Almost 20 years ago, Haki Al-Azzawi fled an Iraq teetering on the brink of a religion-based civil war.

His brother was murdered for working with the Iraqi Oil Ministry, then managed by the United States, which was struggling to keep a lid on the violence.

Three days after the funeral, someone left an envelope at Al-Azzawi’s house. It contained a letter and a bullet — he was next.

That night, his father arranged his escape to Syria. A cousin accompanied Al-Azzawi to the almost-deserted bus station, on guard for anyone out to harm the family’s surviving son.

Al-Azzawi boarded the bus bound for the border alone. He calculated he had a 50/50 chance of survival, wondering at each stop if guards would wave him on or turn him back. Regional connections — and slipping most of what little cash he had to various officials — enabled him to reach his destination.

It was the first leg of a life-changing journey that ended in San Antonio, where Al-Azzawi arrived four years later holding a plastic bag of immigration paperwork, not speaking English and without a job.

What he had was perseverance.

“I have to start here from the beginning,” said Al-Azzawi, now 43. “And work my way out in a country I know nothing about.”

He shared his story in his office in Windcrest, at the operations center of Goodwill Industries of San Antonio, which trains people for employment and a second chance. He started as an entry-level donation attendant and in 14 years rose to become its senior director of retail operations.

In May, Al-Azzawi graduated from Northwest Vista College, magna cum laude, with an associate degree in business management. He’s well-versed in computer technology. He has a Herculean frame from years of lifting weights.

His journey to a new beginning began in 2005, when he stepped off the bus in Damascus, Syria with almost no resources except a degree in computer science from Baghdad University and some information technology experience. That helped him get a job managing an internet café.

Trying to get to the United States, Al-Azzawi and his three sisters had applied for a U.N. International Organization for Migration program. Officials approved only his request. He appealed on their behalf, hesitant to leave them, but they persuaded him to grab the opportunity and Al-Azzawi became one of 18,838 Iraqis who immigrated to the United States in 2009.

His sisters joined him a year later, when he was still struggling for a foothold in his new country.

He had flown from Syria to Paris, then New Jersey, then Dallas, and finally San Antonio to enter the Catholic Charities resettlement program, which provides shelter and support to hundreds of refugees each year through a contract with the State Department.

The manager explained that Al-Azzawi would have to share an apartment with other immigrants, learn English and find a job. He could get Medicaid and food stamps, but only for six months. The deadline seemed daunting, but Al-Azzawi was determined to succeed.

“I didn’t cross oceans to be homeless,” he said.

Al-Azzawi learned English using a phone translator app. He wrote scenarios he imagined he’d face each day, and repeated phrases such as “Good morning” and “How are you?” to cashiers at grocery stores. He asked folks to speak slowly and when he said a word that wasn’t right, they would correct and encourage him.

“A lot of people spent time and effort to help me,” Al-Azzawi said.

In six months, he could hold a basic conversation in English for up to 15 minutes. Anything beyond that became one more lesson to memorize.

Al-Azzawi’s tenacity to find work kept him knocking on doors that never opened. As his benefits ended, he received a glimmer of hope. A friend’s wife told him about Goodwill. Hearing how people donated items to help others intrigued him. He went to see it for himself and asked for work at the store on De Zavala Road.

Goodwill Careers Academy Center manager Janie Espinoza said there weren’t any jobs but enrolled Al-Azzawi in its vocational training classes — one of which was an IT class. He excelled in the Comptia 90-day program. There was a bonus — Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., he’d make $7.25 an hour working a temporary job at the center.

On the program’s last day, a donation station job opened and store manager Sherry Lopez hired Al-Azzawi, who called it “the biggest achievement for me in the United States at that time.”

He worked for four years as a donation attendant. Donors called him the “muscular guy.” Because of his IT experience, administrators hired him as a computer salesman. Al-Azzawi and his team’s high performance led to a series of promotions.

They gave him the toughest store on Culebra Road. Al-Azzawi and his team made the location No. 1 for eight consecutive months.

In 2018, George Staska, vice president of Donated Goods Retail, took over 26 Goodwill stores and their 800 employees. Each time he visited Al-Azzawi’s store, the production supervisor stood out. Staska was impressed how Al-Azzawi evaluated scenarios, analyzed data, and projected possible outcomes.

“He’d seize opportunities and run with them,” Staska said. “He doesn’t work in the present, he works ahead. He’s my right arm.”

Each workday, Al-Azzawi steps inside the mammoth warehouse on the Northeast Side and greets workers separating donated items ranging in size from a Lego block to flat-screen TVs. He wants to ensure team members are in good shape and there aren’t any work difficulties.

At day’s end, he goes home to his wife and three children. He met Marwa Alniemi, who also came from Iraq, here in San Antonio and courted her for three years.

Stresses are left at the door of his home gym, where he pumps iron to blinking lights he programmed on a computer — hefting weights gives him peace.

Past struggles are behind him. Overcoming obstacles helped not only him, but paved the way for loved ones — his three sisters now live in San Antonio.

“I did it all for my family,” Al-Azzawi said. “I don’t know what’s next, but I’m ready.”

Originally published July 29, 2024 -San Antonio Express-News