Homeless outreach Jason Iddison (right) delivers one of the hot meals that the Bannock Bus delivers to the homeless and those at risk throughout the week.
As Jason Iddison says, sometimes all it takes to make a small difference in someone’s life is a bowl of hot soup.
For the past four years, Iddison has been running the Bannock Bus, a mobile delivery service that provides homeless people hot meals with a distinctly aboriginal flavour.
From Monday to Friday, the three-man team of Iddison, Tony Tulugak and Karl Richards cook up batches of stew, sometimes made with game meat such as venison or buffalo.
They also bake bannock, a floury bread that is a staple of the traditional aboriginal diet.
Then they bundle all the day’s food into the trunk of a black Dodge Grand Caravan and deliver it to homeless people around the city.
Based at the Odawa Native Friendship Centre on Stirling Avenue, the Bannock Bus has been travelling around Centretown and other parts of the downtown core since 2004.
“If we have an outreach service that serves traditional, culturally relevant food and assistance, it’s almost a no-brainer why Aboriginal people would be more comfortable dealing with us,” says Iddison, as he spoons up a savoury bowl of sausage and potato stew.
“It’s very welcoming, and it’s a piece of home on the street.”
According to local homelessness advocacy groups, 25 to 30 per cent of Ottawa’s homeless population is aboriginal. Iddison says the higher proportion of aboriginal homeless people is one reason why it’s important to have a culturally focused outreach service. He estimates they serve about 30 people a day.
But the Bannock Bus welcomes anyone in need, regardless of ethnicity.
“Hunger doesn’t know colour,” says Iddison. “Our medicine wheel is inclusive – all races, all seasons. If we refuse to feed someone because of race, that’s wrong. That would be against everything the medicine wheel teaches us.”
A man in his 50s named Randy met up with the Bannock Bus at the intersection of Elgin and Lewis. He started coming out last fall.
“I don’t like going to all the (other soup) kitchens…sometimes you’re just not comfortable with crowds of people, so it’s a nice service to come up here,” he says. “And the soup is awesome!”
Tulugak says these kinds of connections are what make his job worthwhile. He recalled one December night two years ago, when he met a man who had been sleeping in a park.
“He broke his leg, so he couldn’t work anymore. He lost his house and couldn’t make money,” says Tulugak, who gave the man a cup of coffee and a pamphlet listing local shelters and food banks.
“That really choked me up when I saw tears coming out of his eyes and a smile.”
But on the other hand, Iddison says the most difficult part of his job is learning that someone in his community has died, which happens most often in winter.
“You know part of their story, and maybe stood elbow to elbow with them when they were struggling to help themselves, and for one day, for them to just not be there, that’s hard,” he says.
What comforts Iddison and Tulugak is knowing they can provide practical help, even though they say there are times when they wonder whether it’s enough.
“I’ve come to accept that I do all I can,” says Iddison. “And I’ve found peace there.”