Is there space?" asked a young woman hesitantly at the entrance before stepping inside.

She had been a prostitute for a long time in Zugló, and it's unclear how she escaped that life. She has been coming here for many years but still sometimes hesitates at the door, not daring to enter. She cut her hair and wears various wigs, which she has started to cut up. She refuses food, often scavenging for it from the trash or beside it. Her condition is hard to gauge; she's never been well or whole. Her self-harm could stem from being repeatedly sexually assaulted.

This young woman's story was recounted by Endre Buzás, director of the RÉS Foundation's women's night shelter, during our visit to the facility.

The shelter, open during summer for 35 and in winter for 50 homeless women from 6 PM to 8 AM, offers a place to sleep, bathe, do laundry, and heat up food without charge on Podmaniczky Street. Dinner is available to anyone who wants it.

"Despite mass shelters, homelessness is a profoundly lonely existence," Endre explains. "Your personal space is limited to the bag in your hand. And sometimes even that is invaded. Privacy for basic needs is scarce; if you snore, you get yelled at, and the place still smells from others even after you bathe. Moreover, women process the loss of their home differently, often carrying the burden much longer."

The shelter offers more than just refuge; assistance with social matters, donations of new clothes, and access to books, newspapers, and the internet. Regular activities, including film screenings and volunteer programs such as theatre visits, garbage collection, and support groups for processing abuse, are also available.

Access to the shelter is on a first-come, first-served basis, decided by an on-duty social worker. Though opening is officially at 6 PM, many arrive two hours early, aiming to maintain good relations with the facility, ensuring their entry. When the clock strikes six, the door opens, and women of all ages enter, their entire lives packed in suitcases, bags, and sacks.

Once admitted, residents are assigned to multi-bedded rooms for the night. Preferences and familiar groups form, with some expressing disappointment when not placed together. The presence of a camera evokes mixed reactions; some indifferently consent, others quietly decline to be photographed, fearing they're "not pretty enough," while some initially resist only to change their mind moments later.

For thirty years, Endre Buzás has led the shelter, sharing insights from a journey beginning in December 1992 when he joined friends to distribute tea and food to the homeless, leading to his eventual role as director. His experience highlights a system where transitional shelters and temporary solutions often become permanent for many.

Women at the shelter, including a dedicated runner who has participated in races even without proper shoes, and elderly residents who choose the community and freedom of the shelter over isolation, paint a vivid picture of resilience amidst adversity.

Endre notes the complexity of addressing homelessness, emphasizing the necessity of smaller facilities, intensive social work, better psychiatric care, and societal compassion to truly see and treat these individuals as fellow humans, deserving of dignity and respect.

As we bid farewell, the poignant goodbye of a young leaving resident underscores the shelter's impact, "I really love you all, I swear. It's just myself I don't."