A trail of people stands outside the bus door as I run towards the bus shelter. Brightly coloured ponchos mix into the crowd of jeans and t-shirts. Out of breath and relieved to see the line up, I make my way to the end and wait my turn to pay the fare. As some inquisitive faces turn around, one of the younger girls recognizes me and a smile spreads across her face. Data, a smart and well spoken sixteen year-old, welcomes me and with a sigh of relief asks, “Do you know how to get to the party?”  Pulling out a scrap of paper from my pocket, I assure that I am capable of guiding the group on public transportation from Surrey to Burnaby for the annual refugee children’s party.

Inside I am not confident of my abilities. As someone who often gets mistaken on public transit, I can only imagine the challenge of walking with thirty people, mostly children, through several bus transfers on route to our destination in Burnaby. I am not completely certain which bus we are supposed to take. Yet seeing the reassurance on the faces of several women in the group makes me realize my sense of inadequacy only pales in comparison to the utter confusion these refugees encounter every day. The Karen refugees, who arrived from Burma eight months ago, buy food from a store that may very well keep back the change after their purchases. They would not know it. Many walk through neighbourhoods where they cannot read the road signs. They venture out on the bus when some do not have enough vocabulary to ask for directions if they were to get lost. They encounter a culture completely foreign to them every single day. I do not understand the shock of moving from a dirty hut with a broken roof to a country where you are expected to take a shower every second day.  A new ‘home’ where there is a switch to turn on the light and money comes out of a machine at a building called a bank.  

The lines move forward. One by one each refugee puts a hand full of coins in the dispenser and looks at the bus driver for help to count it. I let my coins drop and pick up my ticket. As I turn around Deila, a single mother of six, reaches out to give me a hug. “I looked for you in the parking lot before we left, but I couldn’t find you,” she says slowly with a bit of a laugh. “I was not sure, not sure you were still coming.” Apologizing for being late, I engage in a conversation about how she is doing. With such joy and ease, she intently explains how her ESL classes are going. Excitedly she describes how excited her kids are about today’s party. Her excitement is contagious. I cannot help but smile at her enthusiasm for life.

Almost sixty eyes watch my every move as we get off the Skytrain. I walk towards the bus stop with an entourage following close behind. Ten minutes later, the bus pulls up and we load onto the idling bus. The driver assures me we are on the right bus. Relieved by his guarantee, I smile at Deila as if to assure her, “It is going to be ok.” In her calm and serene way she smiles back. I realize she already knows things will work out. Her faith shines brightly through her smile. She trusts God to provide. My mind shifts back to a song she once sang for me. “We thank you Lord for food and friends. We thank you Lord for the birds that sing. We thank you Lord for everything.” Confidence in God allows her to face the culture shock. She will never be lost, with or without a transit guide like me.  I smile to myself realizing once again how much more I receive compared to what I give to these new friendships.