Originally Posted on June 25, 2021

Serendipity: “the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for” – Merriam-Webster

Sitting on a short, wooden stool, I watched as Muhammad, wearing a dark blue thobe, carefully strung white and champagne pearls onto a cord.

Surrounding us were shelves of brightly colored handmade goods—turquoise necklaces, dangling earrings, painted tea sets, vases of all sizes, and stone mosaic wine glasses with partial copper plating.

This shop—small and quaint—was a haven from the heat.

As I was walking along the main path at the Souq Waqif with storefronts to my left and right, I took a detour down a shaded, narrow alley, where I stumbled upon more storefronts with owners standing outside the open doorways—waving for passerby to come inside.

Before going into the shops, I asked the owners, “Do you sell camel bracelets—bracelets with camel charms?”

After a couple “no, madam” replies, I continued on until Muhammad, standing outside Past Times, called me into his shop.

Standing in the center of the shop, I watched Muhammad frantically search through a few bags of bracelets that were not display.

“Madam, could you please wait here for a few minutes? Do you like tea?” he asked.

Five minutes later, I was drinking hot tea with mint leaves and studying the wooden, foldable chess sets. Muhammad left the shop and was nowhere to be seen during his search for a camel-charmed bracelet.

Five more minutes past. I was expecting Muhammad to walk through the doorway at any moment with a bracelet in hand. But he didn’t.

Instead, he gave me a serendipitous experience.

Holding out three silver-plated camel charms, he asked, “Which one do you like?”

“Hmm…my niece is 10 years old,” I said.

“Smaller camel then?” he asked.

I nodded and smiled. He pulled out a small bag.

“These are real pearls. You see—there’s white and champagne—like a pink,” he said.

Holding up the cord, pearls, and camel charm, he shared his vision for the bracelet.

“Perfect. She’ll love it,” I said.

Muhammad kneeled down on the floor next to a small table to assemble the bracelet. As he strung the pearls on the cord, we talked. He asked whether I was from Louisiana. “Oklahoma,” I said, laughing. “And you?” I asked. “India,” he said. Every six months, people crowd the shop to get the new supply of handmade jewelry, he said.

“How’s this?” he asked, showing me the bracelet. I held up my wrist for him to use as a guide. “Could you make it the size of my wrist? Then my niece will always be able to wear it,” I said.

After stringing on the last pearls and securing the bracelet, Muhammad held up it up.

He asked me the name of my niece.

“Callie,” I said.

He brought out a yellow gift box with a bow and placed the bracelet inside. Picking up a marker, he started writing Callie in Arabic on the outside of the box.

I thanked him and thanked him for the kind gestures, paid him in Qatari riyals, and assured him I’d tell all my coworkers and friends about Past Times.

After I left the shop, walked up the alley, and stepped back onto the main path, the sun was setting. A soft light shone across the bricks; the breeze was warm as I headed to the parking garage with my purchase in hand.

“This was not the ‘camel bracelet’ I envisioned,” I thought to myself. “This bracelet—and this entire experience—was so much better.”