(Unamen Shipu) “In my head, I told myself that I wasn’t going to find any black people here! » Nadège Diarrassouba giggles.
Sitting on the corner of a desk, the Ivorian by birth continues: “And when I arrived, I found him,” she exclaims.
He is Dieudonné Uzubahimana, the “ambassador” of the African contingent that dropped anchor on the Lower North Shore. Arriving in the Innu community in 2003, he in a way paved the way for those who followed. Today, a third of the teachers at Olamen School come from Africa.
“Frankly, I have never felt out of place,” says Dieudonné, seated at the other end of the class.
We are 1,300 kilometers east of Montreal, in the isolated village of Unamen Shipu. The hamlet of 1,200 people overlooking the Gulf of St. Lawrence is not connected to any road.
You have to go there by boat or plane.
The winter there is long and harsh. When La Presse visited in mid-March, a strong storm forced the closure of all community activities for two days.
The Olamen school is no exception. The children stayed at home. But in the heart of the blizzard, the large, brightly colored building broods over the heat of the lively exchanges of the group of teachers. At our request, they agreed to tell us about their experience.
The question naturally arises. Why go to the middle of nowhere to teach? “I am an adventurer, I wanted to travel,” replies Nadège, who landed in the Nordic village in 2021.
“The stress of Montreal was too much,” adds the computer technician who lived in the metropolis for three years.
“We are far away, but we don’t feel it because of the sea,” Dieudonné explains in turn. Before settling on the North Shore, he accumulated contracts in different school boards. His choice was explained by the attraction of a full-time teaching position.
Most also mention the job stability offered in the community. The conditions are also attractive. The band council (their employer) offers a salary equal to that of public sector teachers, in addition to a separation bonus of more than $10,000 per year.
Accommodation is provided at a low cost. The monthly bill for a fiver and a half is $350 per month, including electricity.
Teaching is also more personalized with the maximum number of students per class being 15. Teachers also enjoy great autonomy and flexibility.
Félix Bigirimana arrives from Ontario, where he worked with indigenous communities. The Burundian by birth taught law in Malaysia and also has a master’s degree in social work. He was looking to settle in Quebec.
Life then leads him to the opportunity to teach at Unamen Shipu. He hesitates. “I thought the North was an unlivable place. I saw lots of animals, snow. I didn’t think I could fit in,” says the 4th secondary teacher.
In the classroom with orange walls, personal stories and professional paths vary.
“There are three PhD students here. Him in mathematics, him in economics…”, explains Yero Lankou Kane proudly, pointing to his comrades. He himself also has a degree in nursing.
“They are trained teachers who have taught for several years before,” adds the Senegalese by birth.
He is in his seventh year at Unamen Shipu. Two of his daughters even graduated from the Innu school, which welcomes some 300 students from preschool to secondary 5. “It’s my favorite life here,” Yero continues, praising the tranquility of the place. In the community, he is even nicknamed Yero Lalo Bellefleur, in reference to two common surnames in the Innu village.
The director of Olamen admits: the contribution of African teachers is essential to the survival of the community’s only school. “Finding people who are ready to come and invest one, two or three years here is more difficult,” underlines Éric Reid, director since 2019.
“We have a fairly exceptional environment: hunting, fishing […] the air is fresh, the quantity of CO2 in the school does not exceed 2000 ppm,” he emphasizes, with a smile in his voice.
The school does not recruit abroad; it is the candidates themselves who apply for positions. Mr. Reid says he receives “a lot” of CVs from candidates from Africa.
“These are not foreigners, they are people who are in Canada, who have their work [permit] […] When the CVs are interesting, I send them information on how to proceed, particularly with the certification application from Quebec, then I let them go,” he explains.
When they arrive at Unamen Shipu, they are ready to work.
Marie-Chantal Mark is a “teaching assistant” in an adapted 4th year primary school class. “These are great encounters,” says the Innue who has worked at the Olamen school for two years.
“It’s like Quebec teachers. There is no difference,” she summarizes. On the contrary, she sees several similarities between teachers of African origin and members of the First Nations.
“It seems like it’s almost the same thing. We each have our culture. They have their own crafts, so do the rest of us. […] They are welcoming like the rest of us, they respect others, like the rest of us,” summarizes Ms. Mark.
The welcome of the Innu has a lot to do with their integration, according to teachers from abroad. “It’s a bit like an African welcome: the family spirit, the community spirit,” illustrates Dieudonné.
Yero agrees: “The Innu are a people of sniggers. The challenge is to create [a link]. They have this openness. We experienced a bit of the same colonial situation. We create an opening with that. »
The school also organizes cultural exchange evenings. Teachers are also invited to participate in community activities in the village.
“At the Christmas party, everyone brings a dish,” says Marie-Christine Mestenapeo, whom we meet in the school corridors.
“Of course there are some who can’t eat everything because of contact with pork. But, we respect that,” said the librarian. At his side, Fatma Bennabi, primary school francization teacher.
The teacher of Algerian origin, of Muslim faith, wears the veil. It is allowed at Olamen school since the employer is not the Quebec government, but the band council. She receives a lot of questions about her hair, she says with a laugh. “They are curious, it’s nice,” she assures.
The teacher also promised her little students to show them her hair at the end of the year.
“Can I see them too? », exclaims Marie-Christine.
” Of course with pleasure. Women can see,” Fatma responds. ” Oh yes ? Between women? It’s new, you see, I didn’t know,” retorts the Innu.
For the director, Éric Reid, the presence of these teachers creates an “opening to the world” in the “isolated and closed” community.
“It’s a better reflection of Quebec. It’s in that sense too [that their presence] fits in. […] It brings a lot of colour. It completely changes the decor. It’s like a ray of sunshine.”
