People of San Francisco

San Francisco is a beautiful place. I fell in love with the city from the first moment I arrived. The dynamic, the architecture and the vibrancy of the city left a big impact. Despite the fact that I was traveling by myself, I never felt out of place.

This city did something to me. The people here are bright and loving. They smile, and everyone I met warmly welcomed me.

I became curious about the city, wondering what this place is really about. I wanted to learn about the stories behind the people of this town. Whether they were immigrants, homeless or local for generations, I wanted to get to know them.

Believe it or not, after two months of traveling I was still scared of starting a conversation with a stranger. Which is of course an excellent characteristic when you aspire to become a writer…

In my search for courage and the right person to approach, I spend the whole day walking around the city with a bag of Chinese food. I was ready to give my dumplings away in hopes of striking up an interesting conversation with a homeless person. At the end of the day I gave away all my food to people who looked in need. Despite that I still found myself unable to work up the courage to ask them about their lives.

Finally, when the sun set, I saw a woman sitting by herself on the steps of a church. She was smoking, which meant I could offer her cigarettes in order to start a conversation. This was a good opportunity. After cursing myself for being so nervous, I took a deep breath, squeezed my fists and walked up to her.

Brandy 41

It turned out, Brandy wasn’t scary at all, on the contrary, she just wanted to tell her story.

She told me she had been a pilot in the military. When she returned, her identity was stolen. Then everything was taken away from her and that’s why she’s homeless. This made me emotional. I almost cried because I felt so sad about the fact that things like this seem to happen so easily in this country.

As she continued her story I slowly figured out that what she told me was probably not true for the most part. According to her she;

- Had fought in the Vietnam war,

- Had been a marine and fought alongside men on the Iraqi front,

- Had a kid that got shot in the head in front of her,

- Got raped in her foster home,

- Made up the famous kids show called ‘Sesamestreet’,

- Made a lot of money as a art painter in the past.

- Had a mother she thought was dead that turned out to be alive and was spending her days organising sex parties and doing drugs daily.

- Had her identity stolen multiple times because of Wi-Fi (these were her literal words)

- Had a sister who gave birth to a half monkey half human.

And if that wasn’t enough,

- Invented a cure for aids, which Obama stole from her to then leave her for dead.

She went on and on about everything that supposedly happened in her life. The tears behind my eyes faded and I tried to maintain an understanding, sympathetic demeanour.

It did not seem like she was on any kind of substance. It just seemed like life hit her hard and she got stuck somewhere in her mind. I felt for her. Finally I asked her;

‘What do you think life is?’

‘Life is what you breathe and see, if you are breathing in drugs and breathing in alcohol that’s what you are. If you are breathing in flowers and breathing in fresh air that’s what makes you… it makes you happy inside.

I would like life to be more quiet. I hear the sounds of the city every day while I sleep on the ground or walk around. I would like life to be more quiet, peaceful…

I would like life to be more easy.’

That was it, the first story from a San Francisco citizen. She might not have been all there, but she was interesting and I don’t believe she would hurt anyone.

The next day I met Mohammad, he was my Uber driver on the way to Oakland. I planned to go to their Science Museum, that was supposed to be mesmerising, but wasn’t…

Mohammad 37

Mohammad is an immigrant from Afghanistan. Due to a special program he was able to come to America and start a new life. In order to join the program America provided for him he needed to be willing to leave his country completely behind.

He did not really mis his country, he said. The situation in Afghanistan is bad. he did miss his friends and family, but accepted the way things are.

Mohammad came across happy and content. Also, he seemed thankful for the opportunity that was given to him. He did not complain. He smiled. His country is his home and he loves it, but it’s not a good place to live, he explained to me.

His story was interesting. In the end I asked him the same question as I did Brandy;

‘What do you think life is?’

‘I think life is opportunity. It’s a good opportunity for all human beings. We should use it. No matter how.

My past is very different than my life now. Now I have a good job, but I still like to try new things. I see life as an opportunity to use it for anything I want. It’s good to follow your hopes, your wishes. Even if you don’t achieve your goals, it’s still good to try.

Despite everything that I went through, I still love life…

Also in times when I was struggling and looking for a job in the US.

Life is like a tree. If you have to move because of danger in your country, you take the tree out of the earth and plant it back on the other side of the world. The roots need time to ground again. But they will. This is my situation. And despite that, I love. I love life and I always appreciate people. I respect my situation and I see it as opportunity.

