When Nathalie Adabachi from Toronto, Canada told her father she was going to visit New Zealand, she was given a photo with two names written on the back.
It wasn’t until a spontaneous drive through Ōtorohanga to see kiwi that she and her husband got the opportunity to meet the real people from the photo.
When my husband Samir was asked to attend an Australian Council of Education meeting in 2018, we planned to follow it with a trip to New Zealand, as we had always desired to visit.
This interestingly intrigued my father, and when we left, he handed me a few old black and white photographs of his cousins who I learned had migrated from Lebanon to New Zealand around the same time as his family had moved to Egypt in the mid-20th century, before we ended up in Canada.
The names “Karam and John Haddad” were written with Arabic script on the back of the photos.
“We’ll keep an eye out”, I assured him, tucking the photos away, before departing for the airport in Toronto.
New Zealand beckoned us with its promises of untouched beauty. We planned our days meticulously, making sure we would get to experience the North Island thoroughly.
Near the end of our trip, we navigated the extraordinary landscapes of the Tongariro alpine crossing.
On the next to last day, Samir said he wanted to see a kiwi bird, and we learned there was a kiwi house in Ōtorohanga, which was on the return to Auckland.
We embarked early in the morning. As we drove through the town, we saw a building that looked quaint and somewhat stuck in the past. A sign grabbed my attention: ‘KARAM AND JOHN HADDAD MENSWEAR’.
My heart leapt. Was it possible? Could it be them? I found myself running out of the car, an inexplicable force pulling me into the store. Samir was behind me, having extracted those pictures we had not thought much about until now.
We entered the store. The front was filled with recent photographs and newspaper clippings that seemed eerily familiar. There they were, unmistakably the same faces from the old photos.
A well-dressed man emerged, his eyes locked on me. His question was straightforward: “Excuse me miss, who are you? You are the spitting image of my daughter.”
I didn’t need to guess. It was Karam. I was staring into the eyes of my family.
As I stood there in the Haddad menswear store, staring into Karam’s eyes, I felt an inexplicable bond. It was as though a part of my family’s tapestry had been filled in with vibrant, unforeseen colours.
Over lunch, the Haddad brothers narrated their story, and we found ourselves riveted by the remarkable life Karam and John had built in Ōtorohanga.
Their father, Michael Haddad, had an adventurous spirit. His journey had taken him from Lebanon to Australia and finally to Ōtorohanga, where he had started his own milk bar.
His resilience was inspiring, and it was clear that Karam and John had inherited his spirit and determination. Together, the brothers had created a unique menswear store, meticulously curated and a true reflection of their distinctive style.
They spoke passionately about their craft, pointing out specific pieces in the store with pride. Particularly memorable were the hats they had designed, carrying a story of their own. They donned these hats with grace, a symbol of their dedication and love for their craft.
It was during this enchanting narrative that we truly began to understand Karam. His profound connection to the town was tangible. To him, Ōtorohanga was not just a place to live; it was an extension of his being, an integral part of his identity.
We accompanied the brothers to the Kiwi house, an experience that felt like a procession through the town. As we walked, it became evident that the brothers were pillars of the community. People greeted them with warmth, and we were welcomed like royalty. It was as though Ōtorohanga had opened its heart to us, embracing us as one of their own.
Karam’s infectious love for his town, his family, and his work was heartwarming. His zest for life, his unwavering commitment to his craft, and his deeply rooted sense of community left an indelible impression on us.
The memory of that day is still fresh in our minds. Our unexpected meeting with Karam was not just a reunion with long-lost relatives, but also a celebration of kinship, history, and shared heritage.
This chance meeting, right out of a movie script, led to an impromptu family reunion. It was an enchanting coincidence, a testament to the powerful bonds of family, no matter how far-flung its branches.
As we bid goodbye to the Haddad brothers, we carried with us a piece of Ōtorohanga, a piece of Karam, a newfound love for our extended family, and a story for the ages.
We were devastated to hear of Karam’s passing and wish our sincerest condolences to those who hold him dear.
