Homeless on The Stands
It would be described as some idle Friday by some and in a way it is. It is 5:32pm and fairly idle, but an idle segment that followed a very hectic week. It was a short week with Monday being a public holiday and I always find it amusing how that lovely fun day is something you end up paying in spades for the rest of the week by playing catch-up. It was also the week the schools started. My son went to a new school and the adjustment has been tough on him. I again took up driving school busses. My part hobby, part ministry, part safety-net and part personal-development, part adventure-challenge activity.
Driving school busses during the first week school starts is to be honest, a horrible experience. Order is something that has a fierce counter force to deal with throughout and especially when it first tries to establish itself. Its first round in the realm of School Bus systems is very tough, its chaotic opponent thriving on uncertainty, impatient parents, controlling authorities, unexpected road works, route diversions and difficult back up parking. I was assigned one of the big busses with 42 children to be picked up and I don’t know Surrey all that well yet. So, it was incredibly stressful and tricky. Pair this with the ordinary ministry responsibilities and its fair to say I overexerted myself a little.
I find myself at the spot I am at because I just parked the bus on its weekend resting spot and rode with my motorcycle to the facility where I must pick my daughter up from swimming practice. It is a huge set of sport fields next to an equally huge Superstore in Guildford. Her practice ends only at 6:00pm. I am hungry and tired. I go up to the Superstore (yes up as its on the second level above a parking facility underneath). I know we will have dinner when we get home, so I buy a small sandwich. A fancy sparkling lemon water is on sale-1 liter for 1 dollar, so I buy that as well. On my way out I notice there is Frankie’s Hot Sauce for just 3 Cad, so I grab that. It is after all one of my favorite and almost harmless addictions.
I head out to the sports fields and find what looked like a quiet spot somewhere at the edge of this facility. On a grassy incline, I take a seat. I bite into the sandwich. Its good. I open the slightly oversized water bottle and take a sip. It’s pleasant to my tongue and throat. I relax somewhat. So much so that I think to myself that this sandwich will taste even better with some Frankie’s Hot Sauce on it. So, I break the seal and spill some of Frankie’s goodness on the sandwich. I was right. It does taste even better. I breathe deeply and relax some more. I become aware of my surroundings…
To my left there is a baseball diamond. Baseball is a ridiculous game played by people who have not been introduced to the game of Cricket properly. It is one of a few bad influences from America that manage to make its way through Canadian border control. Like the Californian smog that has been making Vancouver so unlike Vancouver the past three days. Next to the diamond is a small stand. Personally, I find the fact that it is rather neglected and lacks proper maintenance rather encouraging. Maybe Canadians are finally seeing through this silly game. (I have too many Facebook “friends” so I had to throw something controversial in to shed a few by writing this paragraph😊).
On this stand are two people. Next to each is a guitar. They seem busy and focused on something else and I am somewhat disappointed when I see that they are busy preparing drugs. The one man is an older gentleman. His forearms are covered in bandages. The other one is a younger scruffy looking bloke. Their bodies start swinging back and through as the drugs kick in. It is the same motion you see with neglected orphans in East European orphanages. Self-comforting behavior, I have read.
Next to the stand is another smaller enclosure. The spot where hopeful batsmen await their turn. Here sits another 30 something male. Next to him is a bicycle with a trailer attached to it. It would be quite an interesting story if one were to do a breakdown of all the kinds of bicycle contraptions the homeless come by with. There are dog carts and child seats, partially motorized bicycles that runs on fuel and electric ones. Some are creative expressions and well cared for, others are kept together by grace. All are in their own way metaphors for the unconventional, difficult and risky lives these people live.
Just a few meters from this cyclist, is a Japanese dad teaching his son a badminton lesson. That he is Japanese is a guess but a good one. In Surrey someone taught me that Chinese people have broader faces and that Japanese are more perfectionistic. This man, soon to be joined by his wife has a narrow face and the badminton lesson he gives his child is thorough and next level, as though he is training the child to be world champion. The lesson looks kind of stoic and drained of fun, but I think this might just be how Asian people have fun. Before I stereotype any more, I switch my gaze to their right.
A few meters from them there is a woman in her fifties sitting with a her dog. Every now and then she throws a ball listlessly, that the dog then retrieves enthusiastically. She allows him to lick her in the face every time he brings her the ball. This fact forces my gaze to look again look elsewhere. I notice a playpark where mothers swing toddlers whilst looking at their phones. The only two other persons I see is a shirtless man far away that does a set of yoga poses and another guy flying a small drone to and thro.
Covid time has been to me, like to many others, a time of increased awareness, mindfulness and reflection. Because this is the first time in this busy week where I quiet down and reflect, I decide to take a panoramic picture of everything I just witnessed. I reflect and conclude that what I see is wonderful. Diversity, tolerance, multi-culturalism and freedom. Yes the drug abuse is less desirable but the very fact that these guys, who is my fellow human beings in God’s eyes, aren’t chased away and forced into a dark back alley is something beautiful and encouraging when viewed from a certain vantage point.
My euphoric relaxing reflections are suddenly interrupted by the man with the bicycle: “Excuse me, who gives you the right to film me?!” he shouts. I decide to engage the man. He has a point, but I also feel that he doesn’t quite understand that I took a far off panoramic picture that I wasn’t even sure included him and if it did, probably without him being recognizable. I try to explain it to him. It might have been a wrong decision. He goes on a rant. He says things like: “You are lying to me face! Do you think that because I go around on a bicycle I am dumb?! You think I am stupid, and you are better than me, don’t ya?!” His words stings a little. I am drained and not in my best ministry mode, but I sure hope I do not come across as being smug and thinking I am better than someone else. I try to explain to him that I neither said nor thought the things he accuses me of. He mumbles something and joins the two drug users on the stand.
They ask him what I did, and he paints a horrible picture of my misdeed. They stare me down. I don’t return the stare but stay put. Even in what just transpired I see something good. This man has enough dignity to stand on his rights and calls foul when he thinks it is being violated. I guess I could have been more apologetic than I was. I also feel to reengage now will probably make matters worse. The men are joined by a woman with pink hair. She is also informed of the new enemy and what he dared to do. There is a new solidarity among the group now. It is so sad to me when solidarity is the product of being against someone or something rather than being for something or someone good.
I have read enough Gabor Mate to understand that this behaviour they display is the result of tragic neglect, abuse and turmoil growing up. I feel compassion for this group. It’s almost as if I feel called to at least stay put. As if I want the divide between their world and mine, their life experience and mine not to increase. As if I am willing to stay in the turmoil and potential danger for that.
My hand does grip my Frankie’s hot sauce a bit tighter. I am after all a former South African and my mind sometimes still automatically prepares a response to a potential outbreak of violence. An unnecessary exercise in this case. They go about their business and ignore me. One guy even picks up his guitar and starts playing. The beauty of that music that must come through and despite such immense pain must be one of the most beautiful things I have heard all week.
My daughter is finished with her practice. We mount the motorcycle and weave our way through the hectic traffic of 152 where and imperfect yet loving and safe home awaits us. Where do the people on the stands sleep tonight, I wonder. They have not found a home yet, but I think Jesus gave them a little spot in my heart. May the gap between our world keep on decreasing. They are stuck in a game they don’t like and never even get to bat.
Gabriel J Snyman
September 12th 2020