Diary of a Homeless Man Pt IV

Days five and six in the bedsit...

I am tired. I think my wfe is too. The only person that is wide awake and full of energy is the little man who is blessedly oblivious to everything. As for the cause of this fatigue I think it is due to a combination of factors of which having a baby is the smallest.

It was good to be visited by a friend today although we think she came more to see Little Man more than us; but we will claim anything that will remind us that we exist and are not forgotten. It was also nice to be sent some messages of support and have offers of help from people even though there is little that can be done to help us at present. Well unless you feel like cooking us dinner...

Since moving into this bedsit our diets have rapidly gone downhill. Cooking in such a small place in a room that serves as a bedroom, a kitchen, living room, dining room and everything in between is far from pleasant or even comfortable. Your clothes end up smelling of food and come the end of the week you end up with a scent reminiscent of your local take away. But don't get it twisted there is nothing wrong with my cooking or the way it smells, I just think that when it comes to fragrances I would rather leave that in Jean Paul Gaultier's hands.

I also think that be treated like children is beginning to weigh heavily on us adults. In fact even as a child I had more respect and responsibility. Whenever we leave we have to hand our room keys in at the reception desk. Maybe my memory serves me wrong but as a 12 year old child my parents gave me my own house key which I kept and was my responsibility. It is requirements like this that belittle and in some small way dehumanise people that are forced to stumble down this path. I don't think it would be so bad if it was not for the fact that you are painfully aware that there is a lack of privacy and that you are not afforded basic rights. In many ways we have be come less than a second class citizen.

Let me explain that last statement. If you were sitting in your house would you expect the post man to attempt to barge into your house without knocking and say, "Oi, Mate. I am here to deliver your mail, oh and I need you to sign for it.". Well something very similar happened not once but twice yesterday. The first time the man was unsuccessful as the door was locked. The second time we were not so lucky as the person had keys for the room. So there was my wife sitting there breast all out of doors feeding the baby when the door is just flung wide open and a stranger proceeds to enter into what to all intents and purposes is our home. Such things would not happen if I was living in a detatched house in suburbia or even a council flat on a ghetto estate in an inner city. And thus you have it: Britain's third societal tier.

This experience has shown me thus far that the needs of the different groups that are homeless are vastly different and as things stand unless you are young, single and "at risk" your needs are not met, considered important, or yet worse even identified. Sadly I think the latter is closest to the truth.

The challenge for me now is what can I do about it when I am in a position to divert energies into attempting to make a difference to status quo.

Diary of a Homeless Man Pt III

Day 3 in the bedsit house...

Well maybe not so much in it as out of it. We decided to venture out to church today so my mom picked us up. We ended up spending the day with her and my niece which was nice because we ended up with a nice, warm, home cooked meal. Little things like that we tend to take for granted are a rare and precious treasure when you lack the ability to have them on demand.

Oh! I almost forgot. We now have a working fridge in which we can keep things and boy was it needed. We have the window open all night (as well as one eye to make sure nobody climbs in said window) to get rid of the smell of tobacco as well as to try and cool the room down, but you may as well through an ice cube into the desert and expect it to become the arctic for all the effect it is having. Picture this if you will: you buy your wife/husband/significant other a chocolate bar as a treat and leave it on a shelf overnight. When you wake in the morning what you discover is that you did not buy your wife a chocolate bar but a chocolate milkshake. However it isn't all that bad having such a hot room. Drying clothes is quick and free!

We have decided that we are going to remain positive through all of this. Someone said to me today "These are the things that will bind you [me and the wife] together.". Although how they would know this seeing as they are as likely to be homeless as a black homosexual jew is likely to be Grand Dragon of the KKK. And if I am totally honest, i have to admit that I disagree with the sentiments of such a statement. Where as I do not believe it is things like this that will bind us together, I do believe that if we allowed it, it is things like this that would pull us apart.

It is this thought that makes me contemplate the different needs for different groups that are made homeless, and although there is a lot of help and concern for young, single people nobody seems to address the needs of the couples out there and the added stress and complications thatsingletons do not have to contend with. I can understand how people can become despairing and depressed if they find themselves in a similar situation to which I find myself.

