The pantry where food is stored for the men to take with them when they move into permanent housing. Photo / Katie Harris
The pantry where food is stored for the men to take with them when they move into permanent housing. Photo / Katie Harris
Manuhiri, a visitor or guest, is the name given to those staying at the revamped Wellington Night Shelter.
In April last year the City Mission took over operations from the Wellington Night Shelter Trust, and later the facility was formally gifted to the Mission and renamed Te Paamaru.
A reportcompiled by the Mission last year detailed significant deficits in health, safety and care at the facility before it gained control.
Now, almost a year on, it operates as transitional housing, a landing pad to assist people to get the help they need.
Wellington City Missioner Murray Edridge says primarily the Mission is a services provider rather than a housing provider but doing accommodation helps deliver that.
Wellington City Missioner Murray Edridge outside the facility. Photo / Katie Harris
Men can stay in the shelter for up to three months and they will get help looking for their next steps.
A day in Te Paamaru
Each morning guests wake up and share a daily thought at 9am, something general operations manager Maria Millin says focuses on the organisation's values.
From here, the manuhiri do a range of things, depending on their individual circumstances.
This can vary from appointments with MSD, to counselling or meetings with social workers to go over the plan for the future.
"Work, if they are able to work, it is hugely transformational for them, whether that's paid work or unpaid work," says Millin.
Operations manager Maria Millin. Photo / Katie Harris
Employed men work in a range of sectors, including cleaning, labouring, traffic management and IT.
Edridge was quick to emphasise that not everyone who lives at the shelter has been rough sleeping, and many who wind up staying are skilled but have encountered rough circumstances.
"The theory is we are all three life circumstances away from being homeless," Millin says.
Edridge told the Herald they've helped people who have owned their own businesses, who have been successful, so there is no one size fits all.
During the first few days of guests' stays, there's usually an adjustment period, and newcomers sign an agreement to respect the space, themselves and others.
"Keeping their rooms tidy, it's being thoughtful that the kitchen is a shared space so we need to clean up after ourselves. And that can take time if people have been rough sleeping."
Inside the one of the facilities transitional housing rooms. Photo / Katie Harris
This could be as simple as people needing a hygiene kit when they first arrive, or learning how to wash and dry their own clothing.
Mental health is a huge challenge for a lot of the men, which can range from feeling anxious and depressed to hyper complex needs.
Throughout their stay Millin says there can be a huge transformation, and this can be a combination of having their health and accommodation needs met as well as gaining employment.
She says trying to connect the men with timely support is challenging.
Part of what they do is changing the expectations of their manuhiri, because she says the reality is, they will not get a flat on their own, in the middle of the city.
"Communal living is a more realistic option for our manuhiri, so whether that's in a boarding house scenario or shared flatting, and it's a way of trying who do I get on with, who don't I get on with."
One of the hygiene kits new guests are given. Photo / Katie Harris
Most of the men sort out their own food during the day, but there are a few shared dinners a week, which are mostly about connecting the group.
Men are referred to the facility in a variety of ways, however some just "turn up" at the door, and although it's not sold as a crisis accommodation facility, Millin says no one is turned away.
There are 22 spots in the building, and usually around 16 or 17 will be filled, leaving a few spare in case of emergencies.
She says demand for services is increasing, and the clientele is becoming increasingly diverse.
More men are bringing children says Millin, and needing help sorting out a place for them.
"Children can't stay overnight here, but we do recognise that emerging need and we do have a development under way to meet that need."
The lounge where guests can relax. Photo / Katie Harris
Edridge doesn't believe a band aid approach to homelessness works, and says they need to work at longer-term solutions.
"Personally, I think the response in terms of the provisional emergency housing is unhelpful, and you understand why Government does it, it's a response to an immediate need, but it does nothing to help people on their journey."
However, he says they are working on a project to address the immediate need for the men who show up unannounced.
In a large meeting room, which used to house cubicle-like beds, he says they're setting up "crisis" rooms, intended to be for those in desperate need.
Constructing these will begin in the next quarter, providing another seven or eight spots.
Those in the crisis beds will be assessed and workers will decide where they will be best housed long term.
"That might be in a housing first initiative, that might be in some other facility, but [it's] a place to welcome people, a doorway into the city."
Since the takeover, Edridge says the biggest difference is the concept of respect, for the people and the place.
The pantry where food is stored for the men to take with them when they move into permanent housing. Photo / Katie Harris
"That just changes the dynamic completely, and you can see people visibly biffed, when the first time for perhaps a long long time someone treats them with respect."
There's also an emerging self regulation, as people begin to respect themselves, and she says there's peer regulation with guests who have been there longer encouraging newcomers to clean up.
"It's way cleaner, it smells better than it used to, and people are welcome here and it is their home for a period. We talk about it not being their postcode, not a place they stay forever."
When the Mission inherited the space, they also took on men who had been at there for years; one man had lived there for more than four years.
"There's no way that that should happen or could happen anymore. In fact that individual is back with whanau, after facing the predicament of actually dying here, being here for the rest of his days."
Given the appropriate support with his health and other issues, the pair say they were able to transition him effectively back out into the community.
And he's not the only one who's benefited from the switchover. Another man who also stayed at the facility for more than two years has found permanent accommodation.
"I guess [it was] just not knowing how to navigate his way out of the space," says Millin.
Guests are given lockers to store their belongings. Photo / Katie Harris
It's not all rosy, and there are occasional fights between the men, however since the takeover, Millin can recall barely any police callouts.
A police spokesperson told the Herald they have had a very positive relationship with Te Paamaru and the Wellington City Mission since the transition last March.
Police said officers work closely with the City Mission and value their efforts providing support to those in need.
Edridge sees what they do as just a small part of what is needed to solve social issues, but it will take more than just the City Mission to solve Aotearoa's homelessness issue.
"Homelessness isn't our [the Mission's] problem, homelessness is our [everyone's] problem and it belongs to all of us."
