The Soup Kitchen

It was with some trepidation that I arrived at the little van that calls itself Boston's Soup Kitchen, to work my first ever two hour stint. There were already several people sitting on the wall beside the van. They looked hungry. They were foreign. I waited a little distance away, unsure what the procedure was meant to be and too scared to approach these people. After a short while I was relieved to see Marianne arrive on her trusty bicycle. She parked it beside the wall, and started chatting to the woman and two men who were already there,

'You are queuing today, then?' she asked them, 'We just have to wait for Mike to come with the key.' As she said this she mimed unlocking the door of the van and shrugged. The people smiled and stood up. They did not seem to understand, and they were hungry.


Before long, Mike did arrive. He unlocked and went off to fetch more rolls, while Marianne and and I put the kettles on. More people were arriving, greeting each other with the regulation continental handshake and saying a few words. They nodded at Marianne and myself. As the kettle boiled, the folk, attracted by the tiny, barely audible click, began to hover by the hatch.

'Soup?' Marianne asked, 'Chicken soup?'

The first man nodded. 'Chicken,' he pronounced it sheeken. Those behind him nodded too, sheeken was murmured. 'Zupa'

We poured six cups of chicken soup and a cup of tomato for the one dissenter. Marianne asked some of the folks where they were living. A lot of miming took place and someone found the word 'tent'. Lots of nodding.

'Well last night I was in the police station,'

I asked this young man why he had ended up there. 'I was in TK Max, because I needed new shoes...' the rest was apparently obvious. 'At least you get fed at the police station.' he added.

The evening continued with a constant stream of people, most of whom lived in tents and all but four of whom were not English: Latvian, Lithuanian, Portugese. As a group, despite their differences in language and nationality, they were very caring and respectful of one another, they shared cigarettes and even helped each other roll them. The appreciation for what we were doing was genuine and I felt fully accepted into a group of people with whom I had very little in common. I am truly looking forward to the next time!