literally another aussie in london

jrod helps the homeless part 1

That is right, I helped the homeless.

Twice.

Yes, I am a good person, thanks for noticing.

I found out about a church at the end of my road that were running a Friday homeless shelter for the winter.

As you know Fridays are colder than normal days, and your average homeless person doesn’t mind sleeping out on a Tuesday.

So on this Friday I go out and buy spaghetti, herbs and apple pie as so designated through organisational phone calls.

I make the decision on the apple pie, I figure if I was homeless, a nice warm desert would go down great.

Before I headed off, I made myself a couple of steak sandwiches,  I want to be properly fed before I I feed others.

I take my bags of food and I head down, I don’t think too hard about what I am wearing, jeans, t shirt and my green coat. Fairly standard for me.

I arrive at the hall out the back of the Church, and knock on the door, and skinny old woman with a beanie on answers the door, and before I can say anything she says, “Sorry we are not open…”.

I know what she thinks, she thinks I am fucken homeless, me in my favourite 5 quid jeans, black t shirt, black cap, military coat, scruffy hair and unkempt appearance looks homeless to this woman.

Fair enough, but still not the best start to my adventure.

I interject as she says open and say, “I’m here to cook the food,” I hold up the food, and she looks confused, but lets me in.

I introduce myself, she doesn’t, I then meet the other cook, the head cook, who does introduce herself.

Her name comes from an English grandmother directory, even though she is from Uganda, or Somalia, fuck I’ve forgotten, definitely Africa.

After introducing she says, “thank god you are here, we thought you would not come”, “I thought I was supposed to be here by 630?”, “Yes yes”, “but it’s only 615”, “Yes”.

I deduct from this conversation that this is going to be a long night.

The cooking mostly goes well, for some reason our head cook decides to put the frozen bag of vegies on first, even though they only take 5 minutes to cook, it takes forever to work out how to turn the oven on for the apple pies, and I have to cut cheese with a knife that is as sharp as a spoon.

Then the homeless start arriving, the first one sort of looks like a Frank Miller thug, he has a scar across his face that could have come from a knife fight.  He asks if he can come in even though the place doesn’t open till 7, I can’t see the harm in that, so I let him in, and he says “If the others say anything, I’ll take the heat”.

I quietly ponder if his face should used as the face of knife crime.

Straight after an older gentleman turns up, he assumes I am in charge, and starts asking me what to do, I look at him blankly, but he keeps asking, his job is too greet the homeless people as they come in apparently, not sure how I can add to that job description.

Behind him is the forewoman of the event, she seems sharp, especially when compared to the others, and I help her put out the tables and chairs for everyone.

I ask how many people are coming, she says 12, i suddenly realise we have set up 20 chairs, I start to take them back, “no no, we have to eat with them too”, “but I’ve already eaten”, “that isn’t in the spirit of it”.

Is it not?

I would have thought that eating the food I prepared for the homeless people is not in the spirit of it.  I am glad I don’t have to eat with them, not because they are homeless, but because I don’t want to eat with people I don’t know, regardless of where or how they live.

TBC…

March 9, 2009 Posted by Jrod | living in london | christians, food, homeless | Leave a Comment