The Riches

Movement is a sign of life; growth and renewal. A mother feels relief when her unborn baby kicks, knowing life stirs within. In much the same way, we move through life, often without knowing what’s coming next. Not every dream comes true, and not every plan unfolds as we imagined. Yet still, we keep moving forward. Sometimes, like a bicycle that must keep rolling to stay upright because if we stop, we fall. Sometimes, like an earthworm, slowly burrowing through the dark soil, trusting that light lies ahead. We may wonder: Should we place limits on our dreams? Sometimes we give our last breath while our hopes have already raced far ahead of us. Is life only about climbing the ladder, buying the bigger house, chasing status? Or is there something richer in the quiet milestones, the car once longed for, a shared meal with those we love, the steady comfort of belonging?

I remember the day I met Ümit and his family. They had just arrived from Turkey, a young couple and their bright-eyed, seven-year-old daughter, stepping into our small, tight-knit Turkish community like newcomers at a family gathering. Their eyes carried that unmistakable mix of excitement and uncertainty I’d seen so many times before. I offered to help, as others had once helped me. We started simple: the Dollar Store on 36th Street where all new beginnings seem to start with plastic bins, dish soap, and utensils that cost a few dollars but feel priceless when you’re building a home from scratch. Not everyone who arrives with an immigrant visa comes with a cushion of savings. For many, it’s hope and determination that carry the most weight in their suitcase. On the drive back to the Turkish Cultural Center the place they’d call home for now Ümit and Sevgi buzzed with questions, eager to soak in everything about their new world. “You should get some rest,” I suggested as we pulled into the parking lot. “It’s been a long journey. I can swing by in an hour and take you to Buy For Less. You’ll need groceries.” But they shook their heads, wide awake with adrenaline, excitement outweighing exhaustion. “We won’t sleep,” Ümit assured me, his eyes sparkling with energy. “Come back in an hour.” And so, I waited. But their call never came. Because even the strongest curiosity, even the excitement of a new beginning, is no match for the quiet pull of exhaustion. That evening, sleep claimed them, as it always does. The day offered its first lesson: You can resist many things in life… but not nature.

***

Soccer, in Turkey, is more than a sport. It’s woven into the soul of the people. Young or old, rich or poor, it binds us together or pulls us apart in the same breath. Teams aren’t just teams; they’re identities, lifelines, family legacies. I’ll admit it. I’ve lived abroad so long, the names of the new players escape me now but, not Ümit. His love for Beşiktaş BJK as the faithful call it, was fierce, unshaken by distance. It pulsed through his veins as though he were still standing on the crowded streets of Istanbul. I remember watching him during one of those late-night matches, eyes glued to the screen, shouting instructions at players thousands of miles away, as though they could hear him. His whole body would tense with every near miss, erupt with joy at every goal. For Ümit, this wasn’t just a game, it was home. Back in my childhood, soccer fandom was practically an inherited trait. My father, my uncle, the neighbors, they lived for match day. But Ümit? He didn’t just watch. He memorized the chants, debated team strategy, dissected every player transfer with the precision of a scholar. He carried the black-and-white pride of Beşiktaş wherever he went, an immigrant, yes, but never a stranger to the passion of the game.

It didn’t take long for Ümit and Sevgi to become the heart of our community. You couldn’t attend a festival or a dinner without seeing them there serving food, laughing with friends, lending a hand. They were everywhere: at the mosque, at church events, in neighbors’ homes, always building bridges, always showing up. Ümit, with his round face, curly hair, and easy smile, had that rare ability to make friends with anyone; professors, pastors, police officers, even the most reserved neighbors. His circle stretched wide, a patchwork of soccer fans, food lovers, scholars, and seekers of connection. When he stepped into his role as the outreach and events coordinator for our Cultural Center, I often tagged along. Together, we met with university scholars, religious leaders, curious locals, all eager to get together and talk, all welcomed with open arms. The Cultural Center was a hive of activity; luncheons, panel discussions, celebrations. I volunteered behind the scenes, snapping photos, updating the website, organizing sign-up sheets. Ümit was the face of it all: proud, animated, always ready with a story. And stories, oh, he had many. His face would light up when he spoke of his university days, studying Urdu, traveling the world as a flight attendant. The tales of airports, friendships, soccer matches an so on. It poured out of him like music.

He loved good food almost as much as football. Not in a gluttonous way, but with the reverence of someone who understands the magic of a well-cooked meal. His wife, Sevgi, was an extraordinary cook, her dishes filling our gatherings with the unmistakable aroma of home. I can still picture Ümit savoring çi börek. He’d take slow, appreciative bites, always with an extra sprinkle of chili pepper, his eyes closing in delight as though that single mouthful was proof that life, in all its complexity, could still taste like home.

***

You can’t be oblivious to the community you’re living in, especially when you’ve just moved to a new neighborhood, town, or country. If you stay invisible, you stay isolated. You’ve got to let people know you’re here. Introduce yourself. Say hello. Smile. The best way to feel at home… is to meet people where they are: where they work, eat, play, or pray. That’s how understanding begins, through simple, human connection.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to read the complete edition of The Riches, it’s available on Amazon Kindle here: https://a.co/d/01QoW34U

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