Author: AIC

Companionship in compassion

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately – and I think about it a lot in general – about what exactly it is that the Aunties do. And what I do. Not the logistics or the practical everyday stuff, but the exact nature of the spirit of it. What helping is, and is that what we do? Do we make change? What exactly is it that we’re doing here? Lots of words are chucked around – helping, fixing, changemakers……

I guess a lot of people would look at what the Aunties do as helping people. I don’t like that thought. I know that’s odd, but bear with. I’m not really about helping people – you, as an Aunty, might be. That’s your motivation. I know a lot of Aunties like being involved at something at a grassroots level – knowing they’re helping people. That’s a really good motivation.

But it doesn’t really explain the why fully. So you like helping people, and you are. That’s your start. You’re helping me, you’re helping the women, you’re helping the refuges, you’re helping the people who I work with, basically, aren’t you? And that makes you feel good. Because we increasingly live in a world where giving and being a good person isn’t much talked about. Where community is a forgotten concept until a disaster or tragedy occurs.

And we’ve built this community, you and I, haven’t we? The Aunties is a community of people who are ostensibly helping other people. Giving stuff that they need, giving money so I can get them stuff they need, or so that they can pay to get the stuff they need.

You may be doing this because you like the feeling you get when you know you’ve done something good. That’s okay. You may do it because you’ve been there, and you know what it looks like to not have enough of anything. Whatever your motivation, it’s all good with me. Because that’s YOUR motivation and I don’t get to question it. It belongs to you. It’s up to you to examine what your why is.

Are we making change? Here’s my thing. We may be making changes in our own lives, I know I certainly have. Being Aunty In Charge has changed my entire life in almost every aspect of it. But are we changing other people’s lives? I don’t think so. I think what we do is give people stuff/pay bills etc to give them joy, dignity, ease, so that they can focus on the changes they want/need to happen. What we do doesn’t change their lives at all. For many of them, if the kids have enough clothes/shoes or if they get a bill paid, it’s one thing less they have to worry about. For many of them, the stuff represents love. That people care about them. All that love and care is building blocks to reinforce the confidence and the self worth they have lost along life’s way. So no, we aren’t changing lives. What you gain by being an Aunty is important to me – and I’ve heard from many of you what you do gain. And the impact of being an Aunty on you may be large or just very tiny. Either way it’s okay. We are all enabling each other. Enabling. There’s a great word. Maybe we’re enablers? Is that it?

Aunties, in the Oxford Dictionary, are simply described as, apart from the female sibling of a parent, an unrelated adult female friend, especially of a child.

The synonyms are: companion, duenna, protectress, escort, governess, nursemaid, carer, keeper, protector, bodyguard, minder.

Given that these are adult women we’re working with, they don’t need nursemaids. And governess is a really old term that’s not appropriate either. Bodyguard, protector, minder, keeper? Well sometimes, but very rarely. Mostly we are companions, and duenna and unrelated friends. I think those are words I relate to most. Those three words very accurately describe a lot of what I personally do, and what I have become, and you? You help me to do those things.  And you do those things too. By giving of yourselves, you become friends and companions to women you will never meet.

I like standing alongside people. That’s my gig. I like holding people’s hands if that’s what they want, holding them tightly if that’s what they need, or just being there silently (or not so silently) cheering them on. And they do that for me. It’s incredibly selfish, this selflessness. And I’m okay with that. I hope you are too. Because we are all in this together. Companions.

Stand Up For The Aunties

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A number of years ago – not quite 5, but more than 2 – I met the wondrous Michele A’Court. We’d been communicating online, making a friendship as you do. I think, if memory serves me (which it doesn’t very often seeing I’m in my early 50’s and menopause is A Thing), that she brought up the idea of having a comedy gig to raise money for us on our very first meeting in person. This idea thrilled me, and I had no idea how it would happen. She’s one of the busiest people I know, with a huge heart, but still BUSY. Always on the go. And then I made her chairperson of the Aunties Board, but that just made her BUSIER. (I admit, I thoughtlessly didn’t think of that, just how much fun we’d have).

