'Gimme my country back'

By Alan Saldanha

I waited to board my ferry at Swartz Bay terminal in Victoria, British Columbia. I was returning to Vancouver after a day of sight-seeing in Victoria. It was the season of fall and the days were getting shorter. There was a chill in the air and by mid-November the autumn leaves would fall. The clocks would be set an hour behind.

A few feet away from me was an unshaven, disheveled man in his early 40s. He was wearing lackluster jeans, a dark T-shirt and a worn-out blue denim jacket, his salt-and-pepper ponytail trailing over it. A speck of saliva formed at one corner of his mouth. He groaned and mumbled and was visibly inebriated. He was a bundle of confused emotions.

“Gimme my country back. I want my country back,” he demanded of everyone who cared to listen.

He was a Native Canadian who was evidently airing his disgruntlement. He went on repeating the demand but nobody seemed to take any notice. He was slurring and frothing from the corners of his mouth.

His head bobbed around while his right arm was on his buddy's shoulder for support. His buddy too must have had a few drinks but he was not saying anything other than “Come on brother” as he struggled to straighten him up.

The man was reeking of alcohol. It was a never-ending curse on his people. Nobody seemed to take heed of his demand. He may as well have been asking for the moon. His ancestors had been relieved of their country and this was his way of showing the world that it was a travesty of justice. It happened many moons ago.

I tried to picture what it was like 400 years ago. The Native Indian had traded animal furs for precious stones and alcohol was bartered willingly. The Native Indian was relieved of his land. “Kanata” ― the Native Indian word meaning village was tweaked to form the name 'Canada' and a new country was born.

On the drive back home I was lost in thought. I listened to the distinct thumps as my car rolled over the expansion joints on the Alex Fraser Bridge. I kept thinking of that man at the terminal. An uneasy thought came over me: I too was an alien in the land of his ancestors.

I sensed the presence of ancient spirits. I could see a tribal elder sitting cross-legged in front of a log fire. He reflected pride. His cheeks were furrowed and his brow was lined. Spots of sunlight danced on a tepee behind him. Filtering through the leaves of Douglas fir and hemlock of the Pacific Coast of North America were a kaleidoscope of shimmering lights.

I could hear the cadence of drums and shakers accompanied by chanting.

I was dreaming about the First Nation's people of Canada. Canada once belonged to them.

Alan Saldanha (

daywatchnewspaper@gmail.com

) is publisher of Daywatch newspaper in Surrey, British Columbia