"There's nothing for us in this country, my Iraqi roommate says the second morning after my arrival in Kelowna, as he breaks bread into small chunks and dunks them in cold milk. Except for daily drudgery at $15.65. He hands me a bowl of grapes and says:Aren't there good schools in India? I nod; he nods. We agree on things we don't fully comprehend."
"Running his hand over his thick beard, he proclaims like a prophet-We are here to clean white people's shit!Do you know how to clean? I shrug, my mind oscillating in a thick fog of longing and separation, propelled by a desire to escape or surrender. I know a place where they will hire you, but you will have to make piss and shit your best friend. They even pay $2 extra. He forces a smile."
An Iraqi roommate in Kelowna claims there is nothing for them in the country except low-wage drudgery. Menial jobs pay $15.65, with slightly higher pay for degrading tasks involving human waste. The roommate asks about schools in India and urges finishing education and returning home. The scene juxtaposes a clogged kitchen sink and decaying leftovers with dreams of Tamor in the foothills of Kanchenjunga. Images of a thick beard pointing east, Karbala, and Tim Hortons coffee cups evoke abandoned homelands, displacement, resignation, and the heavy emotional toll of migration.
Read at The Walrus
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