Alison Riggott, 40

S6 food bank, Sheffield

My husband’s work arranged a food bank collection, as part of their corporate social responsibility. I rang up the organiser and said: “I can come, but I’ll have to bring my baby.” He was eight months old and used to sit in a high chair. We get a lot of young mothers who are embarrassed to be there; having a baby at the table immediately makes a connection. Straight away, you are talking about sleep, or lack of.

Before I started, I thought I was socially aware. Actually, I had no clue. I was living in my own little bubble. My boys come home from school. “Can I get a snack?” “Of course you can.” It has been a massive eye-opener.

Quite a few asylum-seeking families who come to our food bank had babies of the same age. The bittersweet thing is they are still coming, so we see their babies grow up. The mums remember my little boy. He will turn three in May.

I see lots of single gentlemen in their 60s, who have lived in Sheffield their entire lives, had a health condition and can no longer work. They say: “It’s all fine.” Then you will hear the voice crack and the tears start. They say: “I’m sorry, I tried not to come.” At first I used to come out and cry. Now, it’s more like anger. Things aren’t getting better for these people, our guests. I talk to my boys about it. I hope that, by talking, the next generation will think differently.

Abdalkarim Sama. Photograph: Linda Nylind/The Guardian

Abdalkarim Sama, 66

Sufra NW London food bank

I worked in engineering all my life. My last firm, where I was manager, closed down. It was winter and it was so boring at home. One day, I went to the supermarket and they were collecting for Sufra. I asked if they could give me a volunteering job.

We tell people: ‘This is your right. You need it, so take it. Don’t feel embarrassed’ Abdalkarim Sama

It was so interesting to meet new people. If you help, you feel good. I thought: I’ll carry on here. It’s the opposite of engineering, isn’t it? There, you are working with machines, delivering stuff, forklifts, supplying car parts to other engineering companies. I work five days a week; it’s nearly a full-time job. It keeps me out of trouble and I get exercise. My father used to do the same thing in Uganda. He used to help local people who were in trouble with food.

There was one guy who asked for food. After he had his soup, he said: “I feel like a king.” It made me very happy. We tell people: “This is your right. You need it, so take it. Don’t feel embarrassed.” Anybody who walks in and says they want to eat, we give to them. Nobody goes hungry here.

‘It’s pretty heart-wrenching at times. You have to bite your lip and offer support’ ... Benjamin Russell. Photograph: Alicia Canter/The Guardian

Benjamin Russell, 40

Clapham Park food bank, London

It was my partner, Liberty, who inspired me. When she became very poorly a few years back with lupus, she found herself having to use the food bank to get by.

Last year, she started to volunteer. I’m a scriptwriter and she said: “You’re spending so much time in the library. Why don’t you come and help?” My instinct was: that’s not for me. I’ve never done much charity work. I wasn’t sure what it would involve. But it’s quite something working down there. It really gives you a focus. Everyone digs in and does their best. It’s pretty heart-wrenching at times. You have to bite your lip and offer support. I’m not as good at that as the more experienced people.

Some people moan about the quality of the food. The biggest problem is that, because you can’t do fresh stuff, the quality isn’t great. Liberty is trying to get people to donate dried herbs and spices so they can be added to stews. But please, no tins of beans. We’ve got cupboards of them.

‘People can request items – if you are in food poverty, you still have preferences’ ... Kelli Kennedy. Photograph: Linda Nylind/Guardian

Kelli Kennedy, 24

Oasis food bank, London

For my MA, I researched food insecurity. I had no intention, when I came to the UK from California, to focus on that. But I read a lot of articles about food banks.

After my degree, I felt compelled to do something. On my first day, I sat with the food bank users while they waited for their parcels. People can request items – whether they prefer tea or coffee, are vegetarian or don’t have a stove. If you are in food poverty, you still have preferences.

I’ve been surprised by how open people are. Even if their stories are sad, it makes me feel more connected. When I talk to immigrants, it makes me conscious of the fact that, because of my visa, I am not eligible for benefits, either. I, too, would have to rely on my community. It’s only recently that I’ve felt London is the place I call home.

‘For a toothbrush to be considered a treat was unfathomable to me’ ... Lizzy Hall. Photograph: Martin Godwin/Guardian

Lizzy Hall, 49

The Hygiene Bank, nationwide

I didn’t plan to set up the Hygiene Bank. In August, I sent a WhatsApp to some friends saying I was collecting toiletries for food banks. They shared it. I started getting messages saying: “I hear you’re collecting …” My partner has a shoe shop in Sevenoaks, Kent, so people dropped donations in. Then they said: “Have you got anywhere apart from the shoe shop? Have you got anywhere apart from Sevenoaks?” Four months on, we have 65 projects nationally and have provided 6.3 tonnes of essential toiletries.

On my first visit to a food bank, a woman walked in with two children in school uniform and said: ‘Ooh, shall we get a toothbrush?!’ For these things to be considered treats was unfathomable to me, but they can change the world for one person. Who can present their best self if they aren’t feeling good? It’s isolating, humiliating. These are the words I hear all the time. If we can remove this one symptom of poverty – hygiene poverty – people can integrate. They can go to school, go to that interview.

