Chance meetings

Yesterday was a day of torrential downpours. The rain wasn't too bad in the morning but grew heavier in the late afternoon and combined with the gale force winds made for miserable conditions later on that evening. You'd have really felt sorry for anyone who had to be out in that weather or was homeless and as myself and a friend walked towards Temple Bar on our way to a swing dance class and past the group camped outside the Central Bank (an off shoot of the Occupy Wall Street movement), I couldn't help but be impressed by the fact that they were still there (several weeks later) and  feel sorry for them in their makeshift camp with tents that looked  pretty unsuited to the conditions.

Later on that evening, emerging from the class into the gloomy evening and the driving rain, I ducked into a doorway near my bus stop where I found myself standing next to a man, who judging by his appearance, which resembled that of a tramp-dirty, smelly, unshaven etc.- and the strong odour  of drink coming from him, was an alcoholic and /or homeless. I didn't want to ask him outright but in the ensuing conversation, he mentioned that he'd been homeless for six or seven years. He was remarkably lucid, good humoured and chatty and said he was looking forward to getting out of the rain and "having a can" when he got home.When I enquired as to where "home"was, he mentioned that he was staying in a sheltered housing unit for men in the Summerhill area of the city. Though he spoke with a strong Dublin accent, he told me that originally he was from Westmeath but that in Dublin, people thought he sounded like he was from the country and when he was in Westmeath, they thought that he sounded like a real Dub!

I didn't want to pry but I was interested to hear about his experience of being homeless and asked him what his experience of the homeless hostels he'd stayed in had been like. He mentioned that often there were 4-6 people in a room so there was very little privacy and that the general practice was to try to fill up the rooms as much as possible. Often, he said, people chose to stay on the streets because they didn't want to go into the hostels. When I enquired as to why, he told me that generally it was because of the problems that arose with so little privacy and the frustrations that arose from the situation-tensions leading to fights breaking out, stealing, drug problems and snoring of course! Some nights he told me the Night Bus (a bus which brings homeless service users to hostels/shelters when beds are available) would come along and pick him up and bring him to a hostel. Other  nights, there might not be any beds available and the Night Bus would simply turn up, supply him with a sleeping bag and drive off......

As we were talking, I wondered how old he was. I suspected he was in his mid 50s but he could just as easily have been in his late 40s. It was hard to know. Life on the streets and alcoholism had clearly taken their toll on his health and physical appearance as he was quite thin and his face was pretty lined. His teeth were in appalling condition and were black and rotten looking. We continued our conversation on the bus home (it turned out he was taking the 123, as was I) and chatted generally about things. He seemed sweet. When it came to his stop, he turned to me and asked my name and said maybe he'd see me again. I wondered if he was lonely. As he was getting off the bus, he looked over his shoulder and gave me a timid sort of wave. I wonder if I will see him again....