Mentoring Melissa

Published: 16/02/2008

Mentoring Melissa
Yasmin Alibhai-Brown

This summer Melissa O’Neil turns fourteen, still looks incredibly young for her age. Has it really been five years since I met her? The child who stepped into my life a suspicious stranger has, treading softly, set down in a quiet corner of my heart.

The memory of the room and moment of our first encounter is framed, a photograph in my head. She lived on a dingy Kings Cross estate. Walking up the stairs and along the corridors I saw the usual detritus, the wasted lives, hopelessness of such places, yes, what the media brands ‘feral’ children. Some young lads were casually abusing residents and hurling things down at them. It was scary trying to pass them.

She opened the door, a beautiful girl with hazel eyes that look directly at you, through you and no smile, not straight away. Her hair, fine and straight was reddish brown, her face pale. She was dressed in pink- one of her favourite colours I later learnt. There was no natural light coming in, bare light bulbs did their best. I was more nervous than Melissa I think. It was obvious that the family had tidied up and were trying to please.

Deidre, the mum, an attractive Irish woman in her late twenties (I think), has five children and is often stressed. Her hand trembled as she held her cigarette away from the kids. She looked terribly tired. A bar heater was blazing and a poster of Madonna and child was on the wall. A younger boy was tired and fractious. I was hot and uncomfortable in the airless, crowded, noisy room but yet really wanted this meeting to work for all of us. After a while Melissa came over and sat on my lap, handed me a crumpled photo of herself in her communion dress. That was it. I was smitten.

We were brought together by Friends United Network ( FUN) a unique friendship project in Camden and Islington which brings together adult volunteers with vulnerable children thus providing respite to socially isolated lone parents – women and men- who do try but often cannot give their children adequate care and attention. Some inevitably take out their frustrations on their own young ones who suffer in silence or turn monstrous. Many such families come to believe this is all that they are entitled to, all they deserve.

They have a range of complex problems- bereavement, economic disadvantage, abuse and domestic violence, mental illness, alcoholism, drug abuse, poor work and social skills. Most have had some social service intervention.

Those who have secure and more comfortable lives too easily condemn disorderly and chaotic parenting. Yet imagine yourself in the situation- raising several children, no father figure, living on benefits, with nobody in work, under relentless pressure, unremitting guilt and feelings of failure. ( When a newspaper reported on the work of Fun some years ago they had a rush of calls from middle class mums who found child rearing impossibly hard) In 2003, I had been on a radio programme investigating impoverished and neglected children in Britain and decided I had to do something. I couldn’t foster nor adopt, but would commit to a long term relationship with a child seeking steadfastness and reassurance. I knew, for sure, there was an unmet need out there.

While researching my book, Mixed Feelings on the lives of mixed race Britons ( just reprinted) I met biracial children in care who so wanted a non-institutional adults to like them, visit them. One sexually abused teenage girl used to turn up at my house to show me her scribbled, terrifyingly violent stories. Social services wouldn’t formalize the contact arrangements. She ran away. I wrote about the dismal care system which ‘lost’ a troubled young woman and was contacted by the director of FUN, Frankie Weinberg- now retired. She suggested I could volunteer to befriend a vulnerable child through her charity. So I did.

After a detailed, sometimes gruelling interview with a key worker, came training sessions covering health and safety, child protection and our responsibilities. We were told to do simple things with our little friends as luxurious treats would upset the delicate family ecology. Parents at times could be aggressive or demanding, we had to learn to deal with both. Some children were emotionally damaged or old before their time. A number have had peripatetic lives moving between hostels and temporary accommodation.

The first months were tough. Neighbours resented a middle class snooper on their territory. The family had to learn to keep to arrangements and agreed times for pick up and returns. Sometimes Melissa wouldn’t say anything the whole time. I felt useless then. If strangers talked to me or her she froze, looked panicky. A day at the Zoo, I thought, to impress her. She obviously loved the animals but again there were none of the excited reactions you would expect from a child, though she held my hand tight at all times.

I took her to Pizza Express but couldn’t easily read the menu and was struggling with the whole business of eating out. ( You should see how sophisticated she is today in restaurants and how she always chooses healthy options) She can polish off a plate of food faster than anyone I know. When times are hard as happens in vulnerable households, Melissa can suddenly lose weight. I took some books for us to read together and again nothing was kindled in the child. After some patient weeks I saw Melissa starting to enjoy them, even though her vocabulary was limited. I took her some coloured paper and scissors and we made shapes together on a sunny day in Regent’s Park, on a rug. She loved that and the picnic food. But then her little brother tore up her lovely creations and she was very upset, inordinately so, as if she couldn’t bear the constant raids into her life and things. Together we worked out secret hiding places for her to hide her stuff.

