A World Unkown

I never thought one conversation could be so eye-opening. Justin, a local indigenous worker had made me realize what I was so blindly ignorant to. It was a culture shock. Watching a father and his son sled dog across a frozen Hudson’s Bay, with two foxes and a rabbit attached to their sled, rifle holstered at their waist. Oscar, our beautifully named Arctic Fox whose fur was scarred red by the dust of the iron they had been mining. I was so numb to my comfortable idolized society that I couldn’t appreciate the reality I live in. I had to come to my senses by stepping into a world unknown.

A 21-hour flight in a plane that dated back to the 1940s was the first step to my destination. Side by side, packed full of people like we were sardines in a can. Not even a month after the world had gone into hibernation due to the global pandemic. My mother had given me an ultimatum; move out on your own, or go up north and work at an iron mine. Every kid has to leave the nest at some point, I just never thought it would be this sudden and rash. I was 20, my first year completed at university, and unsure of what I wanted to do with my life. I always said I wanted to travel, so I took a risk and got aboard that flying tin of scrap metal and took my first step into the unknown.

It began at 5 AM at a small airport in Edmonton, then a quick detour to Vancouver, and then Saskatoon, Manitoba, Ottawa, and finally Pond Inlet. Every stop, more people, until that tin can was full. It was an uneasy feeling after hearing everything in the news about the virus. For 21 straight hour’s I sat in that plane seat and thought about where I was, where I was going. I thought about how it was cruel that my mom made me leave, while all my friends could sit at home and play video games. Then again I thought it to be tough love. Maybe she was right, all I was doing was drinking beer and gaming until 3 am every night.

Finally, the pilot announced we would be landing soon. As I peered out the window I could see the Hudson Bay froze over. It ran for miles and looked like a giant white blanket next to the giant hills showered in snow. As the plane started descending I could see the runway. It wasn’t much of a runway, more of a strip made up of loose soil and dirt that stretched on more than a mile. I wondered what I had got myself into. Here I am about to land on a makeshift runway, in a rickety old plane, while everyone I knew was in the comfort of their own homes. I relished in that thought until we landed.

Once squeezed out of that ancient plane, I and the other unknown assailants were crammed onto a six-hour bus ride. We were encircled by roaming hills that glistened from the sun’s rays, which shot off the horizon and reflected across to another hill as if they were saying hello. The wind danced the free snow across the blank horizon, creating a spectacle that made the drive bearable. One of the experienced workers shouted, “Polar Bear” which was quickly followed by a gasp, and laughter. Toying with the new guys, classic move. We were on the coast of Nunavut in a small camp; 30 minutes across the frozen water, and you could reach Greenland. There was a giant iron deposit, which supposedly would be running for another 100 years. Yes, the sweet smell of corporate money is why I was afforded this opportunity.

I was set to work the night shift in the kitchen. 12 hours on, 12 off for a month straight. I hated it until I met my co-workers. Brian was a sous' chef from Vancouver who had been touring with Cirque du Soleil when the pandemic hit. He said he wanted to get out of the drunken boredom he was cycling through at home. Ironic. There was a listing to run a kitchen at a camp on Baffin Island for the company Baffin land, and so like me, he took the leap into the world unknown.

Sharon was a 65-year-old red seal baker who prepped six different desserts each night, anywhere from lemon meringue pie to snickerdoodles. She was old-fashioned, and a bit of a red neck, but had a knack for baking. Dave was a 40-year-old British man who had three kids, all with different women. He was Brian’s partner in crime in running the kitchen, even though it mainly consisted of them yelling at us while going on a smoke break every hour. Ziggy a Graffiti artist from Ottawa who was madly in love, needed the work to take care of his step-son. Ziggy didn’t care what he did, his happiness was his own. Evan was a rather scrawny farmer from Wainwright, Alberta who could only talk about the politics of gas, and Alberta beef. Last but not least was there was me, the rookie cast amongst this team of misfits.

Every day I would start my shift at 9 pm, however, the 24-hours of daylight made it feel less like a graveyard shift. It became repetitive: clean, prep, serve breakfast, clean, then swap at 9 am with the day team. My co-workers would ask what a 20-year-old university student was doing up north, and I would tell them my backstory. They would all laugh in my face, call me soft, and brag about how they moved out when they were 16 and that I was just bitter about my whole situation. The truth is that it was time to grow up, and I didn’t want to deal with the responsibility that came with it. They showed me that what my mom had cast upon me was just tough love and that it was time for me to mature.

The shifts started to become ordinary, and most of the time was spent chatting with my co-workers. Our conversation mainly consisted of me asking them what they would do in my shoes, as I wanted all the free advice they were willing to give me. It became so repetitive that trends started to form. An hour of chatter and hard work and then Brian, Dave, Ziggy and Evan would roam off to go smoke a cig in the smoke pit. Once they were out of sight Sharon would dash her eye’s at me, signalling the moment she and I would step out back and share a smoke. It wasn’t allowed, but we were quick and enjoyed each other’s company. Occasionally we would see Oscar camping out by the garbage bins, still covered in iron dust but looking adorable. I would constantly spoil him with food, which wasn’t allowed and on terms of being fired; I didn’t care. The pour guy’s soul touched me, and every time I saw him I couldn’t help but feel guilty about what we’re doing to his home.

Evan, Ziggy, and I were scheduled to serve breakfast from 6 am to 9 am, the time when all the other workers would be getting up for their shift. We had a blast, constantly joking around with the other workers, and trying to keep the mood light during breakfast service. Two weeks in everyone knew us and faces became familiar. That’s when Justin became a relevant figure. Justin was the exact same age as me, and always one of the first people in line, and the only one to come back for third and fourth servings. We nicknamed him four meals, as a light joke because of his monstrous appetite.

One day I decided to take my breakfast break late, and use it as a chance to sit down and talk with Justin. Justin explained how he lived back in Pond Inlet with his family. His mom, dad, all four grandparents, and his nine brothers and sisters. They lived in a three-bedroom house, that was no larger than a one-person apartment. He mentioned how they would go two to three days without a meal, and when they did get a meal, it was the only one of the day. Food was scarce and had to be hunted, and shared amongst the entire family. Now that he was working at the mine, food was plentiful and available. He didn’t want to take for granted the chance at a full stomach, so he stuffed himself as much as he could. The light-hearted nickname we had given Justin instantly turned into a pile of shit in the bottom of my stomach.

Here I was bitching about having to go work up north, while all my friends got to stay at home playing video games. Meanwhile, a young man named Justin, the same age as me, was grateful for the opportunity to do so. Out of all that I experienced with my time in Baffin land, this was the greatest culture shock. Suddenly I didn’t resent my situation, I realized how great of an eye-opening experience I was given. I admit it, mom, I was wrong.

Upon my return home I decided to move out despite meeting my mother’s conditions. It was time for me to handle my own responsibility, and step out of the nest. I never knew that my time working for Baffin land would be so pivotal to my development into adulthood. I never knew that an iron-stained fox would make me feel guilty about not properly taking care of my waste. That a group of indigenous men riding on a snowmobile to hunt for the next day’s meal would make me feel spoiled about having my own car. Or that an indigenous teen named Justin would impact my life through one conversation. Stepping out into this unknown world would not only open my worldview but give me a surreal realization that I am very privileged, and provided with lots of opportunities. This is why I chose to move out, and once again, chose to step into a world unknown.