2 Sponsorship Team

As flight 1121 from Toronto banked slightly to come in for the landing, Sarimah pressed her forehead against the window. Was there anything to see on the ground? Her ears popped and the airplane began to turn toward Saskatoon International Airport. She could suddenly see everything, but the ground was still flat. Sarimah thought it looked like someone had drawn the roads on the ground with a ruler. The highways stretched on forever in straight lines.

“Papa, where are the hills? Or the oceans?” she asked her father in Arabic.

He leaned over Sarimah’s mother, who was sitting between them in the middle seat. He peered out the window.

“We are in farmland,” he said. “Flat, so you can plant many crops. This is a wonderful place to live. There is so much here. We are lucky.”

Sarimah looked back down to the ground again. She thought it would have been lucky to see at least a mountain or a beach.

She kept staring out the window. She watched the ground speed under her until the airplane bounced slightly and rushed to a stop.

Here we are, she thought. Our new home.

Sarimah and her parents were the last passengers to leave the airplane. A flight attendant motioned for them to stay. Then he had them follow him into the terminal.

“Welcome to Saskatoon,” he said.

He was not the last person to welcome them. More people smiled politely and greeted them. A woman who worked for the airline gave Sarimah a bag of candy. Sarimah eagerly opened and devoured about half the candy as her parents signed forms and shook hands with other adults.

Finally, after Sarimah’s parents had all their paperwork approved, a smiling airport worker motioned for them to follow him. He led them through sliding double-doors to where a crowd of people cheered. Sarimah looked around. Was there someone famous coming in behind them? But, no, everyone was watching Sarimah and her parents. Cameras flashed and someone started singing in Arabic. Sarimah realized that the group of about a dozen people was cheering for her family. She grabbed her mother around the waist and tried to hide.

A man walked up to her father and extended his hand.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum,” the man said.

Her father replied, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.”

The translator said his name was Mohammed and introduced them to the group.

“These are your sponsors,” he told Sarimah and her parents. “They worked hard to bring you here. They will help you learn about Canada.”

Sarimah looked at the people more closely. She saw an older man and his wife dabbing tears from their eyes. Another older couple was smiling and laughing as they waved at Sarimah. Three more women stood off to the side without saying much. An older man was singing and dancing. He was holding a sign that said, in Arabic, “Welcome.”

Mohammed spent a few minutes speaking to the adults before turning to Sarimah.

“Everyone calls me Mo,” he said. “Your father says you speak good English.”

A scrunched-up smile spread across Sarimah’s face. She had to think of her answer before saying it. She was also trying to understand why anyone would call a man named Mohammed Mo.

“I am not that good,” she said.

“Good enough,” Mo said with a smile. He turned back to the sponsors. “Sarimah speaks some English,” he explained to them. “Some Syrian children — those in the big cities, anyway — studied English before the war. She will be a quick learner, from what her father tells me.”

Sarimah noticed that hidden in the middle of the group was a younger family. The man and woman looked about the same age as her parents. They stepped aside and a young girl walked forward.

Mo stepped beside Sarimah.

“This is Isobel. Izzy,” he said. “Her family owns the place you will be living at. You will be neighbours. She can also help you at school.”

“Call me Izzy,” said the girl, who looked the same age as Sarimah.

Sarimah could feel her face wrinkle again.

“Hello, Izz-he,” she said, slowly.

Mo laughed and the girls turned to him.

“I think she is having trouble with our nicknames,” Mo said. “Sarimah, Canadians love to use nicknames. It is a sign of friendship. You will get the hang of them.”

Izzy handed Sarimah a paper shopping bag. Sarimah peeked inside. There were two T-shirts, some socks, a pair of pants and a sweater. She reached into the bag and shuffled the contents around. There were more things in the bottom: a toothbrush, toothpaste, lip balm, hand cream, a brush and hair elastics.

“Thank you,” she said in English.

“I hope they fit,” Izzy said. “If you want to return them, the receipt is in the bag.”

