Author: rucha

melisa called me sunday morning to tell me she is on her way. anxiously i asked her how yesterday went. she said i will tell you about it. as soon as she picked me up, i asked her again. we spoke on the way to the downtown women’s center…she said the previous day went well. she was the only one volunteering that day. we started talking about our shared fears, us coming into this space, conscious of our privilege, how would we be received. somehow walking into the space, serving, and then leaving didn’t sit well with me. we talked some more about why we are serving, is it to feel good about ourselves or to genuinely serve others? we talked about stereotypes and perceptions of homeless people. melisa’s experience from the previous day challenged some of these assumptions. we reached the shelter.

inside the atmosphere was light. it felt relaxing. we walked in ready to do whatever we were told. the food was still cooking so we had some time before we served. we helped set up the plates and utensils. i took in the environment. standing at the counter wrapping the napkins around the forks and knives, to the right of me was a boom box playing notorious big. one of the residents went up and turned the volume louder. some of the women were dancing and singing. i mouthed the words a little myself. it almost seemed like a party. there were several tables set up along the wall. many women were sitting at the tables. they looked as though they were hoping for lunch time to roll around a little sooner. some of the women walked by and said hi. some of the women strolled in and out of the kitchen taking care of personal needs. i naturally compared this space to the domestic violence shelter i work in, and continued to reflect as we served.

there was a diverse group of women. i thought of who may have called the hotline at work, and if i had referred any of these women to dwc because our domestic violence shelter didn’t have space at the time. my heart sank a little because most women in homeless shelters are survivors of domestic violence. i wondered if they were getting appropriate services and the support they needed. it seemed inappropriate for me to start distributing domestic violence brochures. i hadn’t brought them with me because i didn’t want to come off presumptuous to the shelter staff who are already doing incredible work, and i didn’t want to come off righteous to the residents. maybe next time i will take some with me and somehow find an appropriate time to at least leave them there in case anyone can benefit from the information.

the food was finally ready and it was brought over to the counter. chicken, rice with butter, and yams. the aroma of the yams wafted up my nose. it smelled so delicious. melisa asked me if i wanted to cut the chicken, i told her i would prefer not to (i’m vegetarian). so the tasks were decided, she would serve the chicken and i, the rice and yams. table numbers would be called out and the women sitting at that table would then be able to come up to make a plate. at first what seemed like a natural flow of human beings in a communal space, all of a sudden became organized. the volume of the music was turned back down. melisa and i washed our hands for the second time and put the gloves on.

as the women came up to the counter, the silver pot of rice stood taller than me on the counter. i was on tip toes scooping the rice out. some of the women commented about this in a humorous way. there was a lot of rice so i served it liberally. i made sure to try to make eye contact with each woman. in each of them there was something unique and beautiful. they all seemed so thankful. a couple of the women resonated with me. one was so upbeat and had a huge smile on her face. i think she noticed me staring at her. i was struck by her. there was also a mother and her adult daughter there. the daughter was making the plate for her mother. they reminded me of my mom. she told me that there was no more water left and asked me if she could go to the sink to get some. i said yes, not sure if i was violating any shelter rules, actually not caring if i was. one thing i noticed was that most of the women were looking out for each other. when one of the tables didn’t get called for a while, a woman at another table brought it to the attention of the staff, shouldn’t table 7 be called now? even more amazing was how patient the women at table 7 were, sitting quietly to be called.

once everyone was able to get a plate of food, then seconds was called out. this wasn’t as systematic as before. there was a sudden rush to line up for more food. melisa and i felt bad because not everyone got the same portions of food, and the chicken started running out during seconds. there was still a lot of rice though, and that seemed to be a big hit. some of the women thanked us for serving the food. i felt uncomfortable. i admired them, for keeping such positive attitudes, their perserverance, and kindness.

once the food was finished melisa and i washed up. we were thanked and told to come back. i told them i will. i think each time i will set a goal for myself to do more. i left feeling like i didn’t do enough. maybe next time i will engage in conversation with one of the residents, and then after that i will try talking to 2 more people. i believe true social change comes from listening to others’ experiences (preferably also trying to live these experiences), then only can we really know what is required of us to make the change from within, ultimately leading to broader change. as rubaiyat from south asian network says, the revolution must continue…