So here was this idea she’d had. And it bubbled away. We pencilled a date in and we left it largely up to Michele. And boy, did she come through. She and Phil between them have made this gig possible. And so many thanks to the comedians who said yes to us. To Justine Smith – who I adore and who HAD to be there; Sera Devcich who I saw for the first time at a Women’s Centre Fundraiser, and who impressed me so much; Urzila Carlson who we were very lucky to get; and The Fan Brigade – favourites of a number of the Board. Thanks too to the Classic who agreed to let us use their venue free!

So thanks to all those people, this gig is a happening thing. Sunday, October the 15th from 7pm. The tickets cost $35 and you can get those here.

So come and support us – we’d be so happy if you did. The money raised, of course, will be used, amongst other things, to buy: supermarket vouchers for the women, art supplies for the kids, socks and PJs for women/kids when they arrive, and to help women in the community with petrol vouchers.

All these things are ongoing needs, and that need increases every year. So we need your support – we couldn’t do the do without any of you.

Thank you so much.

Aunty Jackie.

 

 

Double Vision

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A while ago, in the refuge, I met a young woman with her mum.  She’s 16. and when I met her she was shut down. Closed face, hardened. Staunch.

Things happened, and her mum has disappeared, so she’s living, with her sister, with a caregiver – a wonderful older woman, with a large family who have taken the girls in, and made them their own. And I have also made her my own, with her permission.

I’ve been in her life now for a little over two months, and I wanted to tell you about a special day that we had a couple of days ago. After a big shopping day we had a few weeks ago, her caregiver alerted me to T’s need for glasses. I promised I’d organise it, and then got hectic busy. Her caregiver didn’t let me forget though, bless her, and so a few days ago I found a local optometrist and made an appointment.

I went to T’s school to pick her up, and waited a while for her. When she walked up, and saw me, her face immediately broke into a huge grin. And mine did too. She’s such a joy, and I am incredibly in awe of her, and her spirit.

As soon as we got in the car, she said: How have you BEEN? I’ve missed you! And I reciprocated, because I had missed seeing her lovely face. And it struck me that the question itself was an indicator of what a rate of knots she’s forging ahead at.

I took her to lunch, and we sat and ate and talked. We talked about her counselling and how that was going, we talked about her mum as T starts to process why her mum has done what she’s done. We talked about her spirit, her mauri. How powerful her’s is. How kickarse. How much I admire her.

And then we talked more about her sister, about what it means to look after people, be responsible when you’re not really ready.

We walked into the optometrist and sat down. T looked really unsure, as she always does with new people, and in new situations. But they put her completely at ease. All pālagi women, they fussed over her just enough, and not too much. They gave her agency – could see she was nervous and invited her to look at frames while she was waiting. She is still not confident in decisions she makes, but every time she makes another one, says the word NO she emboldens. Finally a pair was chosen – I don’t want to look too nerdy, she said – and they were lovely too. Makes you look like a very smart confident woman, I said. She grinned.

When it was time for the eye test, the optometrist immediately put her at ease. Chatting away, but not too much. Looking at her directly, speaking to her gently ( I had asked for someone who would be gentle with her). And I could see T visibly relaxing in the chair.  The whole time the testing was happening, all the fiddling around that happens, the optometrist constantly checked in with her – are you okay? You’re doing so well! – and it seemed to take a very short time indeed, compared to eye tests I’ve had in the past. She told her stories of not being able to see when she was a child, how glasses had made her life so much easier, what a great tool they were. She also asked her about her friends – were they going to accept her with glasses? Were there any other kids in her classes with glasses?  Made her aware that the glasses would have a blue tint to protect her young eyes from UV, and that some of the kids would find that a bit weird. T thought about it, decided her friends would be okay, that enough kids had glasses at her school for it not to be a problem – and she gave her a couple of lines to say if anyone gave her a hard time. This is what she told her to say, and I could cry just thinking about it: “My glasses mean I am more powerful than ever.”. T grinned so hard, I thought her face would crack. “They’ll understand that” she said.

