Facing discrimination in Craven during a class trip.

This was the first time ever I faced discrimination this closely. The purpose behind a university class trip to Craven was to find big stories in a small town. We were 20 journalism students of different backgrounds, including myself, a brown hijabi, accompanied by our instructor. I was excited to do a news story on a general store with over 60 years of history. Before the trip, I had done my research, called the Wolf General Store, and arranged to speak with two employees and a customer. The owner was unavailable but had agreed to an email or phone interview.

When we arrived, we gathered at the community centre before heading off to our respective stories. As I entered Wolf’s General Store, the employee at the till greeted me with an uneasy stare. I introduced myself, but instead of responding, she scanned me oddly and asked me to wait. She then went to speak with the manager.

A few minutes later, she returned and directed me to the manager’s office. The manager told me she couldn’t answer my questions because she had only been with the store for mere nine months and had a two-hour deadline to meet. She added that I had spoken to another manager who had agreed to the interview, but that person wasn’t working that day.

She told me to call back in a few hours to check if the owner had returned. As I left the office, I saw the same employee from the front chatting casually with one of my white classmates.

Feeling deflated, I stepped outside and shared what had happened with a classmate. He offered to help by suggesting I interview the workers in the greenhouse attached to the store. His kindness was appreciated, but they didn’t know much about the history of general store since they worked in a separate space.

As we walked back to the community centre, I replayed the encounter in my mind. I knew what had happened, but I kept questioning where I had gone wrong. When I told my classmates and instructor about the experience, their reactions were heartwarming. One classmate offered to conduct the interview for me, another hugged me, and my instructor apologized for unknowingly putting me in such an uncomfortable position.

All my white classmates who visited the store said they were treated warmly. As I sat there, I kept wondering if I had done something to offend them, searching for a fault in myself that didn’t exist.

After a few hours, I called the store twice, but no one answered. I decided to go back one last time, this time accompanied by a classmate with a professional camera to take photos for my story.

When we arrived, we were met with the same cold stares. The owner was still not back, but we needed permission to take photos. They allowed it but barely acknowledged our presence.

Not long after, two of my classmates walked in and casually asked the employees some questions. Without hesitation, they answered them. Encouraged, I tried again, but as soon as I asked my questions, one employee disappeared into the backroom and never returned. The other answered reluctantly, her tone distant and dismissive.

The experience was disheartening. It made me question my identity.

Being a person of colour and a hijabi, these moments are all too familiar—the extra questions at airport security, the second glances in unfamiliar spaces, the silent barriers that make you feel like an outsider. The hardest part isn’t just experiencing discrimination, it’s the self-doubt that follows, the way it makes you question whether you truly belong in the spaces you step into.