By MARK BONOKOSKI,
Last Updated:
As morning breaks at Na-Me-Res, Darren Mayo, a young Saskatchewan-born Cree, conducts the daily smudging ceremony at this homeless Native men’s residence in central
“It removes negativity,” he says. “It cleans the air.”
On any given day, upwards of 60 Native men call Na-Me-Res their home, some 75% of them coming to this city from reserves in Northern Ontario, from as far away as the Northwest Territory and, of course, from the largest non-official reserve in Canada ... the streets of Toronto.
For these homeless, Na-Me-Res represents a sanctuary from the downside of pot-boiler hostels like Seaton House with its crackhead and chronic alcoholic populace, and a place where traditional Native culture and values are embraced, where lost self-worth can be rediscovered, and where recovery from substance abuses and tragic histories can lead to self-sufficiency.
“Those are our goals,” says Harvey Manning, a 48-year-old Ojibway originally from the Kettle Point reserve, and for years the executive-director of Na-Me-Res.
Manning’s new right hand is Steve Teekens, 36, a former manager at Native Child and Family Services, an outreach worker for street youth at Street Link, and now housing manager at Na-Me-Res where his Ojibway roots, and his university education in social work and psychology, can blend like sweetgrass smoke with the job at hand, and clear the negativity that plagues so many homeless Native men.
And it is a refuge.
“We discharged a man from here a few weeks ago for breaking the rules, for drinking and being belligerent with staff, and he was told not to come back for two weeks, and to come back with a better attitude,” says Teekens.
“But he wouldn’t go away.”
Instead of disappearing into the concrete anonymity of
at
“But the staff here still fed him dinner,” says Teekens. “That’s what I love about the staff of this place. They never let go of the humanity that flows inside them.”
A few metres away, in a separate building, what was once the Tumivut Youth Shelter, is being gutted for its conversion into transition housing for Native men.
It officially closed at July’s end, and is slated to reopen in the spring to accommodate 22 Native men who have shown themselves to be mere steps away from going solo.
“The layout simply wasn’t working as a youth hostel,” Harvey Manning admits. “It was dorm-style, and too open to work well. There was bullying, and theft — all the issues you can possibly think of when it comes to street youth.
“And then, suddenly, there were a lot less Native youth coming here — almost 75% less — and so, after consultations with our community, we decided to shut Tumivut down and covert it into a transitional and supportive housing service for aboriginal men and male youth.
“Maybe the kids who used to come to Tumivut have left the streets,” he says. “You can only hope that’s the case.
“Because street life is a killer.”
The majority of those who end up having to bed down at Na-Me-Res came to Toronto for the same reasons most people move to this city — to get ahead.
The numbers are not insignificant since, according to a city report, almost a quarter of
In late November, Ontario Minister of Municipal Affairs and Housing, Jim Watson, along with Aboriginal Affairs Minister Brad Duguid, announced a $20-million housing program for up to 320 low-income aboriginal households living off-reserve in Toronto, part of a $80-million province-wide initiative.
But it will not happen overnight.
Last year, meanwhile, some 3,500 different Native men used Na-Me-Res as a temporary shelter from homelessness, with 69,000 meals being served each year through its outreach program.
“They come to
“They come for the opportunity they believe
“As for the youth ... well, many of them come here because of the bright lights because, to be honest, there isn’t too much for them on many of the reserves.
“When I was younger, I never even dated a girl on my reserve,” says Teekens, remembering the days he went to
“And I didn’t date any of them because I was probably related to most of them ... like cousins, whatever.
“That’s how small that world can be.”
At Na-Me-Res, those who come through its doors are offered help with the necessary tools required to develop what Harvey Manning describes as “a strong sense of self-sufficiency and self-worth.”
Each temporary resident is offered both counselling and assistance, with acceptance a condition for continued residency. In other words, no free rides.
Upon referral, each resident is assigned a counsellor to design a healing program based on traditional values, plus workshops and one-on-one counselling on family violence, health and sexuality, computer skills, street help and addictions.
Each resident, in fact, must attend two life-skills workshops per week, as well as one counselling session as part of his commitment to Na-Me-Res’ recovery program.
Alcoholics’ Anonymous, in fact, was incorporated in Na-Me-Res’ regular and outreach programs back in 1997, and now has weekly AA meetings where former residents return to share their experiences with the newcomers — all to help diminish the sense of isolation some residents might feel after leaving the hostel, as well as to provide a sense of continuity and involvement in the community.
“You lead by example,” says Teekens. “It’s not a new concept, which is why it works.
“It’s one step at a time.”