Personal Story: My Name, My Family and Myself

by Magda Extentus-Delorme, Montreal, Quebec

My name is Magda Extentus-Delorme. I was born in Montreal and I’m 17 years old.

Magda Exentus -Delorme — my name attracts a lot of attention: people are always curious to find out exactly where I come from. With a name that sounds different it seems that it’s sometimes hard to be accepted.

What makes my name different, I suppose, is that it’s a cross between “traditional” Québécois name and a “typical” Haitian name. This is because my mother is Hatian and my father is Québécois. However, I am not of mixed blood. I was adopted by Gilles Delorme at the age of four, when he married my mother. I am his daughter, though, in spite of the racial differences that “separate” us. My father has never made any difference between me and my brother, who is their biological son. Only external pressures serve to remind us that we are different is some way, however minimal. These pressures can be very strong and very painful. People look at us with curiosity when we walk down the street together. And when he comes to pick me up for the first time at a dance class or a friend’s house, we sometimes get disapproving looks. Because he’s white, people often think my father is my boyfriend! That always makes us laugh.

I’m lucky to have such a strong and united family circle. My parents have always tried to strengthen my self-esteem. Thanks to my mother, who must have told me the story of Haiti at least a thousand times, I’ll never forget who my ancestors are. Thanks to my father, I know that I’m at home here in Montreal. He has given me the pride of the Québécois people. My identity is made up of all these things, which often come from my parents. I share their names, their cultures, their histories, their nationality — a part of each of their identies, in short. But don’t forget that another part comes from me. My name is Magda Extentus-Delorme — Magda, that’s me.

When I look at my father, I don’t necessarily see a white man who’s diffrerent from me, but my father; a part of myself. As he often says, “it’s all a matter of how you look at it”.