I’ve learned that there is a lot of misjudgement between countries and cultures. But I say, people are not to different. We might get different chances, but in the end, we as humans are all the same. You might be born in a rich or in a poor country. War or no war. There is always some kind of opportunity, you can always try and make the best of it.

So that’s what life is for me, an opportunity.

So yes I love and I try’

I thanked him and stepped out of the car. As I walked off I thought about his words that where very true; ‘Grab the chances you get, work hard, and always be happing doing so.’

On day three I went to the Fisherman’s Warf. I wanted to try one of the famous lobster rolls that turned out to be twenty-two dollars, which made me kind of mad…

Also, I accidentally dropped a fair part of the lobster on the floor because the sandwich was too big to eat properly. I didn’t finish my food. Instead I saved the roll for someone who would probably be more hungry then I was.

At one point I saw an old Asian woman search a dumpster. She must have been in her eighties. My hart broke for her. I gave her the sandwich, and even though I was very curious about her story, I didn’t want to bother her with my sentimental questions.

‘Shit!’ I thought to myself, why do I find this so hard. How can I ever become a legitimate writer when I am scared to talk to people? I need to get over this apathetic fear!

Walking into Bob’s Doughnuts, I felt like I needed to renew my strategy. And while doing so I might as well take in my daily dose of sugar and caffeine.

As I was standing in line, a young homeless boy with a girly appearance hesitantly approached the store. He moved like a timorous dog who’s unsure whether he’s welcome or not. Upon noticing him I silently hoped I would get the chance to talk to him once I had my order.

As I was nervously preparing myself to walk up to him, he suddenly yelled at me; ‘Hey! can you buy me a coffee?’

The employs of Bob’s Doughnuts looked at me shocked. They where ashamed that this person was even in their store, let alone asking their costumers to buy something for him.

But I couldn’t be happier. I was unsure on how to approach him, and now he came to me!

‘Of course!’ I answered. ‘Would you also like a doughnut?’. The employees of Bob’s Doughnuts stared at me and tried to hide their disgust for this this homeless person.

I walked up to him, helped him to his coffee and asked quietly; ‘Do you want to have a cigarette with me and tell me your story?’.

‘Yes, I would love to!’ He answered, just as nervous as I was.

Olly 24

As I sat with Olly on the sidewalk, he told me his story. He is twenty-four and has been living on the street since he was eighteen. He was shy, in spite of that was happy to tell someone where he went through.

As a child he was given up for adoption. He has been in different foster homes, as well as with a foster family in the area of Washington DC. He did not like authority and never knew unconditional parental love. As soon as he turned eighteen, he broke free from his home and got involved with runaway kids his age. They were in similar situations. The kids, all teenagers, formed a tight group. Their days where about fun. Having fun or searching for it. They partied and used drugs on a daily basis. After a while, Cocaine became Crystal because it was cheaper. Party nights became party days, which became nights again. Soon they did not know where on the timeframe they where anymore.

They hung around with older, more experienced people who knew this life and provided the drugs fort them. These people also gave them shelter. They all became, as Olly called it, a family.

At one point, the leader of the family wanted to take them to the San Francisco where they would live together in a big apartment. They would be able to continue this lifestyle, while also making money.

They promised them a future full of comfort, freedom and loving ‘family’ bonds, in the beautiful city of San Francisco.

This was all these kids ever hoped for. A stress free life, where they would feel safe with their so-called family. A life were there would always be enough parties, drugs and money to provide for them all.

They packed up the little stuff they had. Got on a bus for two days and ended up in bright and sunny San Francisco. Here, a big apartment and a new wealthy life were waiting for them.

Once they arrived, the source of income turned out to be porn. They, as a group had to make porn, their family leaders would sell it, and so there would always be enough money for everything they wanted.

They had to do porn in every way; straight, gay, threesomes, foursomes, orgies.

While being hesitant at first, they eventually went along with it. They got high every day and relied solely on one another.

“We were having sex with each other regardless, plus who is going to watch this anyway, we thought, probably some pathetic pervert we don’t know and will never meet.”

They did not give it a lot of thought. Most of the time, during recordings, they did not even notice the camera was there. The only rule their family leader set for them was; ‘Look alive! No one wants to see the eyes of their pleasure object roll backwards until they black out and lie for dead in the middle of the scene, understood!?’

They all nodded in silence, this seemed like a fair price to pay for their complete freedom and comfort…

As Olly was telling all of this so openly, I looked at him. He wore a bra which he had slightly filled up and a sleeveless sports shirt which he had on the wrong way. His right arm was where his head should have been, which made him look even more lost then he already was.

