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Change
Hospitality
Trust
4 min read

The toy blocks building trust, love and understanding

There’s a beautiful kind of hospitality, and this is it.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A baby plays with wooden toys on a carpert.
Photo by Troy T on Unsplash.

The leftovers were being gathered up, chairs being put back in their place, and happy looking people were dispersing. The last child there, his mum helping to wrap things up in the kitchen, was clinging onto a toy that I, in my imagination, like to think he makes a B-line for every time he spots it. It was an ordinary scene, but there was something undeniably extraordinary underpinning it.  

Although it’s hard to articulate with words (which is admittedly not ideal when the objective of the visit was to write about it), it was immediately clear to me, I had walked right into the aftermath of something truly special. I sat down with Joey and Sarah, two of the Growbaby team, to figure out what it was.   

Growbaby is an international children’s supply charity, providing clothing, equipment and everyday essentials for children up to five years old. Launched in 2003 and rooted in a local Vineyard church in Kingston Upon Thames, there are now multiple Growbaby hubs, one of which just happens to be at the end of my road in Cardiff. What started as a cupboard crammed with donated supplies is now a source of wholistic support for over one hundred families.  

As requests flow into Growbaby HQ, packages are lovingly compiled and then freely given. These packages are put together on a case-by-case basis and can include anything from nappies to pushchairs, clothes to cots, formula to toys. Such support doesn’t tend to be offered from a distance, on the contrary, every Friday morning families (mothers and little ones, primarily) are welcomed to ‘stay and play’, and to subsequently receive the kind of support that can’t be handed over via a package. The aftermath of one of these events was the context for my short but ever so sweet visit.  

The ways in which Joey and Sarah find themselves serving these families is constantly bursting the banks of their expectations. 

The depth of relationship that has naturally built through their time together, with every Friday morning acting as a building block of trust, has meant that the ways in which Joey and Sarah find themselves serving these families is constantly bursting the banks of their expectations. The team have assisted in getting families set up with child credits and social services support, frequently acted as translators, ferried families to A&E, thrown baby showers, booked GP appointments, been birth partners, and even sought out affordable kitchen flooring on Facebook Marketplace.  

Working for the well-being of these families has also involved appealing to the Red Cross to try and re-unite a Sudanese mother with her twelve-year-old son who has been unable to get out of the war-torn country. With families from Syria, Sudan, Iran, Iraq and Somalia (to name but a few), many of whom have found themselves in Cardiff as refugees, Growbaby is far more than a resource centre, it is a beautifully diverse community, the most understanding of support networks, a means of building a home away from home.   

When Russia launched its invasion of Ukraine last year, the Growbaby team’s minds immediately went to the Russian women within their community, those who had brought their families to the UK in search of political asylum. These women had built a home for themselves and their children here, and yet, the news of the Russian offensive was likely to make them feel as vulnerable as the day they arrived. So, the team gave each of these women a card; a small but mighty gesture that let these women know that they were seen, safe, understood and loved in the place that they now called home.   

The team here are also hosting these families’ trauma and their fears, they’re holding space for their joys and their victories. 

I was struck by the fact that whole lives have been enhanced in this room; friendships have been forged, babies have been celebrated, all kinds of needs have been provided for, and women who came to Growbaby for help are now the volunteers who offer it. And these stories are a mere scratching of a powerful surface, the beaming smiles on both Joey and Sarah’s faces tell a thousand more. The impact that these women have had could never be adequately squeezed into an article (again, not ideal when an article is the objective).  

Stepping foot into the room that Friday morning was stepping foot into the most tangible sense hospitality one could imagine. Of course, there are the obvious, and utterly essential ways, that these families are being hosted – through resources, supplies and practical support. But the team here are also hosting these families’ trauma and their fears, they’re holding space for their joys and their victories. Each person that walks through the door of Cardiff’s Growbaby are finding a community who will welcome and host the whole of them, who will weep with them when they’re weeping, and celebrate with them when they’re celebrating.  

It’s a beautiful thing.  

We could be forgiven for thinking that this kind of no-strings-attached hospitality is a myth. If it ever did exist, it’s bygone, and therefore dwells only in the realms of nostalgia. So, counter-cultural is it, that we’d be suspicious if ever we were to stumble upon rumours of it.  

Well, no suspicion necessary here. It truly does exist; you can take my word for it. And I can’t imagine people more in need of it than parents, the guardians and nurturers of little lives.  

If you are in need of the kind of support that Growbaby can offer, you can see if there’s a Grow Baby near you by using its directory. 

Snippet
Change
Community
Fun & play
3 min read

How London’s little festivals opened the door to my community

Helping an elderly Elvis to his gig gave me a glimpse into a new way of city living

Thomas is a writer exploring the intersection of faith, politics, and social justice.

An elderly Elvis impersonator sits on a stage wearing a gold suit.
Dave Elvis.

Finding community in the middle of a city is a strange experience. I have lived in London for six years, in six different flats, and have rarely known the names of any of my neighbours. The starkness of my experience is made all the more glaring when I visit my parents. They live in a small town, close to the countryside. They know all of their neighbours, even the new ones. There are WhatsApp groups where people request eggs or leaf blowers or an extra garden chair from one another.  

My parents’ town has two things that London doesn’t: an acceptance that neighbours should depend on one another, and enough physical space for meaningful interactions to take place.  

Where I live, we are self-sufficient. The idea of asking a neighbour for anything is uncomfortable. I discovered this a few months ago when I went to ask a neighbour if I could borrow a can opener, seriously fighting the urge to walk to the shops and purchase a new one as I knocked on her door.  

In London, we have no space. Rather than seeing my neighbour over the fence in our back gardens, I see her on the stairwell. We’re both already moving to other places, so a nod is all that is exchanged. 

But over the summer, I attended two community festivals. And there, I saw a glimpse of something different; the fruits of a circumstance where people depended on one another and finally had some space.  

Back in July, my wife and I went to the Cally Festival on the Caledonian Road. We were both heavily overdressed, having just come from a wedding. From Pentonville prison to the Marathon Ethiopian restaurant, the road smelt of Jamaican food and locally baked goods. We were surrounded by stalls on every side, the gravel beneath us overtaken by a dance floor and children’s chalk drawings. Our ears rang with the words of a local poet, which jarringly transitioned to a local rap artist as we strolled along the road. Here, in the middle of our city, there was finally enough space for community.  

We were at the festival because a local celebrity wanted to sing. Dave was an Elvis impersonator who had lived on the Bemerton estate for many years. He and his flat had aged together, and he was now wheelchair bound without lift access. This would be his first outing since Christmas. Someone from our church had asked if we could come and help carry him down the stairs. The Cally Festival was forcing us to depend on one another. 

I was captivated by the festival, and the way it transformed a small part of the city. So, the very next weekend, I ventured a few streets west to Somerstown Festival. Just a hundred meters off the Euston Road, I experienced the very same phenomenon. A closed road, lined with smells, stalls, and sounds, with enough space for community. A group of people actively serving one another with a level of dependence that was creating community before my eyes. I looked left, and a young man was lifting a table onto the pavement for an elderly stall owner. I looked right, and a Catholic nun was handing out inspirational quotes about the environment. 

Community festivals can’t happen every day and cities will always lack space, but the two I visited taught me something significant about building community within my concrete home. Our neighbourhoods require opportunities to serve one another. Whilst I'm unlikely to need a leaf blower or garden chairs in my London flat, I may need a can opener or support at a community event. Small confessions of need like that could represent the mustard seed of deeper urban communities. 

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