Trying, help, homeless

When I met Mike, a homeless, suicidal, alcoholic, I approached his problem with a certain sense of naiveté. A naiveté which makes me cringe as I write this now. For the next few days, I went about Singapore attempting to help what I thought was a simple problem, but unearthed instead individual and systemic failings. In this post, I will be chronicling the first part of the three-day journey that I went through trying to help him. In another post later will I point out what had failed in the system and what ought to have been done better.

January 29. Friday. Morning. Church.

After waking up and passing Mike a bun, I took Mike to church to figure out what to do. I reasoned that since I cannot be the first to seek help from the church, they will be able to provide advice. At this point of time, I was hoping that the church will provide Mike with a dormitory of sorts.

Stepping into the church, however, I realized that the church has pre-school children running all over the place and the security guard has already been regarding Mike with a doubtful glance. As Mike spoke to me, his breath still thick with the smell of alcohol, I realized that the issue of housing had no prospects of being solved there.

The pastor arrived and after I explained to him that I was seeking help for Mike, he started grilling Mike. He was skeptical of Mike’s story, especially of the fact that Mike carried only a photocopy of his IC, and said that his real IC is being kept with a friend. The pastor took me aside privately and cautioned me about how dangerous it was to let Mike enter my home. He also told me about how Mike could be seeking short-term gains from us. Initially I was disgusted about his skepticism, which I saw as cynicism, but on retrospect, he was right in many ways.

The Pastor eventually gave me a crash course on the organizations to which I can approach to obtain help. He gave me directions to Helping Hand Halfway home. Though Mike was an Indian Muslim, he did not want to enter Pertapis halfway house for fear of seeing his “friends” there. 

“When I see them, how can I change? I know the people there.”

The Pastor gave me 20 dollars for transport and other expenses, and I was about to start on the journey from Jurong East to Kovan, where Helping Hand Halfway house was.

January 29. Friday. Afternoon. Clementi.

The seeds of doubt planted in my mind by the pastor, I got suspicious when Mike said that he needed to go Clementi first to collect his IC from his friends. The pastor had warned me that should Mike make up excuses to avoid entering the halfway house, it might mean that he does not want to help himself and is just trying to exploit my help. Nonetheless, since he needs his IC to enter a halfway house, I accompanied him on his detour to Clementi.

After we arrived, Mike ushered me to a block of one/two room flats while pointing out drug addicts and alcoholics that he knows along the way. Who could have thought that seemingly normal old folks are drug addicts? Eventually we arrived at his friend’s house, where to my relief, his friend took out the IC from her purse. Mike was not lying. For this.

At his friend’s house, Mike declared that he was not going to drink anymore and he gave away the three cans of beer he had in his bag to his friends. Beer is a prized commodity to alcoholics, for obvious reasons. But the significance of giving away proper beer is greater – dirt poor alcoholics drink mainly rice wine that is used for cooking since it only costs two dollars. The rice wine causes them extremely serious health problems and hence proper beer is a luxury to them.

“Help my friend. Look at him. His leg is swollen from drinking rice wine. The doctor said that he will die if he continues drinking”

“ Mike, you will be the one helping him after you come out of the halfway house. After you come out, you can get him in”

After collecting Mike’s IC, and seeing him give away his cans of beer, declaring to everyone that he was going to a halfway house and how he will help them after he is cured of alcoholism, I went off with Mike towards Kovan. With my naiveté restored and intact.

29^th January. Friday. Afternoon. Kovan.

Upon reaching Kovan, and thinking that my job is near completion, I took Mike to a coffee shop first to treat him to his “last meal” before entering an institutionalized life. Mike said that he cannot eat more than the bread I gave him in the morning since his addicted body will reject food, so I treated him to soya bean instead.

It was at the coffee shop that Mike told me about how people prey on him while he sleeps, and how tough living on the streets is. I gave him a motivation talk about how he will be able to recover at the halfway home, and how he does not need to lead a life on the streets anymore. I promised that I will visit him at the house. Empty talk which I wish I could take back.

As we walked to the halfway house, Mike took out his cigarettes to smoke. They are not the typical kind that cost around ten dollars, but traditional Indian ones called Beedis which sell for only $2.80. I remarked to him that he won’t be able to smoke those in his new life at the halfway house and that his new life, free from the bondage of any addiction, will begin soon. Reflecting upon my words, he threw his Beedis and lighter into a rubbish bin.

“I don’t want to smoke anymore. When I see you, I want to change.”

Then, we walked into the halfway house, thinking that the matter was settled. Sitting at the stone table outside, waiting for the director of the house to come down, I was looking at the teak furniture that the inhabitants made. A van marked “Cheapest teak furniture in Singapore” rolled out, and I was glad that Mike will be able to lead a more meaningful life there.

As we waited, I saw Mike’s face become apprehensive. So I remarked.

“Well, I don’t see any reason at all why they will not take you in”.  

Words of hurting irony.

In a few moments, I was reeling. The director had just explained that to first gain acceptance into a halfway house, one must go first to IMH for addiction treatment. And to get into IMH, one must first get a referral from a poly clinic to certify addiction. And short-term housing in a halfway house was impossible. They don’t have the medical facilities to keep Mike safe from his withdrawal symptoms.

The director told me to call a Family Services Center (FSC). I called Redhill FSC. They said that according to Mike’s address on his IC, I had to call Tanjong Pagar FSC. I cursed to myself, cursing the absurdity of basing jurisdiction on the basis of the address of a flat that has since been repossessed by HDB. I called Tanjong Pagar FSC. Robovoice. I cursed while being put on hold. Eventually, I managed to speak to a human, and the human said to come over to the FSC physically to see what can be done. Mike was in low spirits by now, and told me that he will go IMH tomorrow. I sensed that he has already given up and was about to return to his past life.

“I am tired, I will go to IMH tomorrow.”

For all the disappointment my motivation talk had on him.

January 29. Friday. Evening. Tiong Bahru.

I dragged Mike to the FSC, despite his low spirits that sunk lower than mine. My mood was dark and despondent, and I cursed at the Gerrymandering that caused Tanjong Pagar FSC to be right beside Tiong Bahru MRT.

Entering the FSC, I was relieved to find out that it is at least air-conditioned and comfortable. I sank into the sofas while waiting for a social worker to arrive. I was dog tired from running about Singapore since 9am.

Soon a social worker came, and her confidence helped me feel as though the situation was back under control again. After hearing our story and a private interview with Mike, she made a few calls. Since Mike had entered an alcohol detoxification program at IMH before, we did not have to go to a polyclinic. She managed to get Mike an appointment at the IMH on February 4. I did not want Mike to remain on the streets till then so I asked her if any short term housing was available. None was. Unless Mike wanted to enter a vagrant home at Pelangi village. He didn’t, for he will lose freedom.

I worked out an arrangement with Mike. From then till the 4^th, he was going to go to the FSC during the day and spend the time there. He will be calling me once a day till then. At night, Mike said that he could stay at a friend’s house near the FSC. He provided me with his friend (Johnny)’s number. The social worker gave us a bag of rations which I thought was rather generous. It weighed at least a kilogram and contained various foodstuffs. 

“I didn’t know that the government was that generous”
“These are from the Boys’ Brigade”

I left the FSC, relived that everything was alright. Mike’s previous flat was near the area so he went to a void deck he was familiar with and said that he will sleep there till his friend came back at 9 plus from working. Watching him pull his blanket over him, I left, my tired brain not catching the ominous sign which hinted that things are not so simple. Or perhaps I fooled myself into thinking that everything was going to work out according to the arrangement for I was too tired to continue further.

I left.

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Part II will be out tomorrow