By Naima Chowdhury
Twenty Years Ago
I remember the building looking like a church. There were intake clerks at the reception desks dressed like nuns. My sister was a baby, and I was only about four years old myself. Most of all, I remember feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t fully understand the conversations around me — I wasn’t yet fluent in English. I remember waiting in line to get my height checked, the buzz of a busy office surrounding me, and Ammu, my mother, searching for help to understand what was happening.
This was the WIC clinic.
Ammu was around my age now, in her mid-twenties, maybe even younger. She was navigating this system with two young children and limited resources. I remember the awkwardness of grocery store trips when we used WIC vouchers. At the mercy of teenage cashiers who didn’t understand the process, someone always had to be called to help, holding up the line. I remember the discomfort my mom faced.
At four, I didn’t understand the complexities of WIC; I only knew it had something to do with food and that there were strict rules about what we could buy. Ammu would sometimes get confused trying to figure out which variations of items were approved. To me, it seemed like a frustrating scavenger hunt .
My dad worked nights at the restaurant behind our apartment complex. Without a car, he walked to work every night while we walked to the WIC office. Those walks with Ammu and my baby sister in her stroller are now fond memories, but they carry a quiet sadness. I think of Ammu’s determination to navigate a system that wasn’t built with her in mind.
The Other Side
Years later, when I started my first job in public health, I worked with populations who were beneficiaries of the same programs that helped raise me, including Medicaid and WIC. I vividly remember sitting in a meeting with WIC office stakeholders, feeling like I had crossed to “the other side.” However, what struck me most was that many of my colleagues had never lived the experiences they were working to address.
If I have children, it’s unlikely they will ever know the challenges of being a WIC baby. They won’t feel the quiet discomfort of standing in a grocery store line while everyone watches your mom try to make sense of the rules.
This realization deepened my commitment to projects like the Nutrition Navigator, a tool designed to make food access clearer and more accessible.
A Full-Circle Moment
A few months into my job at The Food Trust, I was tasked with mapping all the Philadelphia WIC offices for the Nutrition Navigator. I zoomed in and out of Google Maps, carefully entering latitude and longitude coordinates. As I worked, I thought of Ammu.
Twenty years ago, a resource like the Nutrition Navigator would have been a lifeline for her. A tool like this would have allowed her to visually locate community resources and navigate them with clarity.
I imagine Ammu getting excited about nutrition education classes or discovering community gardens where she could access fresh produce. Living in an apartment, we didn’t have the luxury of growing our own food, but a community garden could have been a game-changer. The Nutrition Navigator offers not just information but also opportunities to connect with others and build a sense of belonging in the community.
For immigrant families like ours, navigating WIC wasn’t just about food — it was about learning a new system in a new language in a place where we were still finding our footing. The Nutrition Navigator fills gaps that one-pager flyers and event calendars filled with addresses never could. It brings clarity, community and convenience to those who need it most.
Humanizing Food Access
It breaks my heart to look back on how Ammu had to navigate a system that was never designed for her. She faced discomfort, confusion, and perhaps even stigma for needing assistance when there should have been none to begin with. These challenges weren’t personal failures — they were symptoms of a broken system.
Tools like the Nutrition Navigator humanize the people who rely on these programs. They remind us that food access isn’t just about survival — it’s about dignity and empowerment.
Moving Forward
My work is a tribute to her strength and to families like ours. The Nutrition Navigator is more than a project — it’s a step toward a future where no one has to feel small, out of place, or unsure of how to get the help they need. We should all be able to find, afford and learn about the foods that support our health and bring us joy. Together, we can all contribute to a food system that works for everyone.