But even now as I look at my little man curled up asleep on his mothers chest (who also happens to be asleep) I know despair is a luxury I cannot afford and depression is a road I will not travel. I have hope.

I have them.

Diary of a Homeless Man

Day two in the bedsit. (Imagine that said by the narrator of Big Brother!)

Well I guess its pretty apparent that nobody climbed through the window last night and killed us, although with the amount of sirens that I heard last night statistically speaking at least one of them should have been for me. The noise of emergency services sirens was incessant and did keep me up tossing and turning a fair bit in between changing diapers.

It was a pretty rough night for the little one. Perhaps he was feeling displaced or maybe like his parents he knows he shouldnt be here. Still, should and shouldn't dont play a part in any of this. All that matters is what is; and what is is that I and my fledgling family are homeless.

Everytime I say those words there is a flush as crimson as blood that floods my face whilst the searing heat of embarassment rushes from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. the irony is not lost on me - a beggar with a crown? Could anything be more humiliating than having to say those words to anyone? Could anything de-masculate a man more than the failure to provide for his family their basic needs?

But self pity has no place in my life and my shame and embarassment is no longer for myself but for those that profess to be Christians. Those that would stand up and teach what it means to be a christian, those that would claim to baptise in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit yet at best be so cold, callous and insensitive? My plight is not of my own making and I will not let my circumstances allow me bury that fact under rightous self pity. The shame is on Newbold College and a number of people in positions of power within the Seventh Day Adventist Church to bear; it just so happens that my burdens arise out of their shameless actions.

The four walls that surround me will never dictate my worth no matter how small or how expansive they may be. Nor will the actions of loveless and compassionless people.

And so, for these reasons and a few others of which boredom was one, we spent the day walking around the local shopping district window shopping and talking. Ladies, if you feel like your husband is not listening to you then become homeless. then he has nothing else to do but listen to you! Still all things considered it was a pleasant day.

Now if I can just get past all the sirens, who knows - it may even be a pleasant night!

Diary of a Homeless Man

Well it is the first night in the bedsit. It is bigger and cleaner than I expected, but no matter how much air freshener they spray it cannot mask the smell of stale cigarette smoke that lingers like the pain of a bad break up.

After some creative packing we have managed to get our belongings arranged in a manner that will allow us to move around without stubbing our toes. That said, it would be a brave man or woman to walk around this place barefoot. No matter how pleasantly surprised I am by this place it is still a dive and I have no idea what happened in this room before we moved in. But judging by the drug dealers dealing without shame or fear right outside the door, and the young man high on the sofa in the foyer, I would understandably prefer to err on the side of caution.

There is no source of entertainment in the room, and seeing as the wife is still recovering from giving birth, there truly is no entertainment in this room! I guess I will ask my mom to drop off my TV and Playstation so we can watch some DVD's.

I have been debating with both the wife and myself whether its safe to open the windows and let some fresh air in in an attempt to shift the smell of tobacco that clings to everything in the room. Our final conclusion is that we are more likely to die from the overpowering smell of cigarettes than somebody climbing through the window and murdering us in our sleep for our possessions. Imagine that: if we don't open the window we will possibly become the first people in Britain to die from fourth hand smoke; and if we do open it and someone kills us for our possessions, well we actually found someone worse off than us. Damned if we do... Damned if we don't.

Part of me wonders why I am not more angry at Newbold or even the Seventh-day Adventist Church for placing me and my family in this position. I have been telling myself it is due to the fact we have a written apology from those heartless people that willingly and actively made me, my wife and my newborn baby homeless, but as I lie here in this squalor, displaced, poor, crowded and without a clue as to what tomorrow holds, I realize that I am strangely calm on the inside. I am at peace with myself, my God and my family despite the storm around me. Perhaps this is the peace that the bible talks of; a peace that will pass all understanding. Perhaps this is what it means to smile at the storm when Jesus is in the vessel. All I know is that more and more as every day goes by I become more and more aware that I am poor, but despite my poverty I am truly blessed beyond measure.

God has promised to provide my needs and I know he will.