The girls stood for a while not saying anything. The adults started to talk again, so Sarimah slid to the side, out of the way. She watched as Izzy did the same.

After what seemed like hours to Sarimah, they piled into a grey minivan and started the drive home. Sarimah sat in the third row next to Izzy. Sarimah sat on the right side and Izzy was on the left. The middle seat was empty. Sarimah’s parents were in the middle row with Mo.

Sarimah tried to follow along as Mo described what they were seeing out the window. But it was dark and she was tired. She had a hard time keeping her eyes open and didn’t see much until they arrived at their new home. Everyone piled out of the car and Izzy motioned to Sarimah to follow. Izzy took her around back, where a door led to the place Sarimah and her parents would live.

Sarimah walked through the door, up a short flight of stairs and into their new home. It was small, but clean and bright. A vase on the kitchen table held fresh flowers. Izzy opened the refrigerator door to show shelves stuffed with food. Sarimah stepped beside her and felt her eyes widen.

She spotted milk, and the vegetable drawers were crammed full of carrots, greens and red peppers. After that, though, she didn’t know what all the bottles and cans contained. Everything was so bright, especially a cake topped with orange icing and a picture of a smiling, cartoon rabbit eating a carrot. Sarimah wondered what if it was carrots or rabbits inside. She hoped it was carrots.

The two girls walked down a hall to Sarimah’s room. It had a bed and small desk. There was with a TV on top of a dresser. Sarimah saw there were already some books on a shelf by the window and a radio and lamp on a bedside table. Izzy picked up the remote control and clicked on the TV.

It came to life on a sports channel showing a soccer game.

“Ah!” Sarimah said, pointing at the screen.

Izzy looked at her. “You like soccer?”

“Football,” Sarimah said. “Yes. I like it. I play.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes never left the screen. Izzy smiled, sat down beside her, and turned up the volume.

“I think we’re going to be friends,” Izzy said.

“This team is the Whitecaps,” Izzy said. “They’re from Vancouver. They’re playing the L.A. Galaxy.”

“David Beckham,” Sarimah said.

“Yeah, but he’s not playing anymore. Is he your favourite player?”

“No, I like Messi.”

Izzy jumped up from the bed. She skipped around Sarimah and ran into the hallway. Sarimah could hear her put on her shoes and leave the apartment. Her parents, Izzy’s parents and Mo were talking in the kitchen.

“Izzy, where are you going?” her mother asked.

“Be right back.”

Sarimah smiled. She was confused, but she could watch the game. Within a few minutes, she heard the door open again. Sarimah could hear Izzy taking off her shoes and running back down the hallway.

Izzy was now wearing a blue-and-white striped soccer jersey. She carried a poster. She put some thumb-tacks down on the dresser and unrolled the poster to show Sarimah. It said ‘Lionel Messi’ across the top and ‘Argentina’ along the bottom.

“This is for your room,” she said.

She held one corner and Sarimah stood up to grab a tack. They hung it on the wall and then stood back to see if it was straight.

“Perfect,” Izzy said. “Everyone at school likes either Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo.”

“Your school,” Sarimah said, “do you like it?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s pretty good,” Izzy said. “We have some fun. It’s already November, so it might start snowing any day. That isn’t as much fun.”

“How much snow?”

“Probably a lot more than you’re used to. At least we can play snow soccer then.”

“Snow soccer?” It was two words that Sarimah knew. But the idea of soccer and snow weren’t making much sense together in her head. Was she tired from the trip?

“It’s great training for indoor soccer,” Izzy said.

Sarimah looked up at the TV as the announcers raised their voices. The player on TV missed the shot, so Sarimah looked back at Izzy. “Don’t you play soccer outside on the grass?”

Izzy began laughing. “Oh, yeah, but it’s cold for a long time here. We have to play whenever and wherever we can.”

Sarimah looked at Izzy and smiled. That, she could understand. She decided Canada wasn’t so scary after all.