My grandmother used to always tell me that there are few things in this world like a cultural bond; to always remember my roots. She never elaborated very much on the statement, but as a young girl, I didn’t question it or think much of it. I trusted her words as they slipped to the back of my mind. Recently, I was reminded of my grandmother’s powerful and extremely accurate statement.

My most recent adventure with my roommate who is from Turkey was unlike any experience I have ever had. I had brought her with me because I knew we were visiting Turkish establishments and I thought she might of some help with translating. But, little did I know that she was going to speak to these owners for hours, sharing stories, memories, and essentially gaining two Turkish families here in Hartford.

Prior to that trip, when it came time to speak to the owners, they were extremely hesitant and seemed a bit suspicious to even just briefly talk to us. As an immigrant who is most likely constantly being questioned about legality, documents, ownership, etc., can we blame them for the hesitation? They had no idea who we were, what information we wanted, or what we were going to do with the information. I completely understood their dismissive actions. But, our last attempt to break the barrier and talk to them was bringing my Turkish roommate.

My roommate confidently walked into the first business and immediately began speaking to the owner in their native language. I watched the owner’s face change from a scowl into a huge smile. The past three times I was there, I had never seen that. But, he stopped everything he was doing and immediately engaged in conversation with her. This continued for quite some time as they learned of details about their pasts, the current lives, and just reminisced on stories from back home in Turkey. The same exact thing happened at the next business, with my roommate being introduced to his extended family and engaging in another long conversation. He offered her tea, invited her back to his house, and told her that if she ever needed anything, she had a second family just five minutes away.

Listening to my roommate recollect on her conversations and this experience, I broke into tears. These two men had never met my roommate before, but that cultural bond was so obviously present. Meeting someone who knew their culture and understood this culture was all these men needed; someone who was sensitive, understanding of their culture. Although the United States and Hartford were their new homes and have been for quite some time, there is something comforting about meeting someone else who speaks your native language, that can relate to where and how you grew up, that understands your way of life. As my roommate reinforced my grandmother’s statement, that there are few things in this world like a cultural bond. Cultural sensitivity and understanding make a huge difference in this world.