I shuddered as something dark and shiny scuttled across the kitchen floor. We’d moved into temporary accommodation and it was riddled with cockroaches.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make the best of things,” I told my toddler daughter Anayah.

I’d lost my house after being made redundant from my job as a retail manager. I was too ashamed to ask for help and hadn’t told my family what had happened.

Now, I was living in a family hostel in North London with Anayah, aged two, and pregnant with my son Zavier.

People kept to themselves, and for the first year, I barely left my room.

I was desperately searching for a new job, but it was difficult to find a position that worked alongside childcare.

Christmas came and went with little festivity.

Then one afternoon, I was sitting on the front steps of the hostel when I spotted an exhausted mum returning home with her young daughter.

“Please can we get a McDonald’s?” the little girl pleaded.

“We just can’t afford it,” her mum said, clearly at the end of her tether.

I smiled at the little girl. “How about I make you some chips?” I said.

“That would be so kind,” the mum replied.

They came up to my room and I fried chips over the electric hob. Then I popped them in a newspaper and doused them in vinegar.

“Here’s your takeaway!” I told the little girl, and she beamed at me.

Not long after that, I started cooking for a struggling mother of twins who lived down the hall.

Word spread, and by the end of the week, my room had become a makeshift restaurant.

I was cooking up pots of rice, curry, or anything I could get my hands on, to feed dozens of struggling mums and their kids.

I reached out to local food banks and they helped by donating ingredients.

I was a busy mum of two, but I set up a WhatsApp group to connect residents at the hostel, and people started helping each other with everything from translating paperwork to supporting each other with the children.

As Christmas approached, one of the mums told me, “This time of year is so hard. I want to do something special for the kids, but I just don’t have the money.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied. “If Santa’s busy, maybe Mrs Claus will work her magic!”

And I set about organising a community Christmas.

A local butcher agreed to donate a turkey I could roast for Christmas dinner, and the mums brought sharing dishes.

On Christmas Day, our spread featured everything from roast potatoes to curries.

Many of the residents had never celebrated Christmas before, but it was a chance to come together and celebrate regardless of religion.

I reached out to local charities and community groups for donations, and began to earn a reputation as someone who could get things done.

There was no green space for the kids to play, so I gave the old playroom a makeover with the help of the hostel community, and I organised meet-ups for the mums.

The hostel was supposed to be temporary accommodation, but a shortage of housing meant people stayed there for years.

In time, I went to live with my uncle. He suffered from dementia and I became his carer.

But I kept the hostel WhatsApp group going. I wanted to keep making a difference to people’s lives.

So, I registered as a charity called Connecting Boroughs.

The help of volunteers and local businesses allowed me to extend services from North London to South London – supporting and uniting single mums, domestic violence survivors, and refugees.

Each summer, I organised a trip to the beach with families who otherwise couldn’t afford it.

And the annual Christmas celebration continued.

But instead of hosting it at the hostel, I applied to businesses and events’ spaces to see if they might be willing to provide us with the space to hold our event.

I was always overwhelmed by people’s generosity.

Each year, we had plenty of donated toys and clothes – no child went without a present.

Streamers, balloons and a volunteer Santa created an enchanting Christmas grotto.

One year, we even had a Christmas-themed bouncy castle.

“People feel embarrassed accepting charity,” I explained to a volunteer. “They’re happier to take a gift than a handout.”

At one event, a little girl ran up to me and hugged me around my legs.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I’ll have something to say at school when the teacher asks what I’ve done over the holidays.”

It broke my heart that something so small could mean so much.

Now, it’s been seven years since my first community Christmas celebration, and mums tell me it’s become a beloved family tradition.

I’ve always said Christmas isn’t about what you have, it’s about who you share it with.

For more information, visit:
connectingboroughs.co.uk
or if you’d like to donate, visit gofundme.com and search Queeny’s fundraiser.

Supporting families facing hardship.

Email: mystory@bauermedia.co.uk

Policies

Safeguarding Policy Governance & Decision Making Policy Framework of Assessing Beneficiary

Subscribe to our newsletter • Don’t miss out!

Safeguarding Policy
Governance & Decision Making Policy
Framework of Assessing Beneficiary