The life of a St Mungo’s Outreach worker
The life of a St Mungo’s Outreach worker The life of a St Mungo’s Outreach worker Imagine it’s 6am, and instead of being tucked up in bed you’re on a chilly pavement, crouching by a sleeping bag, calling to the person inside to wake up to see if you can help them. This is the life of a St Mungo’s outreach worker. During winter, outreach workers have to be prepared for SWEP: Severe Weather Emergency Protocol, when temperatures go below freezing (or above 30C). Outreach workers rush to the streets to offer emergency accommodation which is made urgently available by the local authority. While there’s no legal obligation for local authorities to provide shelter during SWEP, it’s generally taken to be a moral one, and most authorities provide it. But it’s hardly a perfect system, explains Ealing Outreach Co-ordinator Ewa Mou-Balham. How do people react when they’re given hot drinks and warm clothes? “Extremely happy,” says Ewa. “Sometimes when we go out, they’re fed up and say, ‘Why are you waking me up?!’ But when it’s cold, absolutely everyone is waiting for us. A lot of clients then change their minds and decide to engage with us, which feels great.” But lately, Ewa’s team has been seeing more newcomers to the streets, “Last night we found 25 people sleeping rough – eight of them were new.” Often, newcomers are refugees who have just been granted permission to stay in the UK. The wait often stretches beyond months into years, and once it’s granted, they’re given an incredibly short amount of time to leave their government-provided room – officially they have 28 days, but in practice they usually only have a week or two; certainly not enough time to find a job and a place to live. “When the temperature goes above freezing, SWEP ends. People have to leave the emergency accommodation at 9am, even though it’s often still incredibly cold.” Which means they go from being refugees to being homeless. Ewa explains, “Most of them don’t speak English and are scared to ask for a job. Often, they were still at school when they had to flee their home country, so find themselves on the streets with no work experience whatsoever.” Ewa says her team’s greatest difficulty is that as rough sleeping increases, they find their hands tied: foreign nationals (who account for about half of people sleeping rough in urban areas) need to have been in the UK for a full 20 years before they have recourse to public funds. Not having the right to work leaves people vulnerable to exploitation. “Three years ago we found 17 people sleeping in just five rooms,” says Ewa. “The landlord was letting them stay for free, while working for him for £100 a week. If they had the right to work, he couldn’t do that.” Having no recourse to public funds also means having to pay for non-emergency medical care. “We had a client who needed his plaster cast changing and we were told it would cost £2,000,” she says. We couldn’t pay that, so he removed it by himself.” Ewa notes that the government has been promising an end to homelessness ever since she started working with St Mungo’s. Four and a half years into the job, there are now more rough sleepers than when she started. Ewa says if she could change one thing, it would be the rules for foreign nationals. “If someone has been here 10 years illegally, they should have the right to work, not be forced to work illegally and be taken advantage of,” she says. “They’re skilled. If the government said, ‘Show us you can pay taxes and look after yourself’, most of them would come off the streets.” It’s the success stories that keep you going in any job – for Ewa, one that sticks in her mind was a client who’d been sleeping in a forest for seven years. “We helped get him training and a job,” she says. “Now he’s not drinking anymore, he’s in private rented accommodation, and I hear he’s saved enough for a deposit to buy a flat – though somewhere outside London, obviously!” We really can finish with homelessness, Ewa insists, and St Mungo’s can play a big part. What we do for migrants and refugees We are backing calls for the government to extend the move-on period for newly recognised refugees from 28 days to 56 days We help clients access the paperwork they need to gain support from the local authority We support clients to apply for Universal Credit as soon as possible We support their mental health: many people have been waiting a long time and experienced significant trauma. Receiving status should be a positive experience, and we try to make sure they navigate the bureaucracy with as little stress as possible We provide additional support with attending appointments We help to link clients to wider community networks to ease their settling in the UK You can find out more at here. Other articles from this issue
“The cold still haunts me.”
