttered those words, McIntosh called him and asked when he was going to come work for him. Carignan, accustomed to moving at the pace of government, underestimated the speed at which McIntosh moved. When he received the call he had to make a serious decision to move from something stable to something with no guarantees. Although he knew he wanted to be part of what McIntosh was building, he had his family’s future to consider.

After some juggling, he said goodbye to his 9-to-5 routine, his office space and coworkers. Carignan says changing jobs has invigorated him and although he admits much of his work has been conducted in coffee shops and his meetings are conducted via Skype, email or phone, it’s been worth it.

“Sometimes it was like, ‘I have to go to work,’ and you drag yourself to work,” says Carignan. “Now, I’m excited about the day.”

Witnessing first-hand the impact PLATO has had on individuals and communities has been extremely rewarding. Carignan says it’s great to see Indigenous testers being a positive influence in their communities, in their work placements, and within their own families.

When Carignan moved back to Saskatchewan he immediately went to work at expanding PLATO in Saskatchewan. Once again he relied on his knowledge about Indigenous governments and securing training dollars.

Being a member of Pasqua First Nation, he approached the File Hills Qu’Appelle Tribal Council (FHQTC) to talk about a potential partnership. He says FHQ Developments already had a proven track record when it came to business and, although it has a diverse portfolio, it did not possess any IT businesses.

President of FHQ Development Thomas Benjoe, a First Nations University of Canada graduate and a 2017 University of Regina Alumni Crowning Achievement Award recipient for outstanding young alumnus.

(Photo by Trevor Hopkin)

Carignan set up a meeting with the president of FHQ Developments Thomas Benjoe CA’09, CHTGEM’09, DAdmin’09, BBA’11 (FNUniv). Benjoe says each year his company reviews an average of 25 business proposals. It took a few follow-up meetings with Carignan and McIntosh before the ball started rolling on the new partnership between PQA Testing and FHQ Developments to create PLATO Sask Testing.

“I really want us to be seen as leaders, leading in economic development and being able to lead in new sectors and establish new ways of doing business,” says Benjoe. “It is something we have really been focused on in our strategies and to be the first with a tech company in the province is really important for us because we know the potential it’s going to create.”

Benjoe says Carignan’s determination and his passion for PLATO are what piqued his interest in the IT company.

“When we create these new companies we have to make sure their values are aligning to our values,” he says.

On a personal level, Benjoe says it’s been great to work with Carignan. (Carignan’s home First Nation is one of 11 member nations of FHQTC.) Both are FNUniv alumnus, which is also a plus.

“It showcases the University and its ability to develop strong talent,” says Benjoe.

He says it’s great to work with other alumni on a common goal and that he is eager to create a better future, not only for Indigenous people, but for all of Saskatchewan.

PLATO Sask Testing plans to train 25 to 30 software testers immediately and begin working on procuring contracts.

“I see us developing individuals in IT and I see these Indigenous professionals becoming very highly qualified developers. We are looking at growing our business in the tech sector,” he adds.

Carignan says changing his career path was daunting, but when he realized McIntosh was willing to create a company that could potentially compete with organizations from around the world, he knew it was worth the sacrifice. He adds that someday when his children look back on his career they will know their dad did something good because it was the right thing to do.

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I’ve seen the sky do things I never knew a sky could do.

I first came to Saskatchewan in the autumn of 1999, from London via Toronto. My limited exposure meant that I had fallen into that fallacy of Toronto being the centre of the Canadian universe from which the rest of the country emanated. And so, I expected Moose Jaw to be some kind of Toronto-lite. Thankfully, I was so terribly, horribly wrong.

Now, I live in Toronto. My annual trips to Saskatchewan give me a much-needed recalibration, a reprieve from the neurosis of this city where I make my home, and a reminder that everything is so much bigger than my tiny urban life. And, more intensely, my visits back give me a fix of the flatlands.

Moose Jaw is where I became Canadian.

The last time I lived in Saskatchewan was over 15 years ago. My parents still live in Moose Jaw, and I visit at least once a year, and more frequently when I can. I don’t go only for them, but for what has turned into a necessary and vital reset. More significantly for me, my residency in, and relationship to, Saskatchewan has been formative in my becoming-Canadian identity story.

It’s a landscape that gets in your bones; a constant craving.

While we arrived in Canada as landed immigrants in Toronto, my family relocated to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, for work opportunities a year later. I lived in Moose Jaw for a year, having recently completed an undergraduate degree and needing the time and space to figure out what it was I wanted to do. (And that’s something Saskatchewan always has and gifts in abundance: time and space.)

I moved to Regina, where I enrolled in the University of Regina’s Bachelor of Journalism program. The first Tuesday of classes was September 11, 2001. It was an intense time to begin training to become a journalist. We were being taught approaches to a field that was literally changing before our eyes; as a media event, the coverage of 9/11 has transformed the news industry in ways that are still analyzed and dissected today.

Nehal El-Hadi poses on bridge Cutline text goes here. Photos by By Christopher Dew and courtesy of Nehal El-Hadi.

That week, my first ever journalism assignment was to go out and gather people’s responses to the tragedy. I almost dropped out – I hated this aspect of journalism and still do. While I’m glad I didn’t drop out, that aversion to post-traumatic breaking-news reportage was firmly planted in me during that first week. It led me to focus on developing my skills as a long-form journalist, and to continue to study critical approaches to inclusive, ethical and responsible journalism.

While I don’t claim Saskatchewan as my land or territory, I maintain that who I am – my Canadian-ness – is inextricable from my relationship to that land.

