Two Days in The Jungle: Part III

 From Bruce Newman's Article:

“That suggestion of homelessness as a lifestyle choice sometimes seems at odds with social service programs designed to provide permanent housing. The architects of those plans view homelessness and places like the Jungle as a looming public health and safety threat.”

Every time I hear Homelessness referred to as a “Lifestyle Choice” I want to spit nails! But I digress... That health hazards are a primary concern you would think of when dealing with The Jungle is certainly valid. Festering garbage means Rats and Cockroaches at the very least.

I should note that my whole time there I saw not a single cockroach, not a single rat. Cats, yes. Spiders and mosquitoes bit the living daylights outta me, especially at night... sure. But nothing truly dangerous. I know there are Raccoons. Supposedly there were several chickens and roosters running wild before that the Raccoons caught. I saw a couple of them.

But the Garbage is organized, ugly though it may be. An outfit called Downtown Streets comes once a week to truck it out of here and the people here are surprisingly responsible about keeping the pathways clear of refuse. You don't see much of anything discarded randomly. There is some stuff, but what you might think is discarded has just been set down and is about to be taken apart for recycling or used for some other purpose. It's true of a lot of the shopping carts that are, as I've noted, ubiquitous. They're just all over the place!

I toured a bit after LiPo left trying to note locations and get my bearings on where the camp-sites were of those I'd met. The orderliness of things was still striking to me. I saw several places where poles had been carved out of branches and set up as if to make a TeePee... never did find out if that was the intention.

A few fences, I noticed, were made of skillfully woven sticks with foliage rather than shade cloth.

People I passed sometimes greeted and sometimes looked on me with suspicion just like any other place. And in any other place you'd probably think of these people as something of a motley crew. That's not what I saw through my own homeless eyes. Some had long beards, some were less than well kept, but they strangely fit in here like pieces of an intricate puzzle and did not seem to be skid row losers.

It took me a while to understand the difference between those in the Jungle and those I know from Livermore. Everyone here is in motion. Everyone is moving. Those that are not are probably asleep. Everyone has a task they are performing or travelling in or out on a bicycle, probably on their way to get water or recycle.

These people are not wasting their time.

I went back to visit with Patty and Giggles for a bit and began giving away cigarettes. I brought five packs of Camel 99s with me, expecting to give most of them away. I know the first words out of the mouths of many homeless in Livermore are “You gotta smoke?”

My response would normally be: “Nice To Meet you, Mr. Gottasmoke! I'm Christian. May I call you Ewe..?” You jack-wagon!

But here in the Jungle, I'm the intruder. Making nice is part of being the new guy. So I gave them out freely.

I found Patty surrounded by men. It turns out to be the normal state of affairs. She doesn't need to fight them off. The woman knows what she's doing when it comes to keeping them at arms length. I never saw any indication she favoured any one over another, but then, I didn't spend all that much time with her. She'd been very kind to me early on. The Christians had arrived with food while LiPo was still here and Robert had brought down several bags of food for their group. She shared some of that with me.

“You need a tent?” Patty asked me, looking not a little concerned. “I have an extra one.”

I told her no, I liked travelling light and I was only here a couple of days. Hers was not the first offer of a tent and it wouldn't be the last. She also offered me more food. That I took and ate with gusto.

“LiPo said this place is cleaner than he remembers it,” I told her.

“You'll have to ask Indio about that,” said Patty.

I let that slide. But it wouldn't be the last time I heard the name “Indio.” I heard it twice more that first evening. One guy, Christian was his name (go figure, I come all the way to The Jungle to meet another guy named Christian!) Latino, nice guy. Christian asked another a question about something or other and his friend responded that he'd have to get back to him after talking to Indio...

Eventually I returned to see Troy, and spent much of the rest of that afternoon watching him work on his latest project. He was setting up a work bench made of an eight foot length of 4x10. He was sick and tired of sharpening his tools bent over and straining his back. He did all his sawing with a well worn hand saw that he keeps well maintained and well sharpened with a three sided file.

He told me he was had ADHD or ADD or whatever they're calling it this week. I'm not sure I buy that about him as I watch him work, puttering about making this work bench level, sturdy and square. He's also worried about his water cart.

The Jungle used to be irrigated. It's how Troy and the others used to get their water. Now that's been cut off, and they've been forced to go offsite for it. The cart is his only way of getting water and the wheels need to be replaced. I was looking at it and I suggested wheels from a hand truck... he agreed, but it would take time for him to get his hands on something like that.

As he worked, I began recording in my note book what I'd seen so far, filling perhaps four pages with notes. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything to this place at all... it did not seem like any homeless encampments I'd ever seen, certainly. I didn't see any rampant drug use, and usually that's up front and obvious. People admit freely to smoking pot... big flipping deal! (I don't, by the way. It makes me paranoid as all get-out and I just don't like it).

I tried to find Mama Red again, later, but Candy said she was out and about somewhere... and I had to go find a place to settle down for the night.

The spot I chose was not far from Troy's place. It was under some shrubs where there was no undergrowth. I cleared the area of sticks and pebbles, laid out my tarp, both blankets on atop another, and my bivvy. The sun was already down, but the twilight gave just enough light for me to see by. Apart from the occasional voices of passers by, there were the crickets. They were insanely loud! One was chirping fairly close to me, but the loudest one of all maintained that constant sound, not chirping, just a constant, monotone cricket sound. I guess, however, that that guy might have helped me on my way to slumberland...

But there was also the four hour trip and running around, and climbing up that durned tree (thanks, LiPo!) had left me exhausted. In spite of the ongoing activity around me, I was asleep fairly soon after sundown around 9pm.

I was jerked awake in the pitch blackness pierced by a flash-light in my face with an angry voice shouting: “Who's'at behind my tent?!?”

To Be Continued...