“It’s been 40 years since I slept rough, the cold still haunts me.” “It’s been 40 years since I slept rough, the cold still haunts me.” I worked as a travel money manager at a bank, and was furloughed during covid. I couldn’t sit and get paid to do nothing, so I decided to volunteer with St Mungo’s. I then joined the charity Thames Reach as an outreach worker. Now, I work with St Mungo’s clients, specifically women with historic or current domestic violence. I’ve got lived experience of domestic violence and homelessness. I left home at 15 and I was on the streets for 18 months, in Scotland. I went to the local council for help, and they said, “We can’t do anything until you’re 18”. I went to the Salvation Army, they said, “You’re too young for us to house you”. I remember to this day how painful the cold was. It still haunts me now. You survive the night by walking about. I’d find a stairwell or somewhere and that’s where I’d kip during the day, because you’re safer than you are at night. But on the street, you do not sleep: you doze. The first time I was assaulted, I had two children; a baby and a 14-month-old. I went to the Labour Exchange (which is what we used to call the Jobcentre) and explained that I had no ID, because not only did he control everything and keep my paperwork from me, I’d literally had to grab a few things and flee. They said, “That’s not our problem, you’ll have to go back and get it”. It’s a lot better now – there were no women’s refuges then. I feel really proud now that I can help women who are in the position I was. “The way I came off the streets was to go into an abusive relationship. You go from the frying pan to the fire sometimes. It was a couple of years before I got away.” Winter is really difficult when it comes to your health; 99% of the time it’s breathing issues. There’s a lot of TB (tuberculosis) and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) associated with cold weather. In the winter, they become exacerbated, which makes life on the streets so much harder. I always chat with people I meet on the streets. They always have a story to tell. Often they show me where trafficked women are dropped off, and I can put them in touch with the modern slavery team and the Roma team in St Mungo’s. I think in some ways, female clients are harder to work with. They feel a sense of failure for being here. They don’t understand what they’ve done wrong, and especially in domestic violence situations I have to explain, “It’s not you”. “The resilience of women and men on the streets astounds me. The fact that they survive that situation, the strength of character that they have to get up every day.” A bugbear of mine is people thinking only women can suffer domestic violence. I had a male client who was suffering domestic violence, went to the local authority for help, and on the phone – on loudspeaker in front of me – the council officer (who was female!) said, “But you’re a man, how can you be suffering domestic violence?” My jaw dropped. I said, “I’m going to call back in five minutes; I’d like to speak to your manager.” I took the client out, got him a cup of tea and said, “Please don’t ever feel that we will treat you like that.” When I got the manager on the phone, I quoted legislation and explained that their staff member was uneducated, and got an apology. This is why education is so important. A client who sticks in my mind is one who suffered domestic violence and was a substance user; she’s now in her second year of college, studying nail tech. Another suffered honour-based violence in a domestic setting and has an eating disorder; she’s now attending a group for it, and she’s got a part time job in a restaurant. A lot of clients feel they’ve made all these failures, so the next time they try something they’re going to fail. I say you can pick yourself up, I’ll give you a kick in the backside – metaphorically! – but don’t ever think you’re not worthy of doing something. Even if you’ve failed, the fact that you’ve tried: that’s the success. It makes me smile when I see successes. Even something as simple as, six or so months ago they might have been timid or quiet, or reactive and behind a wall, then you later see them relaxed and having a conversation, having that confidence that they are on that journey, moving forward and growing. I don’t think people realise when they give money to St Mungo’s, they are helping to build self-esteem in that way. I say to the girls, find your voice. Don’t ever think something you say is stupid because if it’s relevant to you it’s not. Everyone should be able to chase their dreams. Other articles from this issue
18 winters homeless: William’s story
18 winters homeless: William’s story 18 winters homeless: William’s story Every day, our outreach teams are on the streets looking for people sleeping rough. But some people are harder to find than others. To avoid being attacked by other rough sleepers or members of the public, many choose to hide themselves away. This was the case for William. This is his story. My life has always been hard. My mother died when I was three, my dad died when I was 11. My oldest brother was my guardian, and he disappeared then died when he was 32. When I was 32, I was fit as a fiddle; I hardly drank, I had a punch bag in my room, I went running four nights a week – and then I split up with my missus and just disintegrated. I lost my job and fell behind with the rent. My drinking got worse and worse. When I drank it was all I cared about; I didn’t even shower. Then I found myself on the streets. I spent two years sleeping in a closed-down bowling green in White City. There was a little roof with a bench underneath so you could keep out of the rain, and nobody bothered me. I was on my own most of the time – the best thing you can do is find somewhere to hide away, because I’ve heard of people being set on fire on the street. In winter, the green would be pure white with the snow. I’m Scottish but I really feel the cold. You’ve got to wear three coats – the cold weather kills so many people. “All in all, I was homeless for 18 years.” William I tried four times to quit drinking – the first time it took me a week to stop shaking. It’s now been six years since I had a drink. Once I stopped drinking, everything fell into place. When I got my flat through St Mungo’s, I was over the moon. I’d been 16 months sober. “St Mungo’s got me on the road to the hostels. They put me on the ladder, and now I have my own flat.” William Before, there were family members who didn’t know if I was dead or alive, but I’ve been up to Scotland around 10 times in the last four years to see my brother and sister. When I walked in, my brother started crying. We went to the seaside, and the next day someone knocked on the door and it was someone I knew when I was young; he’d seen the pictures on Facebook. Other articles from this issue
