Thursday morning, walking Desmond in the park next to my temporary flat, I noticed a man on one of the benches. He was surrounded by shopping parcels (everyone here uses recyclables!) and was eating something out of a bag. I had noticed a small shed in the far corner of the park weeks before, and Friday, it had a sleeping bag spread out, visible through the bent tin door.
Desmond woofed at him - of course: he's male and a stranger - and then stopped, sidling up to investigate what he was eating. Opportunist. I apologized and shooed Desmond away. And as we returned along the path, the man approached and asked my name and place of origin. He was pleasant and friendly, and yet I did not tarry long, in part because work awaited. His name, he'd said, was Seraphim.
Seraphim stayed with me that day, an invisible presence, but a source of pensiveness and perhaps guilt.
One of the reasons I have been grateful for my opportunities with Red Cross is that I have had the privilege of representing and advocating for those who do the real work. By this, I mean the shelter workers, canteen managers, mental health workers... the carers who make meaningful connections with those we serve. As delighted as I am to speak to dozens, hundreds, or thousands, I am vaguely embarassed and ill-at-ease connecting with those in greater need than I am. Perhaps they're judging or resenting me; I have too much.
During a tour of Geneva's Old Town Tuesday - part of the Red Cross-Red Crescent Global Communications Forum - we learned that Geneva has the highest unemployment rate in Switzerland. It is 15.2% compared with 7% overall, in part due to the international organizations, in part because many commute from less-expensive France.
Thursday evening, I cooked two dinners. And I pulled together a parcel of food, rain jacket, and extra blanket. The Migros recyclable bag, Desmond and I set out for the park again. And I'm not sure whether I hoped to see Seraphim or feared it. I saw that seamed face, sitting on a bench under the trees. We sat and spoke, and I tried to ask him questions without prying (part of the ongoing effort to learn more about others in conversation). And then it was time to go. The bags and Seraphim were gone from the shed the next morning.
It is simplistic to capture this thus, but Seraphim needed connection as much as food or funds. We all need connection in this world. Thank you, Seraphim, for helping me nourish my better angel.
2 comments:
Touche, Cat!
Too many people just walk on by, averting their eyes...
If each of us did this, even once a week, who knows what changes could occur.
In NoVa, there are places where those down in luck accumulate. We, those who have jobs and funds- even if not the ones we would love- see others and, too often, do nothing.
Let your efforts serve as an example to change our previous actions (inactions).
Good for you; keep it up. One on one connection like that nurtures (wo)man's humanity to man, piercing illusive walls like class and race.
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