As is the end of year tradition at Duty, we take you behind the scenes of major reports. In April, Jessica Nadeau went to Nunavik to bear witness to the reality in schools. She experienced many adventures there.
“Tsé the journalist from Duty, who had gone to the North? No one ever saw her again in the South. She still has to wander from airport to airport trying to get home. » It’s a legend that we invented as a joke with the public relations officer at the Kativik school board following countless cancellations and unforeseen detours in villages that prevented me from returning home. Better to laugh than cry. The Inuit, moreover, love to laugh. I was in the right place.
On paper, the plan was simple. I stayed two and a half days in Kangirsuk, a village in the Ungava Bay, more than 1,500 kilometers north of Montreal. I took a flight of less than an hour on Wednesday noon to go to Quaqtaq where I spent the rest of the week and returned to Montreal on Saturday, via Kuujjuaq. Simple ? Not much.
After a flight of more than six hours, I arrived in Kangirsuk late Sunday afternoon. With Jade, the public relations officer who accompanied me during this trip, we took advantage of the last hours of daylight to pick up some basic items at the grocery store, at the other end of the village. A long walk during which I was able to familiarize myself with the place with its colorful houses, locate the school where I had an appointment the next morning and marvel at the beauty of the snowy landscapes and the ice colliding in the Bay.
When I saw the price of food at the grocery store, I was shocked. Yes, I knew everything was expensive, since it was shipped by plane. But it strikes the imagination to see a small package of chicken nuggets for $30, a box of Cherrios for $20 and apple juice for $15.
The next morning, I was expected at Sautjuit School, where I met dedicated and creative teachers and staff. I continued interviews, trying to understand the many differences between the school system in the North and the one I know. I even got a nickname in Inuktitut: Apirquk. The one who constantly asks questions.
Back at the hotel, there was no more water. A recurring problem here. Since there is no water system, each house has a drinking water tank and a wastewater tank that trucks come to fill and empty when the lights flash. This may take a few days, depending on truck availability. We boiled some snow for cooking and waited patiently. For me, it was a very minor inconvenience, but I realized how difficult it must be when there are eight of you living in a small house with young children.
Blizzard
The next morning at school, the atmosphere was already different. A blizzard was predicted. The center director was glued to his radio. Around dinner time, Jade and I decided to go stock up before the grocery store closed, because we didn’t know how many days it might last. It wasn’t the idea of the century.
Like real Montrealers, we didn’t put on our overalls to go to school in the morning. I bitterly regretted it. My thighs were frozen. The wind howled in my ears and the hail whipped my face, despite my scarf pulled up to my nose. I froze my fingers while taking photos, like a real tourist. On the way back, it got worse and worse. We were walking in the middle of the road because we couldn’t see anything anymore. The school bus, which was taking the children home because the school was closed, stopped near us and offered us a ride. Thank you sir.
For a day and a half, the whole village was on pause. Our flight to Quaqtaq was canceled. We were confined to the hotel, with The Price is Right on TV in the background of the soundtrack. I wanted to organize an interview with a lady I hadn’t been able to meet the day before, try to go to people’s houses near the hotel to take advantage of my short stay in the region, but they made it clear to me that that would be inappropriate. A blizzard day is a day off, period.
My stress level was increasing. Time may have stopped for everyone, but I was still on the rhythm of Montreal. I hadn’t come this far to stay cooped up in the hotel. To ease my conscience, I put my notes in order and transcribed a few interviews. There was nothing else to do. I still told myself that I was starting to better understand the reality of the North. And that would make a good anecdote!
On Thursday, I started super early. I did more interviews before leaving for the airport. I said goodbye to the staff and students who had welcomed me so kindly. Then I learned that my flight was canceled again. Sometimes it is enough for there to be a cloud above the village for the plane, which makes the “milk run” of the villages once a day, to decide not to stop.
Back at school, the staff were laughing. “Here, the temperature never agrees with our plans. Instead, we need to make our plans based on the temperature,” summarized a young Inuit teacher. It was exactly that. Against all expectations, it was in these last two days that I had the most fun. I wandered the village a few times, making some gratifying chance encounters. I was no longer in a hurry. I was starting to get into the rhythm of the place. To breathe.
A big void
Saturday morning, I said my goodbyes and packed my bags. A series of detours brought me to Salluit, the second most northern village in Nunavik. When I arrived, the grocery store was closed. I was happy to still have dehydrated meals, because there was no way to find food anywhere else in the village. I later learned that a construction guy had been forced to fast. It happens.
The next day, same story. Canceled flight. See you tomorrow, same time, same position. The Inuit, accustomed to these delays, returned home shrugging their shoulders. I, the tourist, alternated between laughter and discouragement. I had called so often to change my plans at the cooperative that manages the hotels in Nunavik that the employee recognized me. That was already it.
The beauty of community kitchens in a hotel is that you meet lots of people there. The day before, I had met two soccer referees who had come to Salluit for an intervillage tournament which was being held at the school. I had a new subject. Destiny did things well.
The plane that finally took me home a few days later was full of excited students returning to their respective villages after the tournament, making me feel like I was traveling on a yellow bus. It was perfect.
I could hardly believe it when I arrived at the Montreal airport. But on the highway taking me home under a gray sky, I found that everything was suddenly going too fast, everything was too big, too noisy. I felt a great emptiness in all this agitation. And I said to myself that it wouldn’t have been so bad after all if the legend of the girl stuck in the North had been true.