By ANNE HODGKINSON
IT’S hot and humid. Everyone is looking up at the sky, wondering when it will rain again.
Eight of us aren’t that worried because we have somewhere warm and safe to sleep the night.
The rest of the group aren’t so sure. They will probably have to find somewhere undercover and protect their meagre possessions from the damp and the other people they are huddling with.
It’s Friday night in Brisbane and I’ve joined the Rosies van for one night to get a taste of what it’s like to work with homeless people.
Rosies social worker Dominic Mapstone was quick to tell me when I arrived at the Rosies office that homelessness had nothing to do with buildings.
‘Home is about feeling connected to people who care about you,’ he said.
Those who live on the streets are ‘houseless’ (without shelter) but they also lack the stability and compassion of belonging to a home.’
Rosies is not a welfare service. It’s not about giving a ‘hand out’ to those in need.
Rosies is a learning experience aimed at making the giver feel humble.
After a briefing session and a group prayer, the eight of us grab boxes of cups, spoons, coffee, tea, Milo, cordial and soup and a hot water urn and load it into the Rosies van.
With the radio blasting, we head towards the City. The homeless are already waiting for us when we pull up and unload the gear.
They crowd around the van eagerly, not for a hot drink, but to see who is working that night.
The Rosies workers greet the street people like old friends. There is laughter and banter and coffees are quickly distributed.
Before long, everyone is seated or standing and chatting away with gusto.
The atmosphere is like a backyard barbecue and Rosies workers mill around, chatting and drawing people into their circle.
I chat to Dave and Tom (not their real names) about the Beatles and the death of George Harrison and learn that Tom used to play in the Salvation Army band as a boy.
Dave is an intellectual and knows everything about conspiracy theories and cinematography.
Kevin smiles quietly as he sips his cordial and Patrick just wants a hug.
It’s too soon before we have to pack up and leave, and as the van pulls away, the people left behind give us a wave.
I am elated at what I have done but also deeply depressed by what I have witnessed. We have so much and no one realises.
I felt like I didn’t do enough and almost guilty that I would sleep in a bed that night.
This feeling of leaving unfinished business will probably ensure, no doubt, that I go back again and give a little more of myself to people who have nothing at all.
