Home In The Daytime - But No Home At Night...

In a recent blog post I mentioned my newly re-covered ironing board. My blogfriend Frugally Challenged asked what became of the remainder of the circular tablecloth which I had used for the previous cover. 
There was a small amount left, so yesterday afternoon I made another doll's dress for 'Lucy'. I cut it very carefully to make use of the curved hem and the border print. 
I think it has worked well.
I'm making clothes for two American Girl Dolls now, so I also produced two little tops using a piece of striped shirting fabric someone gave me. They have elasticated necklines and cuffs, and fasten down the back with Velcro.
I have been incredibly busy with a rather special sewing project recently, so spending an afternoon with the Sewing machine was a pleasant diversion. 
Last night was something completely different altogether. 
Our youth group at church have been thinking about the problems of refugees and they did a [short] charity sponsored walk round the area in the early evening. When they got back to the church car park, it was quite dark. They found a refugee lying huddled in a sleeping bag, under a tarpaulin strung between two trees. They had the chance to ask questions and discuss how it must feel.
I was playing the part of the refugee, and dressed in my brother's ancient NHS donkey jacket, my SILs 1980s dungarees [normally worn for painting] and an old long blonde wig. I wasn't recognised [except by a couple of very bright teenagers who know me quite well] 

Bob's photos taken in the dark didn't come out very satisfactorily. Interestingly I walked to church through the town. I noticed people looked at me, but if I caught their eye, then they immediately looked away. I sat down at a bus stop, and the woman at the other end of the seat [who had been looking all round at things before I got there] turned away and moved up to the other end of the bench. That didn't feel pleasant.
Once at the church, I was so tired I actually fell asleep lying on the ground. So when the kids came back, and stood round shining their torches and whispering, I was genuinely startled.
If I could feel uneasy over just a short time like that, in the town where I live, and in the grounds of my own church, what must it be like for genuine refugees wandering alone in search of safety and shelter?