This article was first published on RNZ.
With the rise in homelessness across Aotearoa, one wahine in Ōtautahi is taking matters into her own hands.
Florence Waaka (Te Arawa, Ngāi Tahu), known as Flow on TikTok, has spent close to 11 years dedicating herself to feeding and supporting people experiencing homelessness.
She started her grassroots kaupapa Feed a Bro after finding herself on the receiving end of judgement while seeking free kai for her whānau over a decade ago.
“I was looking after two of my moko, and I had a 14-year-old son. And I was struggling on a benefit,” she said.
“One of my friends said to me, ‘Hey Flow, come into town, there’s some free feeds.’ So I went in, and all I could hear was people saying, ‘What’s that lady doing here? She shouldn’t be here. She’s pulled up in a van’.
“After that, I said, that’s it. I’m going to start my own free feeds and I haven’t stopped since.”
Waaka isn’t aligned to any charity or organisation. She’s doing it solo, with tautoko from the community.
“I’m always reaching out. So, it’s the community that are supporting me and helping me to feed the people.”
Waaka has built a strong online following, using social media to spread awareness and encourage others to do the same in their own towns.
“I’m seeing a lot of homelessness, especially with our people, our Māori people,” she said.
“It really hurts seeing our people, so that’s why I’m out here, to help our people.”
Waaka said some of the individuals experiencing homelessness have no choice but to live in their cars because it’s cheaper than paying rent.
“Everything is just skyrocketing. People are losing their jobs, food prices are going up, and some people can’t even afford the rents in their houses.”
Waaka told RNZ that she believes systemic issues and government inaction are contributing to the growing crisis.
“All they do is talk. Talk, talk, talk, no action. That’s why I’m out here on my own, doing it, I’m feeding the people. I’m an action person, not a talking person. If I see a need, I’m out here doing it.”
She said much of the country still lacks compassion or understanding around the causes of homelessness.
“Yes, some choose it, but for many, it’s circumstance, whether that’s losing a job or rent going up,” she said.
“A lot of people don’t want to be here. They’re better off out here living in the elements than paying all this rent.”
Raised in a whānau of nine siblings, Waaka’s feed a bro kaupapa extends beyond just handing out kai.
“I don’t just feed and go. I sit with them. I talk. That’s when they start trusting me, sharing their story. And if I can help, I do,” she said.
She sets up in central Christchurch at Margaret Mahy Park every Monday and responds to tips from locals about where unhoused people are sleeping.
“It’s never really planned. It’s wherever there’s a need.”
Waaka saw a need in Christchurch’s redzone, which in recent years, has become a place where some of the city’s homeless have set up, sleeping in cars, vans, and tents.
With a He Whakaputanga flag flying and bonfire lit each night, those living rough in the red zone share waiata, kōrero and kai.
One of those helped by Flow is 65-year-old Ngawai Timu, who spent years sleeping rough in Christchurch’s red zone.
“She just makes our dreams come true,” Timu told RNZ.
“There’s sadness, there’s a lot of hurting out here. But then Flow came into our lives. We’ve got much love for her, we really do. She’s not in it for show, she’s real.”
Originally from Dannevirke and raised in Hamilton, Timu worked for years in nursing before a car accident took part of her leg.
“A drunk driver took my foot off,” she said. “That was it. I knew I couldn’t work anymore. I went on ACC.”
She moved to Christchurch to be closer to her mokopuna but when her son lost his housing, Ngawai made a tough call.
“I chose to go homeless,” she said. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I’d rather be out here than watch them struggle.”
She ended up sleeping rough in the red zone alongside others in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, often single, their kids and mokopuna long gone across the ditch.
“We realised wow, we’re all over 40. And we’re alone. Just waiting.”
Some, including Timu, even chose to delay accepting housing to prioritise children on the street.
“There were three-year-old twins, an eight-year-old, a ten-year-old. So, some of us said no to houses. We said, ‘Take the kids first.’ That was more important.”
She turned 65 at the end of July, a milestone that finally allows her to access the pension and apply for public housing.
With support from Emerge Aotearoa, she now has temporary accommodation in Woolston.
“It’s beautiful. But that first night, I slept on the couch in the lounge. I didn’t know how to be inside. I was sweating, in and out of the shower. I’m traumatised. I’ve been living outside too long. It’s going to take time.”
Even now, she still goes back to visit her street whānau in the red zone.
“We’re tight. We all know each other’s stories. Our hearts, our pain. We formed a family out there.”
Timu wants people to understand how broken the system is and how hard it is to even get seen, let alone helped.
“I had to go through media, Stuff, Channel One, TikTok just to get acknowledged. Two years I was out there. Two years. And you can’t even get your name on the list until you hit 65. You go from ACC to MSD and fall through the cracks in between.”
She said the most painful part is how many kaumātua are in the same position.
“It’s sad. We’ve worked our whole lives. Raised our tamariki, and now we’re out here, sleeping in vans. Meanwhile, two-storey homes sit empty and get sold off.”
Asked what gives her hope, she said “aroha”.
“That’s what keeps us going. The love we have for each other, we’ve got that.”
Another member of that street whānau is 63-year-old John Aramakatu, who has spent the past five months sleeping in the back of his small car.
A former shearer, he was forced to stop working after what he calls a “funny, but not funny” accident, being run over by a sheep, which destroyed his hips.
“I had one hip operation thanks to ACC, but I still haven’t had the second. That’s the one that’ll get me back to work.”
With no income and rising rents, he had no choice but to live in his car.
“I’m living in my car because economics say that’s my cheapest option,” he said.
“At least I’m not in a tent or under a bush. And the car is mine.”
He’s been on the Kāinga Ora waiting list for months, number 2800 by his count, and said it’s been a tough five months sleeping “crunched up in the boot” of his car.
“It don’t help that I’m six foot tall,” he said.
Aramakatu moved to Christchurch to be closer to his son, but is now grieving his death by suicide.
“What I would give to talk to one of my sons again... But they’re gone now,” he said. “Nobody understands unless you lose a child.”
“The grief and what comes with that and how easy it is for them to walk into the dark. Because they don’t believe that anyone wants to listen to them or help them.”
He said there’s little to no support for grieving parents and many fall through the cracks.
“A big percentage of this country is on that slippery slope to being like us,” Aramakatu said.
“A couple mortgage payments missed... you’ve just lost your house. You’ve just lost your job because you don’t have a house. And you’re in the same sort of situation as we are. It’s just too easy.”
Despite everything, he’s found a sense of whānau in the red zone.
“It’s like a marae out here... not by building, but by spirit,”
“We look after each other,” Aramakatu said, adding that Flow has been a massive help.
“She humbles us. She sees us as people... That’s aroha.”
Waaka’s long-term hope is for more people across the motu to step up in their own communities.
“Even if it’s something little,” she said.
She encouraged New Zealanders to not just “walk away” when seeing people struggle.
“Jump in and try and do something for them. It doesn’t matter even if it’s just making a pot of food and taking it down to them, because the more people out throughout New Zealand that are doing it, it’s going to help a lot of homeless people out there.”
By Layla Bailey-McDowell of RNZ.
