Stories

In our society outward appearance matters a lot. Emotions should remain under control, women must be protected, and men are not supposed to cry. Such norms also apply in our professions, dealing with injustice, despair, precariousness, sickness, and exclusion. 

His moustache is trimmed. His hair is combed back. He has a big smile on his lips. He greets me. I raise my head and meet his gaze. His big green eyes take me straight back to our last meeting.

We have accompanied Mrs. T., 54 years old, from 2018 after a friendly citizen pointed her out to us.
Several organisations accompanied her in the street simultaneously. But the links became ever more complicated and collapsed in the end. That was part of her strategies to adapt to her new life on the street…

Today I’d like to share a hopeful life story with you. It’s about V, a man in his forties. People knew him well in his Brussels neighbourhood. He had been living there on the street for years, but neighbours and shopkeepers already knew him from before; some even went to school with him. “He doesn’t want a home. He wants to stay on the street”, we were told.

A little thought for Mr Z., whose death we recently found out.

In our accompaniment of housed patients, we often see tensions around available money. To stay in their homes, they must pay the rent and avoid cumulating bills.

A few months ago, I asked Street Nurses to confront me with the reality of their street work. As a volunteer, I know about it indirectly, especially through the articles “Slice of life”. Impressive, even moving. Definitely. But I realized that the experience in the field could be much more poignant. 

Mrs. T is seated on the steps of a Brussels tube station. As usual, she wears a headscarf and a flowered dress. When we invite her, she accepts our invitation, sometimes with a broad smile on her smooth and tired face, to get out of her daily routine for a moment, far from the traffic noise and the passers-by who brush past her mercilessly.

This is the story of a man, accompanied by the “My Way” team of Street Nurses. It is a moving, even shocking, story. But thankfully, it ends on a positive note. 

If I were to speak to myself as a child, I would say: “Good luck!” My strongest wish? That most people suffering from muscular rheumatism (polymyalgia rheumatica) could work as they want.

My first meeting with you, Mr. G., was such that I simply had to write about it. There we were, comfortably seated around a table to discuss your wishes, your plans.

Mrs J., we met 11 years ago. After three years in the street being followed up by Street Nurses, you were one of the first people to join the Housing First programme.

Arcadia! No, not the mythological land where happy shepherds play the flute and live off love and fresh air. It’s the name of a retirement home where the “My Way” team pays a visit to see how Mr. M. is doing.