Up to the front door he bounded, a spring in his limp. He rang the bell and waited patiently. He’d been invited over to meet people. To socialise. He was thrilled to bits and pieces and parts.

Saad Karim Husona was a refugee. He’d come to Australia from Iraq and been granted refugee status before all the boat people nonsense took effect. He lived in the Collingwood commission flats. We’d managed to adopt him him via Mum, who was working at Collinwood Community Health and was lucky enough to have Saad as a patient. I could see why she was so fond of him. He had the world’s biggest smile and oozed warmth and friendship.

Saad could often be found wandering around Smith Street. He had a severe limp and was likely in a lot of pain, but wouldn’t be deterred. He patrolled the neighbourhood as if it were his own, smiling, caring, looking after people.

He liked pomegranates and movies. Titanic was his favourite, he saw it one day in Iraq when he was supposed to be at school.

Saad worked cash-in-hand at the end of a train line somewhere in one of those jobs white Australians are always looking for but never get: washing dishes in a restaurant. This particular end of the train line was brimming with op shops, but fortuitously devoid of hipsters, so Saad always looked a million dollars.

When I answered the door, I found him standing there wearing a double-breasted Ermenegildo Zegna suit. In perfect condition, if a little big.

His smiled his broad smile as I invited him in.

I didn’t ever converse that much with Saad as his English wasn’t great and I was young and impatient. We’d primarily communicate through hugs, smiles and short sentences.

Mum and Saad would usually hang out at his place, but he was always invited to BBQs or lunches. I used to love watching him sit next to conservative family friends, who probably thought John Howard’s refugee policies had some merit. Saad would smile away, entirely non-plussed, while the conservatives attempted stunted small talk.

Pretty soon, Saad began to adopt us as well. We became part of his flock. Whenever Mum would visit him, he’d send her home with plates of the most beautiful Iraqi food. Rice with lamb or goat and these funny little noodles in sauce.

When Mum and Dad announced that they were heading overseas for a year, leaving their two headstrong, adult children home ALONE, we got a visit from Saad.

It was a couple of days after they departed. The doorbell rang, and there he was.

He smiled his brilliant smile when my sister and I answered, and delivered his message. ‘You need anything, you call Saad!’, he said, stabbing himself in the chest with his thumb.

He didn’t want to come in, so we just hugged him.

I think the last time I saw Saad was on Smith Street, by accident. He was on patrol and I was walking home. I caught his eye and stopped to chat. He had just been granted citizenship, which was amazing!

I asked him how it had been, going to the appointments, the final interview. He had a case worker, he told me. ‘She very bitch!’ he blurted out, characteristic grin framing the words.

Once Saad’s citizenship came through he was free to go back to Iraq. Or rather, he was free to return to Australia if he did.

It turned out that, over the past 5 years, Saad had saved quite a bit of money from dishwashing. He’d managed to transfer some to his mother, who had bought a house with it, and was now looking for a wife for Saad so that he could return to Iraq and settle down.

He bought a ticket, and decided to go home to visit.

But Saad was stopped at the airport and barred from leaving. I imagine that the government got a bit suspicious that a poor refugee was able to afford international air travel, then went ferreting through the bank records.

It seemed he’d forgotten to pay income tax on his $20k / year earnings.

Saad returned home to Collingwood, dutifully paid the money owed, and waited.

Then he disappeared.

We asked around about what had happened and only heard vague stories.

Mum received a couple of missed calls from him. One from Thailand, then one from Iraq.

Saad had managed to get home, by boat we think. Apparently, they don’t care that much about the boats if you’re leaving Australia.

Eventually we heard that he was back in his home town in Iraq, and wouldn’t be returning to Collingwood. He’d wanted to stick around to help his mother, get married, maybe start a family.

Months later we were on Smith Street and Mum ran into another patient, also an Iraqi refugee, who had been close friends with Saad. We asked if he had any news, and he did.

Saad had been settling back in at home nicely, looking for a wife. But his brother-in-law had become jealous of Saad’s good fortune. Jealous that he’d been able to escape the war, buy a house and look after his mother.

So, one day, Saad’s brother-in-law came to Saad’s house, and shot him dead.

And that was the end of that beautiful smile.