There were visits to the British Library where she loved looking through the enormous folders of stamp collections. One day walking to the great library she pointed to some flowers on a doorstep. Her friend, a mixed race child, had been murdered there, with her mum by the mother’s boyfriend. Her voice didn’t tremble, there was no shock, just an innocent question, ‘Why wasn’t it on the telly?’. Because I thought, though didn’t say, she was only a poor little estate girl. A year on, and Melissa still never said my name and that hurt. Perhaps she expected me to disappear, disappoint.
As the months went on her personality seemed to fill out. She felt a somebody when she got into my small car. Her dad, Paul re-appeared and started taking her out. That helped her a lot I could see. The estate kids rushed off to find Melissa and sometimes asked if they could come too. When I brought her some home baked cakes, these children looked so wistful I could have cried. She ran towards me now and hugged me. She said thank you for things. A familiarity and trust grew. I took her to see The Lion King for her birthday and her little face glowed more than the stage lighting. Her mother, bless her, never obstructed visits and was only grateful that I was giving her daughter good times. Teachers at the school gate told me Melissa seemed to be blossoming and that a couple of years previously the child had been keen but was struggling with the basics. I once asked her if she was bullied being small:’ No, they wouldn’t dare. They’re just stupid’ she said firmly. She was now in school plays, becoming a right little missy.

Volunteers meet up to talk through their experiences. Many volunteers are young, unattached people including graduates. So much for the selfish society. Fun organises joint outings- kite flying, ice skating, parties and witnessing the joy of the children is indescribable. One took her little girl to a swimming pool for the first time in her life and the child was petrified of getting into the water; another said her girl had a volatile father and often didn’t want to go back home. A new volunteer was abused by a mum and yet another was given a present the family could ill afford. Yet all agree it works. Weinberg believes volunteers are ‘multipliers, bringing into a home something that opens windows, possibilities, empathy. The child gets a lot, the family too’. Big friends have to be sensitive and strong, know our limitations and yet be bold. It can sometimes be hard. Parents can feel both grateful and resentful- we give the kids treats they can’t afford; we have fun while they have endless drudgery struggles. Sometimes mums and dads can sabotage visits. But unlike fire fighters and social workers, there have never been threats or attacks on FUN big friends.

Unexpected crises can occur. Another baby arrived, another father disappeared. Melissa’s family moved to Covent Garden and after the first flush of pleasure, they felt miserable and entrapped. They had asked to be moved and now regretted it bitterly. There were no cheap food shops, no parks, no buses, no pavement space for a double buggy, the little boys were confined and got more difficult. For such a family to live in such a place was to be humiliated and reminded of their exclusion. Melissa lost weight and so, too did her mum, who was found suffering from a thyroid condition. All Melissa could talk about was how much she missed the old area and her long journey to and back from school. Her wry sense of humour, way of observing people and seeing absurdities vanished. She looked and sounded weary.

Last week they moved back to their old neighbourhood and Melissa recovered some of her brightness. She is tough and determined, says she wants to go to college, and no early babies she promises me. An independent academic evaluation found the majority of FUN children had improved behaviour and confidence. Only a handful of girls have ended up teen mums. A young woman spoke at a fundraising event and described her appalling life before she was helped by FUN. She is now a personal trainer. A young black tearaway was matched with a city lawyer and is today at university. Balo, a black man who still sees his white big friend has set up a charity to help break through the ‘hoodie’ culture. My Melissa sad to me the other day:
‘Yasmin, ( my name!) I really like the story of Hamlet. Do you?’

If this was a government funded initiative, bureaucracy would crush its soul. But FUN does need funds. At the Almeida theatre Jonathan Pryce , Judy Dench and Imelda Staunton sang for free to raise cash and private benefactors contribute substantially because they can see the impact of the project. I wish every borough had FUN. I asked Melissa what she thought of us, our friendship. ‘You always come. It’s fun’, she replied. So much meaning in those few words. When I can’t see her I always phone so she knows I will always come back to her. The oldest boy, now a young man has a steady job as a security guard and is charming and self assured unlike before when he was dour and a little intimidating. Deidre says when the youngest is in school full time she will go to college. She wants to be a clothes designer.

You see such transformations and hope grows big. What a difference there is between writing cheques for charity and giving yourself. These families learn that society is not indifferent, hasn’t given up on them. It cares and connects. I have learnt to see the world through their eyes and they have seen what is possible through mine. Do-gooding is treated with contempt by some. Doing a little good has made me feel more worthy and less pessimistic, softened the natural cynicism that afflicts journalists.

I know I am making a difference to Melissa’s future; she, however, doesn’t know what a difference she makes to mine.

Published in Evening Standard