The smell of fresh naan hit me as soon as I stepped through the door of the McIntyre Arena last Saturday. Kids crowded around a face-painting station while families balanced plates piled with samosas, perogies, and churros. In the background, the sound of drums called people toward the stage where performers in vibrant traditional dress were preparing to dance.
This was my first time at the Timmins Multicultural Festival, but for many attendees, it’s a cherished annual tradition that has been bringing cultures together for over two decades.
“We’ve been coming every year since my daughter was three,” said Maria Gonzalez, now watching her teenage daughter perform a traditional Mexican folk dance. “It’s how we stay connected to our heritage while being part of the Timmins community.”
The festival, organized by the Timmins and District Multicultural Centre, transformed the arena into a global village this past weekend. Twenty-eight food vendors represented cuisines from India, Ukraine, Philippines, Mexico, and more, while cultural performances rotated throughout the day on the main stage.
Between bites of perfectly spiced butter chicken from the India booth, I spoke with Vaishali Patel, who moved to Timmins from Gujarat four years ago. She spent three days preparing food for the festival.
“Food is how we share our culture,” Patel told me, adjusting her apron. “When people taste authentic dishes made with traditional spices, they understand something about us that words cannot explain.”
The demographic makeup of Timmins has shifted significantly over the past decade. According to Statistics Canada’s 2021 census data, visible minorities now make up nearly 7% of the city’s population, up from just 2.3% in 2011. The festival’s growth mirrors this change.
For newer Canadians, the event offers more than just cultural celebration. It provides economic opportunity and a chance to test business ideas. Marcos Jimenez started selling homemade empanadas at the festival three years ago. The enthusiastic response led him to open a small catering business that now supplies several local cafes.
“This festival gave me the confidence to start my business,” Jimenez said. “I realized Timmins was hungry for authentic Latin American flavors.”
The arena’s atmosphere hummed with energy as I wandered between booths. Children from the Ukrainian dance group, dressed in embroidered vyshyvankas, practiced their steps in a corner. A group of Filipino seniors laughed as they arranged pancit noodles and lumpia spring rolls at their table. The fragrance of cardamom and cinnamon wafted from the Middle Eastern section.
Festival coordinator Lisa Gervais has watched the event evolve since 2010. “When I started, we had maybe ten countries represented. Now we’re approaching thirty,” she explained. “The festival has become a way for newcomers to find community and for longtime residents to experience the changing face of northern Ontario.”
Northern communities like Timmins face unique challenges with integration and cultural preservation. A 2023 report from the Northern Policy Institute highlighted how multicultural events in smaller centers play a crucial role in newcomer retention—a key factor as the region faces population decline and workforce shortages.
Behind the colorful displays and food stations are stories of resilience. Akram Bahtti, serving traditional Syrian pastries, arrived in Timmins as a refugee in 2016. “These recipes survived war,” he said quietly. “Now they help my family build a new life here.”
The festival isn’t just about international cultures. The Indigenous pavilion featured traditional crafts and food, with elders sharing stories and teaching attendees about the region’s original cultures. Nishnawbe Aski Nation representative Serena Koostachin offered samples of bannock while explaining its significance.
“True multiculturalism must acknowledge who was here first,” Koostachin told me. “We’re pleased that the festival organizers understand this is Indigenous land and make space for our traditions alongside newcomer cultures.”
By mid-afternoon, the performance stage had featured Bollywood dance, Chinese lion dancers, Scottish bagpipes, and Congolese drumming. Each performance drew enthusiastic applause from the diverse crowd.
For longtime Timmins residents, the festival offers a window into how their community is changing. Retired miner Robert Tremblay has attended for the past five years. “When I started working in the mines in the 70s, Timmins was mostly French and English,” he recalled. “Now my grandkids have classmates from all over the world. It’s good for them—they’ll understand the world better than I did.”
As the afternoon progressed, I noticed impromptu cultural exchanges happening throughout the venue. A woman in a sari taught a teenager how to wrap the elaborate garment. Children traded snacks from different booths. A group of seniors from various countries discovered they all knew the same card game, despite calling it by different names.
These small moments of connection seem to be the festival’s true purpose—beyond the food and performances.
Mayor Michelle Boileau, who formally opened the event, noted that Timmins’ economic future increasingly depends on immigration and inclusion. “Our mining and forestry sectors need skilled workers,” she said. “Events like this help make Timmins a place where people from around the world can feel at home.”
As I left the arena, carrying a box of Portuguese pastries and the lingering scent of a dozen different cuisines on my clothes, I reflected on how gatherings like these reshape northern communities. In a world often divided by borders and differences, the Timmins Multicultural Festival offered a different vision—one where diversity becomes a source of shared celebration rather than division.
For one weekend each year, this mining city becomes something more: a meeting place where cultures don’t just coexist but truly connect, one plate of food and one dance performance at a time.
