The Sending Circle
As you move from Kinbrace
We hope that God will
Guide you
Prepare you
Protect you
Surround you with love
And give you peace
These are the words that we spoke on Tuesday evening, first for Daniel, then for Abdul.* The sun had set and I plugged in the string lights that zig-zag up the exterior staircase and along the pergoda. The twenty of us sat side-by-side, our chairs now pushed back from the long table, belying satisfied stomachs. On the menu was Egyptian kusherie: aromatic lentils and rice topped with tomato sauce, sweet caramelized onions, and tart plain yogurt. The flavours lingered well after the meal was finished, and so did we. I held a baby on my lap and whispered in French to the North African woman sitting next to me.
With the start of September, both Daniel and Abdul had found new homes and moved out of the community. This evening they had returned for a proper farewell. We began with Daniel. His neighbours shared memories and impressions. Daniel: stately and gentle—the kind of person whose voice and demeanour reassures you that everything is going to be okay. At the end, he had his own speech to share, with the eloquence and grace of an outgoing president.
“I want to tell you how I came to Kinbrace,” he began. “During my quarantine, when I had first arrived in Canada, the officer told me if I did not find a house before the 14 days were up, they would put me onto the street.” So every day he cold-called shelters around Vancouver. No luck.
“Each morning he would come and ask me ‘Have you found a house yet?’. I was getting worried. Finally, I got a call back from Kinbrace. I thought I was coming to a shelter!” he laughed. “From the first moment I arrived, this community has been beyond my expectations. I have truly been at home here. Thank you.”
We paused, clapped, and then together we said:
As you move from Kinbrace
We hope that God will
Guide you
Prepare you
Protect you
Surround you with love
And give you peace
Next was Abdul.
Abdul who had arrived at the beginning of May and spent his first two weeks at Kinbrace in our makeshift quarantine. I remember preparing his room: bed made; extra blanket in the closet; bath towel; hand towel; face cloth; some reading material on the shelf: ‘Positively Canadian’, a driver’s manual, a magazine with short stories; groceries on the counter and in the fridge; flowers from the garden on the coffee table. Only one thing was missing.
“Do you have a Quran?” he asked, shortly after the taxi had deposited him and his small suitcase in the back lane. It was Ramadan, after all. I tracked one down from a former resident and Abdul spent those first two weeks praying, fasting, and talking to his wife and children on Facetime. Despite being the most contented quarantine-er I could imagine, I also remember Abdul’s great enthusiasm on his “freedom day”, as he called it. First thing in the morning we left the property, crossed the street, and walked to our closest neighbourhood park. “It’s so green!” he marvelled, comparing this new colour palette to the tans and burnt browns of the Arabian Peninsula.
I shared this memory with the neighbours gathered. Someone else shared that later that same day they remembered how Abdul had made his first trip to the grocery store...only to discover that he had bought so many groceries that what should have been a twenty minute walk home took him over an hour! There was laughter—most of it from Abdul himself.
Someone else recalled our community meetings during those first weeks of the pandemic when we would sit in the backyard at a distance and take turns sharing around the circle. Abdul sat at his perch just inside the open back doors. “You were like a king...and we were your subjects!” More laughter.
Another memory came to me—one that I did not share. I remember when I went away at the end of May, having reached a point of exhaustion. When I returned a few days later, only marginally less exhausted, he saw me and his face lit up. “Anika!” he exclaimed. “I have so much to tell you!”
Only a few weeks earlier this man had been a complete stranger to me. Now he knew my name and he spoke it with childlike delight. He was bursting with things to tell me. I felt loved in that moment, as he welcomed me in my weakness. I wonder if he knows what a difference that made. I wonder if I fully know...
Abdul spoke last. He shared his gratitude to Kinbrace and to his neighbours. “Really, thank you,” he finished.
Together, we said:
As you move from Kinbrace
We hope that God will
Guide you
Prepare you
Protect you
Surround you with love
And give you peace
Then, Abdul and Daniel disappeared out the back gate and into the night. We washed the dishes, folded up the tables, and packed up the leftovers. I put in a load of laundry, and headed up the stairs to bed.
*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of my neighbours.