For my internship, I returned to Toronto to work on the Discovery Channel’s daily flagship show, called The Daily Planet at the time. There, I fell in love with science journalism and producing television and online content. I came back to Saskatchewan to complete my degree and to become a Canadian citizen. My family and I took the oath of citizenship surrounded by a supportive and celebratory community. Moose Jaw is where I became Canadian.

The clichés are true: rodeos and country music, ranchers and poets, canola, and Saskatoon berries.

Almost ten years later, Moose Jaw became where I chose to marry my husband, the Black Canadian composer Bruce Russell. Bruce and I had met in Toronto, but he’d grown up in Sault Ste. Marie. He’d never been to Saskatchewan until he flew out to meet my family, and now he comes to visit with me each year. We got married at a mosque in Regina, and our reception was held at the Temple Gardens Mineral Spa in downtown Moose Jaw. We took wedding photos earlier that day at different locations throughout Moose Jaw: the old train station, Wakamow Valley, South Hill. The wedding photo we later distributed to friends and family was of Bruce and I “traipsing through the Prairies” (really, somewhere around 4th Avenue SW), a quintessential flatland scene. We now have two children together, and it is important to me that my children’s Canadian-ness extends beyond Toronto to Moose Jaw, that the city environment they are growing up in is tempered by an understanding of different landscapes. I’m glad that my children also get to attach themselves to Saskatchewan.

While my entry portal to Canada was the high-density, multi-ethnic neighbourhood of Thorncliffe Park Drive in Toronto, my becoming a Canadian took place in an inverse setting of flatlands and farmers. There’s always a sense of incredulity when I mention my affinity for Saskatchewan, a disbelief that underscores a sense of displacement that I understand is meant to convey that I will never belong there. I don’t care much for being challenged in this way, and while I don’t claim Saskatchewan as my land or territory, I maintain that who I am – my Canadian-ness – is inextricable from my relationship to that land. My inclusion in a forthcoming Canadian literature collection called The Black Prairie Archives: An Anthology underscores this, and I take pride in being considered part of what has been called “a new black prairie literary tradition.”

Nehal El-Hadi seated Cutline text goes here. Photos by By Christopher Dew and courtesy of Nehal El-Hadi.

But what’s also true is the radical history of social organizing in Saskatchewan, something that I wish more people knew about. Like the feminist work of the Saskatchewan Indian Women’s Association, or the fact that the Gay & Lesbian Community of Regina bought property and founded a collective-run community centre and nightclub.

I appreciate the role of the Prairies in my narratives of becoming – a citizen, a journalist, a wife – and I am extremely grateful for the ways of seeing and being that my connection to Moose Jaw and Regina has given me. But living there was an extremely culturally isolating experience, especially for an Arabic-speaking young Black woman. This was before we were all online 24/7, before the internet could deliver any product or foodstuff I could desire. Before MySpace, Twitter, Amazon, SSense, Netflix.

There were unpleasant encounters, and some were terrifying. In addition to experiencing random, sporadic instances of explicit and violent racism, my sojourn in Saskatchewan was also a witnessing of the ugliest side of Canada. The thinly-filtered anti-Indigenous undercurrent that pulses through the landscape, that manifests in unimaginable violence. I had grown up elsewhere, not there, and I had no way at the time of understanding the histories and the legacies that could produce such inequity and trauma as I had witnessed. Late-night conversations with friends, other journalism students, and my professors provided history, context, sources, and explanations. It wasn’t until much later, more recently, that I acquired the critical analysis skills to be able to examine and address these issues and to also consider my own role as an immigrant-turned-citizen.

I’ve seen and experienced things I never would have elsewhere. The small size of communities also makes for surprising and delightful interactions of a kind that don’t ever happen in larger cities. Social relations are flattened, too, and social groups are more porous and welcoming when there aren’t too many other people around. Saskatchewan is where I learned to ride and desire motorcycles. Where I found out about mutton-busting, and that buckles had to be earned not bought. Where I discovered sun dogs and mammatus clouds. I spent more time at punk shows and raves when living in Saskatchewan than anywhere else, learned more about classic rock and football than I ever intended to. The clichés are true: rodeos and country music, ranchers and poets, canola, and Saskatoon berries.

But what’s also true is the radical history of social organizing in Saskatchewan, something that I wish more people knew about. Like the feminist work of the Saskatchewan Indian Women’s Association, or the fact that the Gay & Lesbian Community of Regina bought property and founded a collective-run community centre and nightclub.

Returning to the love of science journalism I discovered during my University of Regina journalism degree, I became the science and technology editor at The Conversation Canada.

I left Regina to pursue postgraduate education in Toronto, a master’s in environmental studies degree where I focused on environmental journalism and risk communication in the Canadian mass media. Five years after completing that program, I returned to university and obtained a PhD in planning, where my research looked at the intersections of online and offline spaces for women of colour social justice activists in Toronto. Returning to the love of science journalism I discovered during my University of Regina journalism degree, I became the science and technology editor at The Conversation Canada, a news source that publishes timely articles on research being conducted by Canadian academics.

Since moving away from Saskatchewan, I now carry with me a nostalgia for the sky.

[post_title] => Nostalgic for the sky [post_excerpt] => Journalism school graduate Nehal El-Hadi reflects on her journey – from Sudan where she was born, to England where her family immigrated, to Moose Jaw where she learned to revere the open spaces and endless sky. [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => open [ping_status] => open [post_password] => [post_name] => nostalgic-for-the-sky [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2019-06-06 09:02:28 [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-06-06 15:02:28 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://www.degreesmagazine.ca/?p=2896 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => post [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw )