It has been said that tropical flowers wilt in the West. It’s not that they cannot adapt, but they lose the passion to bloom.  There are many who have disputed this myth and have braved the red tape of immigration to prove it wrong. They are the Canadians who have been bewitched by the Indonesian culture and take these tropical flowers into their family through friendship or marriage. They have been young engineers, gay organic farmers, university students on a Fulbright scholarship or business people of independent means that find their hearts torn between the cleanliness and predictability of Canada and the warm changeable spice winds of Indonesia; yet they have risen to the challenge of transplanting their Indonesian counterpart to our temperate paradise of pine trees, individualism and space. Men and women alike bring their tropical flowers and lovingly show them our pristine Canada with abundantly fresh water and sweet cool air.

Before the first winter has come and gone, the tropical flower droops. One such frangipani is Wayan Sukirta. A native of Bali, husband and father, he arrived in Kelowna to work in a specialized area of Indonesian teak patio furniture and antiques which contributes to a fast growing business of Sun Country Furniture. Wayan is known in Panestanan, Ubud, his home village, for his ability to find a shipper with available quota, get shipments moved before deadline, locate carvers amidst temples in sprawling villages such as Tampak Siring (known also for its fossil ivory carvers), negotiate financial deals for Javanese antique furniture and organize last minute shipping containers as well as run his own taxi business. Working hard in Canada proves easy for Wayan. He is indispensible to Carol Dodge of Sun Country due to his expertise with the imports of specialized Indonesian products.

“So how do you like Kelowna?” I ask.
“My work is good. I’m busy in the warehouse.”
“Do you plan to stay? You have a two-year visa.”
“Maybe I’ll stay till October.”
Surprised, I point out that October is less than a year away. I try again,”How do you find Canada?”
“Bersih, indah (clean, beautiful), kerja bagus (work is good) tetapi satu, dingin, kurang teman, kesepian (but for one, it’s cold, not many friends; I’m lonely).”

Wayan has left not just family but precious moments of Bali life. After the daily second mandi (bath) at 5:00, the sun still warm but without malice, Wayan strolls hand in hand with friends through the paths of the rice fields. There’s chatting on street corners, buying ‘bakso’, meatball soup from passing vendors and hunting ‘balut’, eel in the surrounding rice plots. Every few days is witness to a moving gamelan that musically embraces your heart and makes your blood rush. It follows the ceremonial procession to the temple with Wayan’s friends in bright orange, yellow, gold sarongs; processions are preceded by lazy afternoons of weaving palm fronds for offerings, and, with a perfect balance of life, exciting exchanges with foreigners exporting to Mauritius, South Africa, Australia, London…

Not giving up, I tease another comment about Canada from him, “What else?” In his kindly Balinese way, he remarks on Canadian doctors. They are fast and efficient. A silence falls, but it’s comfortable. I offer to take him walking. Yes, he would like that. In Bali people walk with their children, but here they walk with their dogs. I smile apologetically, for I am a model of his observation. My dogs are just waiting for their 5:00 walk to the lake, while my son is nowhere to be seen.

As Wayan is Hindu, I mention the temple in Kelowna. Wayan is not adverse to a tourist’s visit, but he explains that the temple here is not Balinese. He prays everyday in his room although he doesn’t have a padma kecil, home temple. He can’t make the flower offerings here because there is not ‘daun kelapa’, coconut tree leaf or ‘cempaka’, jasmine flower, with which to weave. ‘I will try to use the flowers here’, Wayan politely suggests.

We finish our tea in the Balai (a Baliness style raised gazebo imported by Sun Country) and say “Sampai Jumpa”, until we meet again. I check in a few weeks later. Work is still busy for Wayan. He is enjoying selling and delivering orders, but the flower is losing its color. Wayan repeats the departure date of October. Another tropical flower burned by the Canadian sun.