Written by Ella Pugh-Smith (Norfolk, ENG)
Tick-tock, tick-tock, the comforting sound of the dormitory clock. I had arrived a day early (due to flight connections) at the Denver base of the international Christian aid organisation Youth With a Mission (aka YWAM). I was tired, lonely and desperately wanted to get to sleep, so I did not have to think about how much I missed my family thousands of miles away. This foreign room that would be my home for the coming weeks was horribly quiet. How quickly that all changed twelve hours later …..
Finding a gap year programme that would encompass all my desires was not hard. I chose to go with YWAM as, with its international status, it allowed me to meet people from all sorts of different backgrounds and cultures. The programme I chose to enrol in allowed me to spend twelve weeks in Denver, Colorado, a week in San Francisco and then six weeks in Cancun, southern Mexico. I decided to go to Mexico as I had been longing to experience Latin culture.
There were fifty people in the group, aged between seventeen and twenty-seven and representing eight different nations. All had something unique to offer to the group. The first three months comprised valuable training physically, spiritually and mentally. It also involved participating in weekly outreaches, such as sorting out food for the homeless and sorting out medical supplies bound for Senegal.
My favourite outreach was looking after Katrina and Jacob. These two children lived in a home devoted to abused mothers and their children. The idea behind the outreach was to allow the mothers to have a night off each week. I really enjoy working with children so I was looking forward to it. Although I was kept extremely busy, changing nappies and pacifying a screaming five-year-old, it was definitely worth it. It had been a mutually beneficial evening. I had had fun playing with the children and they had thoroughly enjoyed being doted on, which I understood was not a frequent experience for them.
Preparation for the trip was included in the three months in Denver. This consisted of, for example, learning how to be culturally sensitive in Mexico. In certain parts of Mexico women have to consider what they wear so as not to offend Mexicans. We also did confidence-building exercises. The exercise I found to be most enjoyable comprised doing a creative presentation to the rest of the group. We were given a topic which we could present any way we liked. It could be a poem, a sketch and so on. Not only did this exercise bring much amusement, there was also a noticeable increase in individuals’ confidence, including my own. It was definitely an added bonus stopping off in San Francisco. The city appeared to be a lot more liberal and tolerant than Denver. This was evident in the way the homeless were treated. Although San Francisco has the highest number of homeless people in America, there is evidence to suggest that they are trying to address the problem. There were numerous shelters, rescue missions and food banks, far more than in Denver.
Before my work with the homeless in Denver and San Francisco, I was scared of, and felt threatened by, such people. However, being forced to talk and to interact with them, I discarded my preconceived judgements and found them to be, on the most part, thoroughly amusing, warm and interesting human beings. The most challenging experience that made me change my attitude was when I had to be homeless for the day in San Francisco.
After a hearty breakfast the terms and conditions of the challenge were explained. They were: no money – only two dollars for a return transit ticket, no stealing, at least one homeless person’s story. In addition, we had to find a place where we could stay the night if we were literally homeless and we were not allowed to return until 9 o’clock that evening. We were then placed in groups of three and finally left to get on with the challenge.
On the transit ride to Market Street, the epicentre of life in San Francisco, Matt, Joyce and I discussed our ideas and what we all wanted to get out of the day. We finally agreed that we would go to the library and do some research into homelessness in San Francisco. We found that the number of homeless people is continually on the increase due to the city’s tolerant attitude towards people in this situation. In addition, there is a variety of shelters such as ones for men, women, the disabled and people with AIDS. We also found the addresses of some shelters and decided to go to a couple and ask if we could help in return for some food.
It was nearing four o’clock, the sumptuous smells escaping from the passing restaurants reminded that I had not eaten for a while. The first shelter we arrived at was completely different from what I was expecting. It appeared to be extremely organised and clean. After describing our situation to the receptionist we were given directions to the kitchen. On the way we had a good nose around. There were rows and rows of cubicles all consisting of a bed and bedside table. The dining room was spacious and brightly decorated. Finally the kitchen resembled that of a respectable restaurant. Excitement bubbled up inside me at the prospect of a decent meal. However, my hopes were dashed within seconds of stepping into the kitchen as it was explained that they did not need any help.
Once outside another wave of hunger hit me as I realised I had to walk to the other end of the city to find the next shelter. Just as I let out a self-pitying sigh, a homeless person walked past. He stopped and held out his hand towards me. I explained that none of us had any money to give him. I was suddenly reminded what I was doing and that I did not have the right to sigh because after nine o’clock I was guaranteed food. Who knows when that man would eat next?
As we were nearing Gordon Street we walked past a large building called the San Francisco Rescue Mission. Recalling a conversation with my leader, when he had mentioned this place, I persuaded Joyce and Matt to go in. We were in luck. The friendly man at the door was delighted to see three eager volunteers and sent us off to the soup kitchen around the corner. George, a tall man with a beaming smile, met us at the door and eagerly agreed to our proposition. The three of us sat down. I looked around at all the hungry faces waiting patiently for their food. For the first time in my life I actually felt I could relate to these people. Just then a man tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. We got talking and swapped stories as to why we were both there.
I looked at the food in front of me. It looked disgusting. However, everyone around me was gulping the food down. I knew I had to eat it. If I were really homeless I would be grateful for anything edible. I started to eat it, trying not to think about what it reminded me of. As soon as the cook had announced all the food had gone, everyone was off, and we set to work to help clean up.
As the transit car bumbled along up and down the steep San Francisco roads, I reflected on the day’s events and thought to myself that I had truly come away with a glimpse of what it must be like to be homeless. This day was an eye-opener, which I knew I would never forget.