Homeless women turn to Qimaavik for help

MICHAELA RODRIGUE

IQALUIT — When workers at Iqaluit’s women’s shelter open the shelter’s door, they don’t know who will meet them on the other side.

It should be a woman fleeing violence. But increasingly, women who simply need shelter from the cold are arriving on Qimaavik’s doorstep, says Trish Hughes-Wieczorek, the executive director of the Baffin Regional Agvvik Society, which runs Iqaluit’s Qimaavik shelter.

Qimaavik opened in 1986 as a shelter for women who face violence, but not necessarily homeless women.

But the centre is being asked for help from homeless women and women with mental disabilities — women who fall outside of the shelter’s mandate, Hughes-Wieczorek said.

“We’re finding it very hard, at 30 below, to say you can’t come in,” Hughes-Wieczorek said. “We have to respond… but it’s not our mandate,” she said.

Hughes-Wieczorek could not provide any statistics, and she stressed that although the shelter is not being overrun by homeless women, it’s still a growing trend.

Hughes-Wieczorek recently revealed the information at the Agvvik Society’s annual general meeting.

There are about 673 names on various waiting lists for social housing across Nunavut. Many existing houses are already overcrowded by friends and family members in need of places to stay.

But Hughes-Wieczorek said women with children can find it difficult to find a safe place.

Iqaluit’s Oqota Shelter for the homeless has two beds allocated to women. But two beds do not meet the demand, and Oqota does not have facilities to accommodate children. As a result, some women turn to Qimmavik.

It’s a problem that women’s shelters across the country now face, Wieczorek said.

“We’re not unique. When I talked to women’s shelters, whether it was downtown Vancouver or some farm community in Alberta, that was the comment made,” she said.

But in Nunavut, where overcrowded homes are common and frigid temperatures can mean death, it’s difficult to turn homeless women away from Qimmavik.

Qimaavik clients are also staying longer and are asking for new and different services, Hughes-Wieczorek noted.

“The typical client hasn’t really changed. But where two or three years ago she was staying four or five days… what’s happening now is women are staying that bit longer and the things they’re asking for are that much different,” she said.

Women are now staying for up to two or three weeks and are asking for help writing resumes and also want help finding permament housing. The shelter can only give women tips on how to find housing, but cannot pull strings with the Iqlauit housing authority.

The longer stays give the shelter’s counsellors more time to get their anti-violence message across, but it also forces the shelter to provide more services.

The crunch for affordable housing is making it more difficult for women to leave abusive relationships and set up their own homes.

“Most women go back to the same situation. They have an investment in the family and want to see it succeed. That’s compounded by the lack of housing. It limits your choices if you can’t get housing,” Hughes-Wieczorek said.

Iqaluit expects to receive six new social housing units this year, but Hughes-Wieczorek said the new units won’t go far enough. She said Iqaluit needs a “second-stage housing.”

The housing would be heavily subsidized and would provide counselling to tenants who need help getting their lives in order, Hughes-Wieczorek said.

“It’s not a shelter. You pay some rent and you can stay up to about a year. It’s like a bridge,” she said.

Similar housing currently exists in Yellowknife and Hughes-Wieczorek said the Agvvik Society’s board of directors wants to bring the issue to the Nunavut government’s attention.