I Came Here With Only a Dream.” Happiness is so Simple and Easy”
“I came with a dream,” he said. “Not a big American dream—just a simple one. A stable life. A place where I could stand on my feet.”
When I casually asked owner of “New American Food Mart”-(Store close to Loyola University Chicago-Kenmore Campus) how long he had been running this store, he looked around with a soft smile and said, “More than 18 years.” His tone wasn’t dramatic; it was calm, honest, and almost peaceful. He told me he arrived in this area nearly eighteen years ago. He had no relatives nearby, no guidance, just a belief that he could build something small but meaningful.
Back then, the neighborhood looked different. Fewer small grocery stores, fewer options. Winters were brutal, summers surprisingly hotter than he expected, and students had to walk far even for basic things. “I thought maybe I could make something useful here. Maybe I could become part of this neighborhood,” he said.
“This Store Started Small. Very Small.”
He pointed toward the shelves filled with milk, bread, eggs, and snacks and said, “You see all this? In the beginning, none of it looked like this.”
He explained how “New American Food Mart” started with only a few items—basic groceries, a few drinks, and some snacks. Rent wasn’t easy, and managing everything alone was a challenge. With his limited English at that time, he worried that customers might feel uncomfortable talking to him. But he kept trying.
“Day by day, people started coming,” he continued. “Students, older neighbors, families… slowly they began trusting me. I didn’t do anything special. I just treated everyone politely and remembered their faces.”
What struck me in that moment was how humble he remained. He wasn’t talking like a businessman. He was talking like someone who built relationships before profits.
“Students Became Like My Younger Brothers and Sisters”
He started sharing small stories—moments that shaped his bond with the community. One of those stories made me smile.
“There was a student who lost his apartment keys once,” he said. “He was panicking. I told him, ‘Don’t worry, wait here till your friend comes.’ He stayed in the store for almost an hour.”
Then he added, “This happened more than once. Students know they can wait here, they can sit, they can relax. It’s a safe place for them.”
He told me about elderly neighbors who walk slowly during winter but still choose New American Food Mart because it’s closer and because they trust him. “When I see them buying their basics, I feel I am doing something good for this area.”
That line carried weight. He wasn’t just selling groceries. He was serving people—students who are far from home, elderly neighbors who rely on small stores, and families who want convenience and kindness.
“Even If a New Store Opens… I Don’t Fear It.”
I asked him if competition worried him, especially in a city like Chicago, where new shops often. He shook his head with a confident smile.
“Why should I fear?” he said. “People know how I treat them. If you behave well with people, if you keep the place clean, if you stay honest… customers remember that. Even if a big store opens nearby, I know my people will still come.”
His confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was the confidence of a man who earned respect through years of daily hard work. As customers entered, he greeted each one with warmth. Everyone responded with equal friendliness. It was clear—they genuinely liked him.
“This Neighborhood Is Home Now.”
He also spoke about the neighborhood itself. Chicago often gets a reputation for unpredictable stories and crime, but this particular area near Loyola University feels different. The presence of students, families, and the peaceful lake nearby has shaped a calmer and friendlier environment.
“When I walk to the lake after closing my store, I feel peace,” he told me. “I feel proud that I built my stability here. I feel this place accepted me.”
Those words stayed with me. It reminded me that home is not always where you are born; sometimes it is where people respect you, where you contribute something, and where your hard work is valued.
The Lesson I Took With Me
As I left “New American Food Mart”, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ahmed’s story. He came here with hope, built something small, and through kindness and stability, created a meaningful life.
This small store, hidden in a quiet corner near Loyola University, carries a much bigger story—a story of a man who found happiness not through wealth or success, but through connection, trust, and service.
What this small store and his owner taught me that happiness is simple and easy:
Treat people well. Build something slowly. Be consistent. Let your work earn respect.
And sometimes, a small store like “New American Food Mart” can hold bigger lessons than any book or lecture.
