It beings in the familiar way, a group of different generations, with varying ethnicities, jobs and backgrounds gather together for coffee and a snack of mandarin oranges. After a brief introduction, they “process” into a ginormous warehouse where the statues are big crates of onions, potatoes, apples and oranges, the celebrants are staff in neon vests, easily spotted when questions arise. Staffers solicit volunteers’ suggestions for the playlist which is soon booming over the loudspeakers, picking up the pace. For there’s lots of work to be done at the Alameda County Community Food Bank (accfb.org) —quickly. The staff jokes that “when you’ve seen one food bank, you’ve seen one food bank.” But I’d hope there’s enough common ground that this one will be similar to those all over the country.
The 78 volunteers assembling today come from Beth Israel synagogue, Boy and Girl Scouts, Sutter Health Care, Confirmation groups, and ordinary individuals. In a brief orientation, a leader explains that people going through a line at the food pantry might take their time picking out the best pears or the bananas without blemish, as we all would. But if everyone at the beginning of the line did that, the process would be so slow that those at the end might never get their turn, needing to dash off to work or pick up the kids. So we sorted potatoes, apples and oranges, stuffing them into plastic mesh bags for easy distribution, learning that anything moldy or imperfect would go into compost buckets which would eventually be devoured at a pig farm—nothing ever wasted.
The need is astonishing: 1 in 4 residents of this community is experiencing or at risk of hunger. In fact, even dated research shows it takes a family of four $92,267 to meet basic needs in the Oakland metro area. Yet 65 percent of food bank clients have incomes less than $28,290. After the ironically named “Big Beautiful Bill” cut food stamps, 24,000 more people gradually came to rely on ACFB. Hence, this beehive of activity distributes enough food to serve 60,000 people a day through “partner agencies,” each with its own mission, tailoring their services to meet the unique needs of the community—for instance, a women’s shelter, senior center or Catholic Charities.
One distinctive partner is Steph (famous basketball star) and Ayesha Curry’s Eat. Learn. Play. Foundation. Their “magic bus,” creatively painted and decorated, is parked in the warehouse, and when it goes out on the streets, it provides children with food, books, a safe place to play, and—of course!—a basketball hoop mounted on the side of the bus.
A scandal that’s surfaced recently is how many college students are hungry, unable to afford multiple high costs of tuition, books, and housing. So, ACCFB works closely with schools, colleges, and universities to stock on-campus food pantries. These help fulfill students’ basic needs and support low-income students in achieving degrees and diplomas.
The food is surprisingly healthy—60% fresh fruits and vegetables, no sugary soft drinks. People on special diets can get a “food is medicine” box, tailored to their needs and paid for by insurance companies. Also amazing how ACCFB can taper foods to ethnic groups. Some crates were marked “Product of Thailand;” they order extra masa for tamales at Christmas. Nutritionists have developed a cookbook with recipes for people who might find some donated foods unfamiliar. Another huge section of the warehouse stores food for emergencies: high shelves filled with bottled water and non-perishable canned goods in case of an earthquake, fire or flood.
In all the statistics and vast sweep of the operation, one can lose sight of the poignant human details: people who call asking for food consistently begin by saying, “I’m sorry.” (What kind of society shames a human being for needing to eat?) Or the firmly dedicated volunteers, who may never have heard that “feed the hungry” is a work of mercy, but give their time and energy so no one starves. At the end of their shift, they high-fived with pride: they’d packed 15,098 meals. My grand-daughter told the staff, “this was so fun, we should pay you to do it!”
Many people heard John’s gospel this weekend: “In my Father’s house there are many rooms.” And why couldn’t this be one of them, a vast space bustling with loud music, fork lifts, crates of food and fiercely committed people working hard so no one goes hungry? After all, Jesus spent more time feeding people than grading their catechism quizzes.
Kathy Coffey 