Two kids, one block of cheese, and the answer I was asking Allah for

I recently visited ElSafadi’s supermarket in Edmonton. I was en route to meet an old friend I had once lived with. He moved to Edmonton in 2025, and every time I travel there, I make sure to see him. He had recently gotten married, so this meetup was special. I simply couldn’t go empty-handed, and that’s when I started rapidly thinking about what I could possibly get him.

This friend of mine, Esam, is the most original Yemeni man you will ever meet. He can recite the history of Sana’a like it’s the English alphabet. So the gift had to meet two conditions: 1) gifts are highly relevant in his culture, and 2) a gift is meant to enhance the receiver’s life, whether in lifestyle or workflow. That meant I couldn’t possibly get him a western-style gift like a watch or perfume. It had to be something more unique, more cultural and more useful to him.

So I searched “Arab gift shops near me” while I was 20 minutes away from him and found a store called ElSafadi’s Market, which is top-rated in the area. I was with another buddy of mine, Abdullah, so I told him, “Let’s go here before we meet Esam.” He agreed.

We pulled up to ElSafadi’s front entrance, and like many cultural grocery shops in Canada, it had a theme all its own. A black canopy extended over each of the giant windows, which were decaled with their logo. The building, with its stone walls, seemed to date from the early 2000s. Naturally intriguing.

Then I entered and I was shook. I’ve studied the deep ends of how human perception works and how to make people feel part of a certain narrative, and this store nailed it right away. The moment I walked in, the air of the Middle East was back. It took me so completely that I actually thought I was back in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia: the fragrance of fresh za’atar combined with fresh bread, fruits, vegetables and dates. It was literally the closest thing I can remember to Riyadh.

Studies have shown that humans remember more when visuals, colors or places are engrained in memory. But what the masses often miss is that scent, smell, fragrance and air density are actually stronger triggers of memory than visuals. When we recall a place as having “a certain vibe,” it is largely because of how the space sounded or smelled, and that burns into our brain.

We continued walking through the store, and this is where I almost cried tears of happiness. Not everyone takes things as deeply as I do. When it comes to work, I really narrow in on why people do the things they do. When people narrate their stories, I try to put myself in a place where I can truly absorb and feel the context they’re telling it from. And this is where it got me.

First of all, the store was absolutely massive compared to how it looked from outside. Obviously it wasn’t Walmart-level, but I had been expecting a small 500 sq ft place, and this was easily over 15,000 sq ft. Second, the moment you enter, you take a right and see loads of healthy fruits and vegetables that were genuinely bursting with happiness and color. But it was the third thing that got me: a diagram of Makkah, along with the Quran and Masjid Al-Aqsa. I saw palm trees inside the store, large Arabic prints that were clearly outdated and said “Ramadan Kareem,” and Arabic calligraphy of the word “Allah.”

You see, two weeks before seeing this place, I had watched The Voice of Hind Rajab, and I was genuinely devastated. Like many others, I personally felt responsible for her death and felt that I would be questioned about it on the Day of Judgement. Then, on top of that, there was the ongoing war between the US and Iran, the nonstop bombings in Lebanon, and hearing how some of my fellow Muslim entrepreneurs’ businesses had shut down due to tariffs and so on. I was quite low internally. Often, during the road trip to Edmonton, I even found myself questioning my Lord, asking, “Ya Allah, when will we Muslims become strong again? When will Muslims come with successful ventures and massive empires, where we are able to truly invite everyone under the banner of peace that is Islam?”

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of Muslims who are very well off, and Muslims are actually doing a lot more work and creating more impact than they have in the last 10 years. But I was personally torn apart. I had trouble falling asleep, so seeing this store felt like a breath of fresh air. It felt like a real glimpse of what the world could actually be.

It was a massive store that was surprisingly busy. I saw so many Arab families shopping: the aunts and mothers talking to each other about the best products to buy, the uncles arguing about the latest politics, the elders haggling with the front-line cashier for discounts, and the beautiful young children running around the store like it was a family park. This was, and is, culture to me. Most grocery shops in the West are like ghost towns where you pick what you need and rush out. Shops in the East are more like community centers, where you always happen to bump into someone you know and there goes half an hour catching up. This environment was exactly like that, and I was very surprised to see such a vibe in Canada.

Then I told Abdullah to get whatever he wanted, and I did the same. About three minutes later, I had completely forgotten my purpose for being there and was fascinated by the shop as if it were a museum. I moved over to the sugar and salt aisle, then to the chips and drinks aisle, and then to the mixed nuts. I saw Vimto, Halal Indomie, Al Shifa honey, Ararat grape leaves, and oh boy, I was like a young child in a candy store. I was absolutely exhilarated to see the famous brands I grew up with in the Middle East, here in Canada. Luscious, vivid, diverse products that were quite affordable, too. Aisles and aisles of thousands of products. I was literally saying, “No way, they have this here too!” and smiling like an absolute idiot, and I walked into an Arab uncle who looked at me like I was on cloud nine. Hilarious.

Abdullah came back a few moments later and said, “Yo, did you get the stuff?” I jumped, looked at my watch and said, “Oh yeah, that too.” I quickly ran around the store to grab whatever I thought would work, and we made our way to the checkout. As in every Arab store, there were upsells: vivid, yummy chocolates, imported gum from the Middle East, chips that were literally made in the Gulf. Oh man, I wanted it all, but of course I had to control myself. We put everything in the bags and went out.

When I say I was happy, I mean I felt more content than anything: to see a place where my culture felt thriving, where the word of Allah was prominently painted across the store, and where a massive space was full of people. It truly felt like an answer to the thought I had been pondering for the last two weeks.

As I write this, weeks after the visit, I recall all these memories and ask myself: why was this piece important to write? Was it that I was translating my grief into something meaningful, or was I just happy to visit a place like the ones I was around as a child? Truth be told, it’s a mixture of both, and this is where I think there are a couple of meaningful lessons for us: