Outreach finds rental units for the chronically homeless

It took Christie Higuchi only a few minutes to give the grand tour of the Salt Lake studio where she has lived for the past three months.

But it could take Higuchi most of her 51 years to explain how she, the woman at the top of Oahu’s most vulnerable homeless list, climbed out of a cardboard box and turned the rental into a home.

"I ask myself, What’s so good about me? But I think I deserve it," she said.

Social workers found Higuchi living on a grimy patch of Hotel Street in Chinatown last year during registry week for 100,000 Homes Oahu, a communitywide effort to get 100 of the isle’s most chronic homeless people off the streets by 2014. Higuchi’s turbulent personal history and ill health marked her as someone in danger of dying if she stayed on the street, where she had spent more than four years.

"Christie was the No. 1 client on our 100,000 Homes list," said Waikiki Health Center caseworker Heddy Cortijo. "Our clients are listed in order of their vulnerabilities, like time on the street, mental health, substance abuse and medical conditions. She was the only one that had four out of the five vulnerabilities."

The program, modeled after federal and state Housing First initiatives, aims to get people like Higuchi into housing and then provide services that will keep them there, said state Homeless Coordinator Colin Kippen.

"The focus is about getting them back into housing as quickly as we can," Kippen said. "Once their life is more stable, we can deal with all the other issues that may have kept them homeless for years. This is an incredibly important first step for improving homelessness in Hawaii."

The program has housed about 10 chronically homeless people, said Paul Oshiro, program manager for the Waikiki Health Center’s Care-a-Van drop-in center and clinic.

Higuchi and five others have obtained permanent supportive housing through the Housing First grant, a partnership of the Waikiki Health Center and U.S. VETS. Other clients have been given housing and services through the various providers and community volunteers that make up 100,000 Homes.

"We’re at about 10 percent of our goal," Oshiro said. The program needs to find more funding and landlords willing to rent to the formerly homeless, he said.

A legislative proposal to increase the $1 million Housing First grant by $500,000 would help, Kippen said, but the community must assist in finding rentals.

"If we don’t house these people, how can we expect the government to do it?" Kippen said. "People don’t see the connection between homelessness and their screening practices."

The program has funding to house 16 more clients, said Oshiro, adding, "We’re asking landlords to come forward because it’s the humane thing to do."

Service providers work with clients to mitigate risks to landlords, Oshiro said. Caseworkers teach life skills, such as budgeting and setting goals, that lead to independence.

Though the transition is not easy, the program already has made a difference for Higuchi.

"I’ll never forget the day that they came for me," she said. "I had just bought a piece of rock (cocaine) and was going to smoke it because things weren’t going so great. But, boom, these guys handed me these keys. I threw the drugs away."

The chance to have a home of her own is enough to make Higuchi want to clean up her life the way she’s cleaned up her space. She points out a prized collection of stuffed animals and frets that she didn’t get a chance to make her bed before a photographer arrived. She wishes she had a dresser so that she could put her clothes away. She takes pride in keeping the studio’s bathroom and tile floor spotless.

And Higuchi is working on her sobriety. She said she never wants people to look down on her as they did when she was trying to survive on the streets.

"I felt like a dog. I’d sit there in front of CJ Market and drink up to 15 shots in an hour," she said. "I’d catch people looking at me like they were disgusted or something. It got to where I couldn’t even stand the sight of me. I’d go use the police station bathroom, and I’d look away from the mirror."

Caseworkers and doctors have been working with Higuchi to improve her health and self-image.

"We take clients as is, place them into an apartment and work on everything," Oshiro said. "It’s easier to reach them once they are housed, feel safe and have had adequate rest and a shower."

Cortijo recalled the futility of meeting an intoxicated Higuchi prior to 100,000 Homes. "We were doing an outreach in Chinatown, but we didn’t approach her because she was unapproachable at that moment," she said. "It’s like polar opposites now. Christie is amazing. I don’t know if she realizes how far she has come."

Her progress has not been without setbacks.

The first month, Higuchi said, she made a mistake with her bank account and ran short on rent. Cortijo also got a call when Higuchi fell off the wagon and created a disturbance.

"Honestly, a lot of people expected her transition to be a lot worse. She’s doing phenomenal," Cortijo said. "All the speed bumps are gone now."

Oshiro said Higuchi’s use of police and other emergency services has declined.

"Statistics show that living on the street may cut a person’s life by 25 years. It’s great that by actually improving someone’s life, we are also saving taxpayers money," he said.

Last year, 4,949 homeless people received outreach program services on Oahu, Oshiro said. "The cost to taxpayers of allowing them to remain on the streets is far higher than offering them permanent housing with support services."

A recent study found that housing the 50 most medically vulnerable people on Skid Row saved Los Angeles County about $250,000 over two years, Oshiro said.

From Higuchi’s perspective, having a home just makes a person feel better.

"I’m not depressed. It’s like I’m regular now," she said. "People actually talk to me when I’m at the bus stop and other places."

Once a week, Higuchi takes a bus into town to turn in recyclables and visit a food bank. If she has enough money, she stops at CJ Market for a soft drink and candy. Some people don’t recognize her, she said.

"They don’t believe that this is me. They are tripping because I’ve been a banana (crazy) my whole life. I’ve been high or whatever forever," Higuchi said. "Now I’m totally sober and they don’t believe it. Some of them say, ‘Come, let’s get high.’ I tell them, ‘Whatever you got, I don’t need it.’"

Longtime friend Jade Kauo has noticed Higuchi’s strides. "Last time I saw her, she was lying down in one cardboard box on Hotel Street," Kauo said. "It’s awesome to see her off the street. She looks good. She gives me hope."

Higuchi beamed while she shared her good news with Barry Lovett, First Baptist Church of Honolulu pastor. "I’m glad to hear it," Lovett said. "She’s been through a lot of struggles."

That’s an understatement, Higuchi said.

She recounted an abusive childhood that left her without family support or other resources by the time she reached her teens.

Eventually Higuchi turned to prostitution.

"I’d beg for a dollar or a quarter so I could get something to eat and find myself having to do something dirty," she said. "That’s life. I hated it. I hated myself."

Drugs became Higuchi’s escape. They landed her in jail, cost her custody of her child and affected her relationships and health.

"When I got diagnosed with HIV in 1989, I thought I was as good as dead," she said. "I wasn’t taking the meds on the street. If you have them, people will steal them. On the street you live day to day with nothing."

Higuchi’s new home has become her ticket to a better life. Within the safety of its walls, she’s learning to care for herself and means to care for others. Her former spot on Hotel Street no longer holds appeal, and she worries about those left behind.

"Right now there’s an 85-year-old woman sleeping right there where I used to sleep," she said. "I wish she could find help. I wish someone would find her like they found me."