It's even rougher on rough sleepers in a storm (2024)

A pair of black shoes stands upright against the wall of a public toilet block, drying in the sun.

Nearby, a swag and three tents just fit under an open-sided shelter.

It would have provided next-to-no protection in the previous night's violent storm but at least there's a concrete slab to keep the bases dry.

It's early Saturday morning. I wait for the occupants to wake.

A man around 40, rifles through bins looking for bottles and cans to recycle.

He tells me he had been living in Lismore in the 2022 floods and had been homeless ever since.

He tells me he hasn't been able to get his life on track.

He tells me it's hard to keep going, and even when he can occasionally scrape together enough for a hit of ice he says, "it's so sh*t it barely takes the edge off."

He doesn't want to give me his name … he says it's hard enough that his kids know their dad is on the streets.

Sunshine after the rain

The morning has that technicolour brilliance of a sunny day after rain.

I head back to the Ballina oval with the shelter and the unfriendly locked toilet block.

Carrying brown paper bags of takeaway breakfast and a tray of coffees, my new sandals sink in an inch of water hidden in the sodden grass.

I catch sight of those black shoes and think about my wardrobe full of alternatives at home.

Matthew Wilson is tall, lean and softly spoken, the affectionate owner of 10-week-old puppy "Powder".

Matthew was also made homeless because of catastrophic flooding that hit the Northern Rivers two years ago.

"After the floods in Lismore, I basically lost everything there and it's been a downhill struggle ever since."

Where to shelter in a storm?

In last night's storm, a massive branch from a 30-metre gum tree snapped and leans haphazardly against its parent trunk.

The shelter would have been no protection had it come down on top of it.

"There were a couple of branches come down next to us here and a few extra people turned up from out of town, so we gave a lady some blankets and kept her out of the wet," Matthew tells me.

As with most flood survivors, heavy rain triggers anxiety.

"The worst thing is the flood coming back," he says.

"Ballina flash-floods pretty easy so you've just gotta keep high and dry, but the council just keeps moving us on."

Destitution takes a toll

Matthew was initially on a list for emergency temporary accommodation in a pod village.

He and his girlfriend grew tired of waiting and moved to Coffs Harbour.

The strain of destitution took its toll on the relationship and, when they separated, Matthew drifted back to Ballina.

Now he says he's back at square one.

"Through being homeless and having no phone, it's just hard to get in contact with me and things like that so I've had to reapply for the fourth time," he says.

"I did try Links2Home but with the dog it's been hard, so I've been camping on the street or the beach or wherever I can really."

Homeless and alone

Shantelle Charles and her partner, Leslie, also survived the floods in Lismore.

"Water went through the whole house; it was just devastating," she says.

"We were going place to place, just couch surfing. It was pretty hard."

While they were rough sleeping, Leslie died leaving Shantelle who has a disability to fend for herself.

"When I'm not at camp people come along and take my stuff and I have to start all over again, which is really frustrating.

"I had a gas can for a stove, now I've just got a little camp master thing, which I borrowed from a mate. Someone took my fishing rod."

Leslie's death is too painful for her to talk about.

"Being a woman, you've got to be on your toes more at night," Shantelle says.

"It's literally more dangerous for a woman at night being homeless, anything can happen."

Of the 2,037 people sleeping rough around the state in the most recent count, around half were between Coffs Harbour and Tweed Heads.

Byron Bay recorded 348 rough sleepers while the number in Ballina rose to 63.

"There's been a 110 per cent increase in the number of rough sleepers in the Ballina area compared to last year's sleep count," says Kim Kennedy, the manager of Homelessness and Housing Services North Coast for St Vincent de Paul Society.

"That's just people who are sleeping in streets, parks. People who are couch surfing or sleeping in cars can often get missed.

"Realistically there would be a lot more."

The wait for social housing

That's no surprise to either Matthew or Shantelle.

"When you see the people walking that are actually pushing trolleys, that's their home," Shantelle says.

"It's scary knowing the amount of people who are homeless and who are affected."

The St Vincent de Paul-run Mary's Place in Ballina offers showers, washing machines, and meals five days a week.

Matthew is a regular there while he waits for something more permanent.

If he's not offered a pod or social housing soon, Matthew will try to get to Tweed Heads to look for work until seasonal work starts again further north.

Twin crises – housing and cost of living

Despite the increasing affluence of the coastal strip, the level of disadvantage is high.

The 2021 census revealed more than 500 people in the shire of 46,000 people were homeless or at immediate risk and that was a year before large parts of the shire flooded including Ballina itself for the first time ever.

And the twin housing and affordability crises have bit hard everywhere.

"At the end of the day there are no rentals and the rentals there are are not affordable for people," Ms Kennedy says.

"It's quite sad to see when you've got a young family coming in and you've got Mum and Dad and a couple of young kids and they're sleeping in a car."

For single adults, competing against those with children, the list seems to grow longer. But still, Shantelle is hopeful.

"I'm on a disability pension, I'm on NDIS to get a place, hopefully soon," she says.

“I’d love to be able to call a home a home, instead of calling a tent a home.”