Ayoub
There is a gentleman living in The Ranch named Ayoub (“eye-oob”). He is in his late thirties, and is a refugee from Iraq. The past two weeks have given me a chance get to know him a little bit, and I figured I’d write a little about some of the incredible challenges he faces on a day to day basis as a small reflection on some of the hardships any refugee must face when they arrive in a new country.
Ayoub is a Kurdish refugee from northern Iraq. His arrival in Vancouver some eight or nine years ago is a story as remarkable as it is tragic. I’m not sure how much of this part of his story he’d want me to recount here, so I’ll only mention that when he arrived in Canada the only form of identification he had was a gym ID card from a brief time living in Iran. Understandably the immigration official didn’t know how to read Arabic. Astonishingly, he therefore “provided” Ayoub with a new last name. Never mind the history, memories, and camaraderie which come from being a part of a particular family identified by a particular name. New country, new name.
That is just the beginning.
Having lived in The Ranch for nearly six years, Ayoub has been here far longer than anybody else. Thus he’s been showing us the ropes as we’ve been getting settled, and making lots of really strong, double boiled black tea which we all sip from our saucers the way Ayoub has showed us. But we’ve been helping him out some too. While Ayoub does speak a little English, he is by no means fluent and hasn’t yet learned to read and write.
Stop and imagine that for a moment. You arrive in a country knowing nobody. Not speaking the language. No idea where to go to apply for a job, no idea how to read the street signs, no idea how to even sign your own name so people in this new land can read it. All of the paperwork, all of the correspondence, every important document you posses is in a language you do not understand.
Ayoub had kidney surgery last week. While it’s wonderfully fortunate that Canada has socialized health care and therefore Ayoub’s procedure was entirely free (there is no doubt that he would never be able to afford such a surgery in the United States), again, all of the written information, from the time of his actual surgery to the warning labels on his prescription pain medications—is written in English.
Fortunately an awesome English guy named Simeon is good friends with Ayoub and has been helping him manage most of the paperwork. Watching all that Simeon is doing to try to help Ayoub has certainly opened my eyes. I’ve met a lot of people who insist that “getting somewhere” in life is all about “working hard” and “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” etc. Living with Ayoub for just two weeks has convinced me that, for whatever reason, some of us start off on this journey called life with a significant head start simply because we were born in the West, or because our parents believed in education, or because we are fluent in the lingua franca.
If responsibility is an inherent component of every resource, what’s the appropriate response to the realization that by no merit of your own you started with far more than someone who is becoming a friend? Certainly reflection on Leviticus 19:33 is a good place to start: “When a foreigner lives with you in your land, don’t take advantage of him. Treat the foreigner the same as a native. Love him like one of your own.” (MSG).
Cheers.
-Mike