I met a woman who was living in a hostel with two children, getting food from a food bank. She had been married, had a home. Then her husband died unexpectedly – as did mine, seven years ago. Everything collapsed in my life, but my finances didn’t. I thought: “Imagine trying to deal with that on top of the grief.” I was left comfortable, which means I have time to do this. Part of me thinks my whole life has led me to this.

Jewel Ahumibe. Photograph: Fabio De Paola/The Guardian

Jewel Ahumibe, 68

Sparkhill food bank, Birmingham

When the food bank started, my husband and I were invited to the opening. This is supposed to be a rich country. But I feel blessed to be able to help. I make sure the area is nice for the clients. You don’t rush, you let them take their time. I give them a hug. Some are crying. You say hello, introduce yourself, offer a drink. We say: have a look in the bag. If there is an item you don’t like, we will try to swap it.

You have to be ever so careful. We’re giving them pasta, but can they cook it? They might not have the money for electricity or gas. Maybe one of the group might bring along bread. A loaf of bread is a special thing. You haven’t got to cook it. You can just eat.

‘Sometimes I see people I’ve grown up with and think how quickly life can change’ ... Yunus Khalifa. Photograph: Andrew Fox/The Guardian

Yunus Khalifa, 30

Anesis North Point church food bank, Coventry

I volunteer with Penny Appeal, which organises biryanis for the food bank. We distribute about 150 of them. They are almost always gone.

I try to make sure we’re being joyful and put a smile on someone else’s face. You don’t talk to them like “a homeless person”, you just talk to them like a person. Sometimes I see people I’ve grown up with, gone to school with, and think how quickly life can change.

The church that organises it gives a little talk before they distribute the food. A little prayer in Jesus’s name. Faith is a part of it. Being a Muslim, I’ve got nothing against this; we follow Jesus as well as Muhammad.

My wife is from India. She came over here two years ago and had this image of England as having no poverty. When I expose her to stuff like this, it helps her to understand. You can’t do as much as you want to do, but even a small action gives back to a community. Spiritually, it helps me, it strengthens me.

‘People are so grateful for jam’ ... Joyce Leggate. Photograph: Murdo MacLeod/Guardian

Joyce Leggate, 66

Kirkcaldy food bank, Fife

I retired after 40 years in the NHS, working as a midwife with drug users and people who experienced deprivation. I could see the effects of not having money, not having a break in life.

A number of people I worked with during their pregnancy come to the food bank, so I get quite a lot of cuddles. Some of the babies are mums themselves now. The way I think is: if you can do something to help, why wouldn’t you?

Kirkcaldy is an area of high unemployment. There are a lot of second- and third-generation unemployed families. Last month, we issued nearly 1,000 food parcels. The public in Kirkcaldy is so generous.

Anything that is a bit different is appreciated. People are so grateful for jam. Just now, we are getting packets of shortbread. It’s humbling to be able to make somebody’s day that wee bit better.

Mike Scott. Photograph: Asadour Guzelian

Mike Scott, 54

The Goodwin Pantry, Hull

We call it a food pantry; the difference between us and a food bank is that we charge a fee of £3. There was a lot of consultation with single parents and people who are these days referred to as “the working poor” (which is not a phrase I like). We charge so that people feel they can maintain their dignity.

The pantry is based on the Great Thornton estate. It’s like a shop. We’ve got fresh items – leeks, mangoes, onions, tangerines. We’ve got ambient food, tinned food, frozen food. We’ve got people making friends. When we get to know attendees, we can dig a bit deeper, find out what the issues are and hopefully develop a wraparound project. Every few months, we have cooking demonstrations.

We’ve got about 170 members. We get new ones every week, which to my mind is very alarming, given the increasing numbers of millionaires. Many years ago, I worked for a private business and the boss was a millionaire. I worked my backside off for peanuts. I was 29 when I went to university to study social work. It just sits with my values. I enjoy my work immensely, but I’ve never seen it as bad as this in terms of the rank poverty.

‘The first thing I noticed when I moved here was all the BMWs and Audis’ ... Eileen Whitehorn. Photograph: Graeme Robertson/Guardian

Eileen Whitehorn, 71

Wallingford emergency food bank, Oxfordshire

This is an affluent area. I’m from the north and the first thing I noticed was all the BMWs and Audis here.

The senior school has what they call a links worker. One pupil had turned up at school and he hadn’t showered because he had no running hot water. The links worker knew I was attached to a church and asked if we could help, so we did a hamper for the family. Then I emailed the council to say that it was appalling that a mum was living in those conditions. Eventually, they got social housing.

A friend of mine and I were talking about it and we decided to start a food bank in Wallingford. That was eight years ago – she’s now our manager.

The universal credit [rollout] has been appalling. One guy was in hospital; he had had a stroke. He rang up and left a message to explain and they sanctioned him. It took nearly nine months to sort out. He had a young family. You can’t judge people till you know their circumstances.

I grew up near Halifax in a very poor home. My dad liked his drink. We didn’t eat. The three eldest worked, so they got fed. But the three youngest didn’t. Mum would send us to the shop to get food on credit. I’m not complaining. I’ve seen a lot of life. But I never expected in the 21st century that I would be working in a food bank.