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I am deeply grateful to the Morris and Rosalind Goodman Family Foundation for supporting my internship through the Goodman Family Internships Award. Your generosity enabled me to complete this internship for academic credit under the supervision of Professor Stephan Gervais, while also alleviating some of the material pressures I face as a full-time student. The funding I received went directly toward transportation costs and essential academic materials — textbooks, software, and tools necessary for my studies and creative work. As someone who commutes daily from Boucherville, just outside of Montreal, I often feel like I’m constantly in motion — balancing financial precarity, personal safety, and academic pressure. Adjusting to university life without every resource has been difficult, but it has also taught me grit. My passion for what I study and my belief in social justice continue to carry me through.

My name is Djamila Mostefai, and I am pursuing a double major in Gender, Sexuality, Feminist, and Social Justice Studies and English Literature, at º£½ÇÉçÇø. I’ve also chosen minors in Communication Studies and Quebec Studies to deepen my understanding of how identity, media, and belonging shape our world. This academic path reflects my desire not just to study systems, but to transform them — through storytelling, through connection, and through acts of care.

This summer, I interned at the Centre de Resources Communautaires de la Petite-Patrie, a nonprofit in Montreal dedicated to food security, human dignity, and the power of proximity. I chose this internship because I wanted something real — something grounded in action and community, not just theory. My learning objective was simple: I wanted to be of use. I wanted to see what it meant to make a visible difference in people’s lives, and I hoped to connect my academic path to tangible, grassroots work. As someone interested in sociology, women’s rights, and the intersections between systemic oppression and everyday life, this opportunity aligned perfectly with my academic values and personal goals.

The Centre operates a food bank that serves hundreds of low-income individuals and families, focusing on reducing waste by redistributing food that’s still safe and nourishing. My responsibilities were physical: sorting donations, dating canned goods, assessing produce, cleaning fridges and storage spaces, preparing $5 baskets, and welcoming clients at the door. I explained the rules, helped regulars navigate their appointments, and got to know the rhythm of the center: one shaped by urgency, but also by softness. Every box I lifted had a purpose. Every bruised tomato I examined was a decision. Every action carried weight.

My academic background in gender and social justice grounded my approach. I could see how systemic issues play out in everyday interactions. The clients I met — often elderly immigrants, single mothers, or disabled people — represented the intersectional realities I’ve studied in class. Food security isn’t a standalone issue; it’s connected to housing, colonialism, migration, labor, and gendered care work. Studying these issues gave me language and context, but the internship gave me the people — and with them, responsibility.

What stayed with me most are the people. Maëlle, who trained me with patience, humor, and compassion, taught me not just how to stack milk crates, but how to carry myself with dignity in a space of service. Through Nathalie, who works in senior residences, I met people whose stories — full of strength, sorrow, and sweetness — reminded me that every hand we serve has a history. These weren’t just tasks. They were lessons in care, presence, and attention.

On my very first day, I suggested placing bowls of leaking milk out in the alley for stray cats, instead of throwing it away. The next, I was helping a mother choose a treat for her child — a snack rescued from one of dozens of incoming deliveries I had sorted. These moments, however small, will stay with me. They reminded me that care lives in the details — in the things no one else might notice.

One of the most valuable moments of my internship came from simply listening. I noticed that many clients had specific preferences — sauces they loved, fruits they disliked, allergies or dietary needs. When I started this internship, I was curious to notice that some members consistently left certain products behind or had recurring preferences. At first, I was surprised—if you need food, shouldn't you take whatever you can get? But I soon realized that these are individuals, each with their own tastes and considerations. Many even think of other members who might need the items more, and I find that deeply beautiful. I realized that when we took the time to write these down, we reduced food waste and improved distribution. It made me think: what if we had a database that tracked member preferences and restrictions? We could match donations more effectively and distribute more of what people need. This idea — born from observation — reminded me that innovation doesn’t have to be grand. Sometimes, it’s just about noticing what people are already telling you and nurturing dignity for every member of our community.

This experience was more than just a summer job — it was an introduction to real people, real struggles, and real solutions. I saw firsthand how listening closely to food bank members could lead to smarter, more compassionate systems. For instance, when we began taking note of individual preferences and dietary restrictions, it became clear that we could save even more food and serve more meaningfully.

Despite how fulfilling this journey felt, it wasn’t without its challenges. I live with anxiety, and I found it difficult, at first, to connect with coworkers and ask for help. Many tasks — lifting crates, assessing expiry dates, learning the unspoken rules of the fridge — required knowledge and rhythm I hadn’t yet built. But I worked on it, daily. I learned how to trust myself and others. I learned that even in a professional setting, community matters. In the second half of my internship, I pushed myself to reach out beyond polite interactions — to joke, to ask, to offer help before being asked. I learned how to count on others, and how to let them count on me.

If I could change one thing, it would be the chance to contribute more to the Centre’s communications and outreach. With my background in writing, media, and design, I would have loved to help raise awareness or support fundraising. Still, I understand that learning begins on the ground — and I touched that ground with my own hands.

This internship solidified my desire to build a life and career rooted in care, creativity, and justice. I’ve begun developing ideas for a feminist Gen Z magazine with two of my best friends, centering marginalized voices and bridging the gap between academic knowledge and creative storytelling. I’m also learning Blender to enhance my visual storytelling work and hope to create immersive 3D and mixed-media essays around themes of culture, gender, and power. The grounding I received this summer will shape how I approach these projects — with more humility, more understanding, and a deeper sense of responsibility to the people I hope to serve and speak with.

This internship deepened my commitment to justice. It showed me that change doesn’t always wear a loud voice — sometimes, it’s quiet. It hums in the background. It arrives in the form of a banana basket, a cleaned fridge, a nod of recognition. In Montreal, in 2025, the need is real. But so is the solidarity. I carry both with me now.

Thank you again to the Morris and Rosalind Goodman Family Foundation for making this experience possible. Your support allowed me to learn, to grow, and to serve — and for that, I am truly grateful. I’m also deeply thankful for my professor, Mr. Stephan Gervais, who gave me the confidence to apply for this internship in the first place. His belief in me was a pivotal moment in my journey as a º£½ÇÉçÇø student. I often struggle with feeling like I don’t belong among such prestigious peers, but Mr. Gervais leads with a passion for his craft that inspires me to do the same — and to leave my self-doubt in the past.

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