Eviction - versus - Beginning
Eviction - versus - Beginning
My hand is in hers. Something that feels so safe and comfortable. What causes alarm, however, is seeing the riot police making way. Then the mounted police come into view. And it takes me a split second to realise: They are charging at us!
Right before me, rows of Punks start to turn as the horses come galloping towards us.
Instinct kicks in and I turn to run as well. And in order to do that, I have to let go of the one person I hold most dear.
This is done, however, in sheer panic; otherwise I would never let the hand go, of the girl that I love.
Way sooner than expected a horse tramples on the place where we stood seconds ago.
The magnificent beast is trampling about and way more frightening than I ever could have held for possible. Horses usually seem so friendly. This one doesn’t.
This however is not the time to freeze up. I need to flee!
So I scramble to get away. Not only from the galloping horses which are trained for this, but for the advancing police squad as well.
It is well known they lash out harder when there are no journalists recording.
No cameras taking pictures, or shooting film, means the police don’t hold back their anger.
And they show their anger with their batons and like to beat up any Punks, or what they otherwise call troublemakers, scum or delinquents.
And I know the camera crew had left. They were already content with filming the arrest of Punks who got evicted from the building.
Nathanael was arrested at that point. Policemen hauled him kicking and screaming to their van. I had seen how his head was bleeding heavily.
That had seemed the most violent part of it. Police men opening the gate to this old factory that had been abandoned for years.
Until Punks squatted it to live there, have an art gallery and a stage to have Punk bands perform.
How sinful, they say, we are. Only because we actually use the factory, that was forgotten by our rotten society and left to pauperize.
The iron gate locked with chains was easily cut open and then the law came down onto those barricading the entrance.
Of course Nathanael was there at the front. Me, and his sister Neha, had been a floor above hanging out of a window. We had seen how the police used their hardened sticks relentlessly and repetitively.
After they had broken through we had left through a side window and a group of this punk-stronghold had gathered again in the side street.
By that time stones and piece of pavement had already been flung towards those paid law enforcers.
By that time they had dragged many of us out of the building and had arrested the most troublesome.
This stronghold called Bulwark, our current home, held roughly four hundred Punks. Now most were scattered or arrested.
So with the most defiant ones hauled away and put in the vans, plus a few scattered, there still was about 100 of us left. About a hundred that now had gathered to block the way of the demolition machine.
The consensus is that most of the building is emptied. And that we were left to block their way was considered an inconvenience.
This led to a silence before the storm. Us, the Punks, on one side of the street; the riot police on the other side. Faceless, machine-like toy men they seem to be.
Helmet, shield, stick boots size 45...all the same. All uncaring and violent.
It became a boring stalemate. And the journalists left, ever so certain that they have the best of this eviction is caught on film.
This silence before the storm, was broken by a piece of pavement, and then another.
They hit the toy men or their armour-plated wagons.
Until...the squad split, and the horses ensued. That was when I lost Neha in the chaos we Punks boast about.
But I don’t want to lose Neha. I love her.
“Nehaaa!” I scream.
From somewhere in this turmoil I hear her scream my name “Roosje! Roos where are you?!”
... How did it ever come to this?
~ Beginning ~
To understand that, we have to go back to the beginning.The beginning, when I dressed according to the trends that were so popular.Many months ago I was just plain Roosje.
And this is the day I stand at the doorstep of my aunt Eva.
“Hello Aunt, I am so glad you can take me in.”
“Come on up Roosje.”
My aunt lives on the second stock in this big city. Whereas I have come from a little village in the countryside. “How is your father holding up?”
She asks this question as I climb the stairs to her apartment.
“Not too well, to be honest.”
“No, I imagine he wouldn’t. With him losing his job, now that the factory is closed.”
“He doesn’t say anything about it. But he is very worried and probably scared that he won’t find another job. Him being nearly fifty.”
“That is why I am here, to ease my parents’ burden and find a job of my own. But with the factory closed there is no job vacancy at all near the village. So I’m hoping I can find one in the city.”
“I do see job vacancies sometimes and I will give you the newspaper each day for the adverts in there.”
“Oh aunt, your support means so much to me.”
“Gladly given, Roosje but I must warn you. I can only let you stay for two months. Because Frank will return from his study trip by then, and I want everything proper before he does.”
Frank is my nephew, and I will be sleeping on his bed.
“Don’t touch anything in his room.”
“I won’t aunt, I promise.”
“And I do expect you to chip in a bit. Food costs money.”
“I have my welfare for that and some savings, till I land a job, I will address that.”
“I am grateful for the chance you give, by letting me stay, Aunt Eva,” I add.
That is so true. For had I stayed with my parents in the country side, the chances of landing a job would be next to nothing.
