A True Tale of Argentine Life

The Homeless, my Neighbours

I have lived in the downtown area, on the widest avenue in the world - as we like to put it - for many years. Even though during the day the streets of this part of the city seem to portray overpopulation perfectly well, once the clock strikes 6 pm, the apparent city dwellers flee back to their own neighbourhoods and the scenery changes altoghether. It all turns into a sketchy area. The building entrances that thousands of white-collar workers stride on for hours become the home of families seeking shelter for the night. The boxes that contain the diet cookies secretaries eat at their desks from 9 to 5 become the mattresses and covers of lonely men whose lives fit into a couple of plastic bags. The garbage from Mc Donalds is welcomed by small crowds who fill their mouths with leftover fries and burgers.

The structural problems that have affected our country for decades, have pushed much of its population from rural into urban areas. The dream of a decent job as well as higher standards of living attract tons of people who arrive in big cities, especially BA, with no clear employment prospects. Sadly enough, the city you can see in a postcard has little to do with the hostile cash-demanding reality these people are usually faced with. Many of them end up living in shanty towns, a squat or even in the streets.

As I walk my dogs early in the morning, I see many of these homeless people slowly get up, gather their belongings and start off their day. They usually stay in the same place for a couple of days, weeks or even months. ‘Good morning. How are you doing today?’ I always greet them. ‘Good, ma’am. Nice day, isn’t it?’, this middle-aged man answers as he walks towards his partner, carrying a flask with hot water to make some mate. Little chats like this take place repeatedly every morning. I see a young boy slip into a white pinafore, produce a backpack from under a blanket and kiss his Mum goodbye as she tidies up her stuff.

The Government has failed to tackle this problem successfully. The implemented policies have not gone beyond mere assistencialism. In the city of BA there are a couple of places where the less-privileged can stay overnight. Homeless men have to stand in a queue for hours to get the chance to be given a warm meal and a clean bed in the miserably cold “Parador Retiro” - a huge shelter made of concrete and corrugated iron the City Council runs. In the case of women, there is another facility. Rather than these places, a great number of families prefer to spend the night in the street, but together.

Poverty is so overwhelming that ordinary people like me feel powerless. I feel ridiculous and hypocritical as my biggest accomplishment is to greet them. However, making the homeless feel visible in terms of their condition of human beings seems basic to me and, perhaps, significant. ‘Ma’am, ma’am...” a man shouts as he runs towards me, I recognise his face, one of my homeless neighbours. My dog barks madly at him. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to say goodbye to you. Yes, I’ve got landed a job as a builder and I can afford a little room in a hotel so, I won’t be around any more... I just wanted to thank you because you always had a word for me and my friends. Most people look away as they walk past. They accuse us of being lazy drunkards. I came especially to say goodbye, I know you always walk your dogs at this time. Thanks...’

AWRs