Adrian, a guy from my international management class stopped me as we walked into the exam room. He’s a tall, well-built football player – if I didn’t know better I’d have thought he wanted my lunch money!
“We’re in matching outfits!” He pointed on his blue shirt and then my blue shirt.
“Yeah, tops and pants! This is actually my lucky shirt to do well in exams.” I told him. “A Syrian man gave it to me.”
“Wait, I can’t tell if you’re kidding of it that’s actually true.” He squinted and gave me a suspicious smile.
Then I told him the legend of the azure blue t-shirt…
It was two seasons ago when I spent some time in Vancouver doing some soul searching, trying to find out what to do with the next few years of my life. On one of my several exploration trips to visit the many towns of Greater Vancouver area, I came upon a small shop in Newton. A pleasant looking girl stood outside the store distributing leaflets.
“We just opened, come in and take a look.” She beckoned.
I took a leaflet , glanced at it, then thought: “Why not?” The store was run by an immigrant family from Syria trying to make a life in Canada. In the store, I found a plethora of import goods from all over the world including Asian instant noodles of all flavors, Indian candy, and South American sodas made of real cane sugar.
I filled a basket with a dozen bottles of coke made with cane sugar instead of American fructose and strolled over to the cashier.
“Welcome, welcome, you are our first customer.” The owner greeted me with a smile.
“First today?” I asked.
“First ever!” The man exclaimed with joy. “My name is Omar, girl outside my daughter, wife in storeroom.”
“Good to meet you Mr. Omar.” I replied politely.
His wife came out to greet me before returning back into the storeroom. I realized that being the first customer was a big deal for them so I opened a bottle of coke I just bought and stood there for a chat. Their’s was a typical immigrant story of escaping conflict in search for a home where there wasn’t a constant threat to their lives.
The owner was studying a Ph.D in agricultural sciences paid for by his former employer – the state. His daughter used to study at a private school and the wife was a comfortable housewife. For obvious reasons, they ended up here after they were approved to immigrate as skilled workers. He wanted to finish off his Ph.D, but had no means to pay for it after he left Syria. Everybody has to eat, so he opened a specialty import store where rent was cheap to keep the lights on.
Every Saturday morning I’d take the SkyTrain and B-line bus to buy my weekly fix of South American coke at $18 a dozen, drink one in-store and carry eleven home. Week after week, for size weeks I’d repeat this ritual to visit, spend, and chat with a Syrian man and his family. Sometimes, when a new brand of Filipino biscuits came into stock, he’d throw in a pack for free. Other times he might pack a handful of coconut candies in a paper bag for me.
Every time I saw him he’d tell me how much he loved Canada for allowing him to stay, promising to return to Syria as soon as the war was over. After all, he does miss his native land and the family he left behind there. He never intended to stay in Newton forever, but if it did come to that, he’d gladly accept it as the new reality. He told me that as an old man, his future no longer mattered, he only cared about his daughter’s future.
Come the sixth week of visiting his store I was ready to leave Vancouver on my epic road trip to New York. This time, I drove to newton on my way to the border and parked behind the store. I picked up a dozen bottles of coke and walked up to the counter.
“No bus for you today?” Omar asked.
“Leaving town today, came to say goodbye.” I replied.
He scanned the items into the computer in silence, not sure what to make of the news. When he was done, he put the items into my backpack.
“Keep the change.” I handed him a $20 bill.
“No, I can’t take your money, your last time here!” Omar refused.
“Please, I have to pay for everything I buy.” I stuffed the bill into his shirt pocket.
“Come here.” Omar opened the door to the storeroom and ushered me in. “Pick any color you like, new in stock.” He pointed to a rack of t-shirts.
I picked out an azure blue t-shirt and put it in my bag. “Thank you Omar.”
We hugged, I waved goodbye to his wife and daughter. Omar whispered into my ear: “You are always welcome to come back any time.”
“I know.” I replied. “I will be back in due time to see the man who gave me my lucky shirt.” With that, I exited the store and headed down to the US.
“Dude, you’re for real!” Adrian exclaimed with delight. “I am totally speechless for your story man.”
I nodded and we went in for the exam.