“Yes well. Be a good girl and pay each Friday,” Says my aunt a bit uncomfortable.
“Oh, and don’t bring anyone over.”
“Of course not.” It is not that I know anyone, other than my aunt herself, in this big city.
And this city is big ...it is overwhelming the first week. Each day I scan the paper for job vacancies and then after breakfast I go to the job centre. But just getting there means taking a bus, or a long walk.
Since I don’t have many savings it becomes a healthy walk each day. Besides those walks mean the day doesn’t drag out in utter boredom.
It takes a few days to find the fastest route, not only to the job centre, but the housing institutions. I try to apply to each and everyone but they all say the waiting list to rent a room could take 3-5 years!
After a week I have some pinpoints to figure out where I am. And even then I have to ask for directions sometimes. But the church towers give me a incline of where what is.
And as I walk around, I see much of the city in ruin or neglect. I wonder why they don’t tear those buildings down. Or fix them up so people could live in them. Some are neglected but with a bit of work one could still live in that building.
Way to go Roos, you don’t have money to pay a bus and here you are thinking someone should invest large sums of money in buildings..
My mind sighs and admits; You just want a room of your own.
With that thought I end up before the offers of rooms at a housing cooperation. I see they have a room for the triple price which I could afford and sigh. A girl standing next to me is also looking.
“Expensive that one, isn’t it?”
“Who could afford that?”
“I couldn’t, not alone,” She says back. “But perhaps together?...” She opts.
“Share the room and the rent? But we just met!”
“I know, and I wouldn’t suggest it, if it wasn’t for a young man asking me that an hour ago.”
“Of course I said no to him. I mean, I would not start living with a strange guy. But seeing you are a girl…”
I still look utterly surprised at her. A total stranger who offers to split room and rent.
“I don’t even know your name”
“It is Lenie.”
Automatically I introduce myself. “I am Roosje.”
“What do you say, shall we apply?” She asks desperately. All of a sudden I feel courageous.
“Alright Lenie, lets do this. ”
She smiles broadly at me and gestures at the door. Once we are in we tell the woman at the reception that we are interested in the room with the triple price.
She appoints us to forms to fill out and twenty minutes later we are at a desk explaining things.
“We would like to rent that room together.”
“Two girls together?” Asks the desk man.
“We are friends!” I bring out quickly. And kick myself because I should have said that we are distant family or something.
That we have just met is beside the point. We became friends when we introduced ourselves, I guess.
“Alright, alright. Before we talk about renting, it cost each of you 2O gulden to be registered. Only then can we get you in contact with the room owner.”
Lenie and I exchange a look. That is a lot of money. On the other hand it is only a one time payment and needed to get the room.
“Alright.” I say. “I have that amount if you accept small change.” Says Lenie. The clerk takes the cash, writes a receipt for us, and notes in his administration that we paid.
More forms to sign. We don’t care now. If it gets us the room, we will sign anything!
“So that is in order. Now about the room. There are already some interested people before you. If those persons decline, you’ll have the room. And the first payment of rent should be given in advance with a down payment of 300 gulden warranty.”
“What?!” I exclaim harder than intended. Lenie looks shocked, the clerk is appalled by my outburst.
“That is how it goes.” He states firmly. Now that we have paid our entree fee, he no longer is patient. Rather annoyed even.
He now says, “We will call if the others have declined. If you have no other questions for me... I have some matters to attend.”
“Wait a minute. Aren’t there other rooms available for us?” I ask.
“Not at the moment. Each day you can see in the window what is up for rent. Now that you are registered you can react to each room.” And that is it. With those words we are sent back out into the street.
Disappointed we stand on the sidewalk in front of this house corporation with its extreme prices.
“That down payment… I cannot afford that.”
“Once I land a job perhaps.”
“Good luck finding one. I have sent out so many letters of applications that has cost me a small fortune in stamps,” Says Lenie.
“ I know that one.”
“What job are you looking for?”
She replies, “I studied accountancy but there isn’t any work to get in that branch.”
“I have studied education and pedagogy. But there isn’t a teaching job in sight, either.” I sigh.
“Without a job, getting a room to rent is a hell. I can nearly understand why some squat a house. If it wasn’t for hearing stories about no water nor privacy, I would consider it.”
What Lenie says makes me think.
Would I consider it? Entering a building owned by someone and claiming it as your own, thus breaking the law?
I hear myself ask “How does one do that? Squatting a house?” Lenie looks shocked at me even though she just said she would consider it.
Then she mumbles “I don’t know. Those of the squatters’ movement come together at places like the Wry. But it is scum that walks in there.”
“What is the Wry?” I ask.
~
