There was a woman in my
neighbourhood who begged for money at Eglinton subway Station. She was a black
woman in her late forties. She walked through the area surrounding the subway
entrance asking for spare change.
I didn’t like seeing her. I
didn’t consider her an eye sore or a threat, I just wished that she didn’t have
to do that.
When I first saw her, I was
really broke and couldn’t spare any change. If I could have, I would have given
her $20. I’ve never been one to give small amounts of money to the homeless. I
usually give a big sum quite infrequently.
I know. I know. We’re not
supposed to give anything, right. People often say there are many services in
place to provide for people who have been displaced. I simply don’t believe
that social assistance covers everything. Welfare is a pitiful amount. I’m
surprised if anyone can really live off it. Many think people who beg will just
use the money to buy drugs or alcohol. Some will. But some will buy food. Some
will pay the rest of their rent. Some need it.
I refuse to analyze all of that.
I’ve been so broke that five dollars made a huge difference. I have been so
wealthy that I wouldn’t miss five dollars.
Then one day the woman at
Eglinton subway walked up to me on a particularly stressful day and said, “I
just need $20.”
“So do I,” I thought.
I told her I didn’t have it and
continued on my way annoyed that she was not patient enough to wait for my
generosity.
(I’m kidding. But I was a bit
put off.)
She was there for months, at
Yonge and Eglinton. Not everyday. Just around the time of month social
assistance runs out because, as I mentioned, Toronto doesn’t provide its
citizens with enough to live on all things considered. She was not on drugs. I
saw no signs of mental illness. She seemed healthy, strong but I expected that
she would go crazy if she had to beg in front of the subway for long.
One morning, she was
particularly frantic and being more assertive than usual. I stood a distance
away and pulled out a $20. My financial situation had improved and I could “kind
of” spare some change. Or more, I thought she needed it really badly.
I placed the 20 in her hand and
walked quickly past her to go down the escalator. She ran up to me calling me,
grabbed my arm, swung me around and she hugged me like anything. She thanked me
a million times.
“No problem,” I said. “Take care
of yourself,” I said.
“I will,” she said.
I saw her a couple of more
times. Greeted her but then told her I didn’t have money for her. She smiled at
me. She didn’t seem to mind.
The third time I saw her she
said, “That twenty dollars you gave me really helped me out. I graduated from
York University. I took Human Resource Management but haven’t been able to find
a job. People don’t want to leave their positions so it’s hard to get in. Do
you know how humiliating it is to have to do this?”
I listened and realized it would
be easy to shift her out of that way of thinking.
I went to do some banking. On
the way back I went up to her. I gave her ten dollars and the business card of
a woman at OASIS. (I went there for help when I was between jobs and had
already tried everything I could think of.) They helped me revamp my resume,
offered me clothing assistance and gave me a million tips to be gainfully
employed. There were pep talks, funny stories. They know the system like no one
else and they knew what to tell me so that I could keep going. I expected them
to get me a job dusting shelves at the Sally Ann, but they learned my
credentials and guided me to find work suitable for me. They helped to become
more employable. It was a truly interesting process. I knew they could help
her.
I told her what OASIS provided
and reminded her that what she was doing was a short-term solution. She agreed.
She looked at me. It wasn’t confusion. It was contemplation and gratitude.
Do you know, I haven’t seen her
since!
There is a huge homeless and/or
impoverished population in Toronto. Maybe there doesn’t have to be.
Cheers,
No comments:
Post a Comment