landlords and refugees
It's terrible how some landlords behave with refugees. I rented a room in a neighborhood of Madrid, very cheap, what I could afford; also very small, barely fit with my few things. Still, I hung on there out of necessity. I put the only photo I have of my children on the bedside table, an image in which they are seen in a suit, white shirt and a wonderful smile, so that I can talk to them before going to sleep and start each day seeing them, because they are my only hope.. Sometimes I think of the day we last saw each other and I start to cry.. I can't help it.
It happened one day that I was very sad, that I felt very bad. Four refugees lived in that house and I had had an argument with one of my companions. She complained to our landlady, who told me I had to leave before the end of June.. I was sick, I gave her all possible explanations, and she replied that, despite being a woman and understanding my drama, and also despite knowing that she was sick because “with that face you can't lie”, she maintained her demand.
I felt more and more dizzy and began to vomit, I had to go to the hospital, where I was admitted. My landlady called me saying that I had to leave the house and that I was going to throw away my things, to which I replied by WhatsApp that I was in the hospital, that no one should enter my room and that, when I returned, we would talk.
After twelve days I came home from the hospital, it was 5 pm and I was extremely tired. She called me saying that I had to leave at 20. As much as I told him that I couldn't, that he had nowhere to go, he didn't agree to listen to me.. The next day I had to leave the house, when I returned I found that my key did not work. “Yes, I changed the lock,” he told me over the phone, “you can't get in.” He told me that he had taken my things out and had them in his car to throw them in the street.
I called the police, who came, and they took her away. At that moment it began to rain, a heavy rain that did not stop. My stuff got soaked; I protected the photo of my children under my coat. I cried thinking that I didn't care if I lost everything, but not the only photo I have of my children. I was very disappointed, I felt poor and helpless, a homeless immigrant without a country.
The sun was going down, it was getting dark. A friend came to help me and I saw him arrive like an angel sent by God to help me.. “Don't worry, I'm with you, I'll take you to my house and we'll dry your things. You can sleep peacefully there and tomorrow we will look for another accommodation,” he told me.. How I thank you!
My computer had crashed, just like my documents. my clothes were wet. I spent the whole night wondering where I could go. The next morning Magis came to take me to his house, he prepared a room to take care of me, because I had just come out of the hospital. When he asked me how I was doing, I started crying and told him what my landlady had done the day before. He takes care of me like a daughter and I will always be grateful. I told my mother, “mom, Magis takes care of me more than you.” I stayed at his house for two weeks, he bought me medicine and helped me find a home.
At the moment I live, very quiet, with a journalist in her house with a garden. From my room there is a wonderful view. I have denounced my landlady, although I still have no news about it. This is life. I'm lucky, I have many people who care about me, friends I can trust, who don't leave me alone when I have a problem. I always think of the refugees who have no one on their side, who live on the streets. And in all those people who abuse people who are in need. We are refugees and we have rights. We are humans.