The optometrist talked to her about what sort of sight she had, how easy it was to deal with, and how it presented no problem at all. By this time, T had completely relaxed with her, and we were done. We agreed that when the glasses were ready that they would text T, her caregiver, and me, and that I would be the one to bring her to collect them. The optometrist asked to see the frames and exclaimed at how great they were. ” I haven’t seen those ones yet! They’ve only just arrived.” And T said, so proudly “I chose them by myself”. Such a simple statement, with so much meaning to all of us.

I gave the optometrist a hug as thanks, and feedback, and she said to me very quietly: She’s a very very special young woman.

I had tears in my eyes when she said that. Because she’d seen. She knew what all of this meant. How smart T is, and how hard school has been for her. How not being able to see properly has impeded her schoolwork and the teacher’s understanding of her intelligence. What a difference these glasses are going to make to T’s confidence. She saw all of it in a very short time.

As we walked out, all staff waving to us and telling us what a pleasure it had been, T’s smile remained on her face. “Well, that went VERY well” she said.  I agreed, and as we walked out of the building, and saw a chemist, I said to her “I wonder if they have earrings in here”, and they did. She chose a very smart pair – subtly hanging little squares of glass. She didn’t put them in – her ear piercings are still relatively new and she wants to do the right thing – but she told me that with the glasses and the earrings, she reckoned she’d be unbeatable. I think she’s right.

You know, I talk to so many women in a day’s work. I hear their pain, and often see it too. I empathise and relate. But I don’t carry their sadness. I seem to have heard most of it before, and am able to let it go, not my pain.

But this child, and others like her. This child, so smart and wise. So kind, and thoughtful. This child who isn’t a child. This young woman. She is imprinted in my heart now. Anyone who meets her sees her light immediately, and that makes their world better. What a privilege to get to know her. She gives me so much hope, and makes my eyes bright with love. I see so much clearer when I’m in her company.  That she’s so open with her feelings, and so wanting to express them. I asked her if she believed everything I’d told her about who she was: smart, kind, powerful, affecting. She turned to me immediately, and said yes. We could all learn from her.

Electoral rolls, and women

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Aunty is quite angry this morning. Angry because once again the MSM is using an indiscretion – which actually may or may not be – committed in her early twenties to beat up on Metiria Turei. In my personal opinion, what’s being done is racist, sexist, and completely cynical. They’re using her honesty to bludgeon her over the head because, quite frankly, it’s ‘GOOD NEWS’ .

Except it’s not. They’re creating headlines because a) they’re scurrilous b) they’re scurrilous c) you can see where I’m going with this.

Once again, as with her talking about her own benefit “fraud”, she exposes weaknesses in the system. And allows other people, who have done exactly the same thing, to open up about that. And why our system fails so many people.

I get to hear people’s stories every day. Emails, messages, texts. Today was no different. I received a message that highlights a problem particular to people in violent relationships, but more pertinently, the exigencies of being poor. The person who told me their story has asked me to share it with you.

Our writer says:

“I used a separate address from where I was living to remain anonymous to my abusive ex, because it was faster and cheaper and less stress than going of getting on the unpublished roll. (And getting a restraining order)
I also kept as many accounts as possible there. (And because I had moved in such a rush / moving around a bit due to rental shortages etc and found out suddenly I was out of zone for school my child was growing up in /community i was in) I applied under that address with enrolment too.
As soon as I was capable and safe I updated including with the school.
If the system had allowed me to be honest privately I would have.
I’m now all out in open as it safe to do so but it was a temporary measure.

Also yes, democracy was that important to me and my ability to vote that I did it that way over and above not being on the roll.

And yes he would have looked.”

You may posit that Metiria wasn’t escaping from a violent relationship. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that people do what they do at the time they do it for the reasons they do it. And unless they’re hurting us, their reasons for doing what they do aren’t our concern. I’m not a lawyer, nor an electoral specialist. But I know a bit of stuff. And one of the things I know is this: that if you can look into your heart and say that all the lies politicians tell while they’re in power are lesser than minor indiscretions committed many years before they become a politician? You’re being judgemental and, in this case, more than a little sexist and racist.

If you need to go on the unpublished roll, you can find out more here.