His hair was shaved shorter in the front, as if he wanted to shave his whole head but couldn’t finish the job because his wrist didn’t have the strength.

I felt for him. Within him still lived a little child that no one had cared for. He didn’t know about the world because no one ever taught him or warned him about the dangers of life. He was seeking love and security and had been doing so, for as long as he can remember, in every way he can think of. Drugs, alcohol, a great party or the security of a tight group of friends.

‘What happened after all of this?’ I asked him.

‘Well, everything just got fucked! Boundaries got crossed and people died from an overdose. Me and my girls had to leave the house, because our group was trouble, they said. We all had to go our separate ways in the city.

We learned to survive on our own. Sometimes we see each other. If we are lucky, one of us has dope. Then we smoke together and reflect on how we have been; but this rarely happens. We are still a family, but we are mostly on our own, trying to meet our needs.’

‘Was there ever a point, for example when your friends overdosed, when you thought, this has to stop, I want to have another life?’

‘Well of course, this is not the life I want, and didn’t then. But when this all happened, everything was just too fucked already.

I did not know what to do, no one did. I am still not really sure. So I just try to keep it primal and meet my basic needs every day. When I succeed — if I succeed to find these needs, the day is already gone and I need to look for a place to stay.

It’s been like this for a while…’

He looked at the ground, took some sage from his plastic bag and started burning it.

‘So after everything that happened, what do you think life is?’

He sighed and lit another leaf of sage,

‘A really intense emotional learning experience.

Two years ago I would not be able to be up front and say ‘I just want to kick it with my home girls and just have fun’. But eventually you ask yourself, ‘what are we really doing?’ We are walking around the city to get our basic need met, and having fun doing it. That’s pretty cool. I mean we are walking around trying to find dope and cool people to hang out with. That’s cool as fuck, I mean that’s like the coolest job I can possibly imagine.

I have been in places where that was not the case.

I remember places where we would get such intense anxiety that we could not even function.

So life for me is just a really, really huge learning experience.

For now I am just trying to be comfortable. But mostly, if the leader of my street family is not content, than I won’t be content. And that’s the way it is for all of us. We move together in a very primal way, like a pact. We try to meet our primal needs and protect each other in the best way we can. It all comes down to the entire group working together.

I believe in keeping it primal as fuck, I mean these instincts are there for a reason.’

I thanked him, hugged him and gave him all I could spare, which was a bottle of water, three doughnuts and a pack of cigarettes.

As I walked of, I felt sad and exhausted from his story. This kid is twenty-four years old and has never known better.

He never learned how to take care of himself and therefor he doesn’t know what’s good for him.

What if you didn’t know love as a child and what if you never had a good example to follow? Would you not also grab everything that feels like love and hold on to it as tight as you can?

I think I would…

That evening I spoke to Shirley. Shirley is a sixty-year-old woman who sleeps in my dorm while she is searching for an apartment in the city.

Shirley is a social worker, helping mostly female victims of domestic violence. She helps them to get back on their feet and, if necessary, holds their hand in court.

Shirley is an amazing woman who knows the city. She is a woman that shows kindness and bravery throughout every day.

I asked her to help me reflect on the conversations I had with Brandy and Olly especially. In my conversations with them I never discovered the actual reason why they became homeless.

Shirley 60

Shirley tells me that the majority of the people can’t answer this question because they don’t know it themselves.

They lost their way a long time ago and cannot recall what caused them to slip.

Some people are ashamed and don’t want help. Then you also have people who have given up. They don’t believe in society anymore. They have been homeless for so long that this is the only thing they know and want.

The city of San Francisco does a lot, she tells me. There are countless organisations that help people in every way they can. And she has seen a lot of people get back on their feet.

Finally I also ask Shirley; ‘What do you think life is?’

‘Life is journey of growth. Expansion of your heart and your soul. Humanity and compassion for all. This is how simple life is to me. It really is. Look down in to your own soul; what am I here for? What am I suppose to do to contribute to life. Follow the path that you are suppose to take to do what you can to make the world better. For me that is life.

Not that you should not have fun or enjoy yourself. Not that you should not have nice things. But there is a boundary of status and what’s important. Other human beings are a lot more important to me than a $1200 purse. I can feed a lot of children in this world with that kind of money.

To me that’s what life is about, truly caring for yourself and others. But until you truly love and respect yourself you can’t pass on to others what you don’t have. So first love and respect yourself.

I have love for everything and I wish the best for everyone. I don’t like everyone, because I think a lot of people act stupid. But I do love everyone! Period’