As the morning sun gently filters through the curtains of our modest office at the Cohesive Society, I turn the key in the door and step inside. The familiar creak of the entrance reminds me that this place is more than just four walls – it is a sanctuary for many, a haven where stories of struggle meet the spirit of support.
Before the day begins, I take a few moments to tidy up—a bit of cleaning here and there—to ensure the place feels welcoming. Cleanliness, after all, isn’t just about hygiene; it’s about respect. Everyone who walks in should feel valued, and a clean, ordered space sets the tone for compassion and dignity.
The phone starts ringing, the door creaks open again, and the day truly begins. The first visitor is Mohammed from the Pakistani community. He’s been having difficulty understanding the latest changes to his Universal Credit. He sits across from me, worries etched on his face. We go through his papers together, step by step. We call the helpline. We clarify his entitlements. When he leaves, there’s a weight lifted from his shoulders — and a quiet “thank you” that says more than words ever could.
Next comes Ahmed from our Bangladeshi community. He’s struggling with his PIP (Personal Independence Payment) assessment. His disability is invisible, yet it impacts every moment of his day. He’s been misunderstood and misjudged. Together, we review his application, and I help him draft a response reflecting his reality. He smiles—it’s not hope yet but a beginning.
Then, Babuska walks in. A single mother navigating the housing maze. She’s been waiting, hoping, and praying for stability. We sit together, apply online, and double-check her documents. She leaves with confidence that her voice has been heard.
Beverly comes in with her son, a sweet child with special educational needs. She’s been lost in a jungle of forms, deadlines, and jargon. I sit with her, translating bureaucratic terms into human language. Her son draws quietly in the corner while we talk. Before she leaves, she hugs me. Sometimes, kindness is the only therapy a mother needs.
Shahid from Kurdistan steps in next. His passport application has hit a wall. Lost in translation and complex consular processes, he doesn’t know whom to trust. We work through his paperwork patiently, calling embassies, writing emails, and giving him the clarity he desperately seeks.
Mo from Somalia needs a GP appointment—something so small, yet so significant when English isn’t your first language, and the NHS can feel like a fortress. I call the surgery. I advocate. We booked it. He leaves smiling, relieved.
Finally, Mr. Singh needs help with a matrimonial application. His eyes are tired, carrying the burdens of family complexities. We speak gently, write clearly, and plan the next steps. His dignity remains intact—that’s all that matters.
I talk, listen, fill out forms, sign posts, advise, and make calls throughout the day. I offer tissues, water, and reassurance—sometimes all three. I hear life stories—raw, painful, courageous. And through it all, I feel one thing: gratitude.
Each time I help someone, I see myself — the eleven-year-old boy in 1971, a refugee of war, unsure of the future, eyes wide with fear and wonder. Back then, someone helped me. Today, I help others. And with each person I assist, I feel a profound sense of accomplishment, knowing I’ve made a difference.
Life has come full circle.
And that, perhaps, is the most beautiful part of the journey — that in serving others, we heal ourselves and strengthen our shared humanity. At Cohesive Society, every day is a mosaic of human experiences. It’s not just work. It’s a privilege. A joy. A calling. And it’s a powerful reminder of the unity and connection we share.
