You are not welcome here

I am new to my neighbourhood so I am still in the process of finding and negotiating a space for myself within the community. It is a challenge. This is an inner-city, multi-cultural neighbourhood. There is a large, mostly elderly Greek population and a newer, younger South Asian population. There are large apartment blocks piled on top of crowded Indian groceries, next to Greek bakeries. It is crowded, colourful and sometimes dirty. It is known in the wider city to be poor and violent.

When I first arrived, I did the rounds of community organizations that offered services for young children. The reception I received was chilly at best. I am not visibly ethnic and was therefore not considered to be the target population. In the end, I found children's activities outside my neighbourhood, where budgets are not so linked to ethnic identity and presumed socio-economic status. But it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Yesterday, I went for the first meeting of the collective garden I was rather keen to join. Upon arrival at the large, multi-use community centre, I saw that the room next to the one I was looking for was open. I poked my head in and asked "jardin?" When answered in the affirmative, I entered and took my place next to several elderly Greek gentlemen who continued to chat and banter among themselves. "Hmm, not so friendly" I said to myself. "Maybe it's a language thing." After a few more minutes, another man arrived, hailed as 'boss' by the group slowly gathering. He looked over at me and then rudely asked me for my documents. What documents? I wrote my name on a pad of paper he provided ("Capitals!" he insisted) and patiently waited for the meeting to start. 'Boss' then returned and told me that I could be on my way as this was a private meeting, thank you very much. I was confused. I had not felt so pointedly unwelcome in quite some time.

In the end, it was the wrong garden. The elderly Greeks were meeting to discuss the community gardens, the hotly contested and possessively guarded plots to the north of the school, I was joining the collective gardens, the small, shared plot at the front of the library. I was in the wrong room.

The collective garden meeting was friendly and relaxed. Members were from various backgrounds, visible and not-so visible minorities and majorities. Everyone's voice was welcome and there was space for each to have their say. We are even going to try planting potatoes and artichokes this year on my suggestion.

Sometimes, it takes a while to find one's place in a new community, to negotiate the prejudices and assumptions of appearances, and the minefield of limited ressources.