Sleeping rough in paradise

Last weekâs fire at a derelict Pembroke house ÷ believed to have been occupied by a vagrant family ÷ left police and fire crews wondering whether or not a six-month-old baby had been engulfed in the flames.

The demolition of derelict housing by Government in recent years has left homeless people with far fewer places to squat. And the Bermuda Housing Corporation (BHC) plans to convert as many as 80 vacant and derelict buildings into inexpensive homes by the end of 2000.

Because of the dwindling number of derelict buildings, some of Bermudaâs homeless seek out bus shelters, abandoned cars ÷ even cemeteries. In St. Johnâs Cemetery, the islandâs destitute are known to sleep alongside tombstones; a grim enactment of their sad plight.

There are other places to find shelter for a few nights, weeks or months: Vacant structures are still found nestled in both well-to-do and rundown neighbourhoods.

On Union and Dundonald Street, a three-storey house which boasts historical preservation status is a reported ãstomping groundä for the neighbourhoodâs down-and-outs. Though boarded up on numerous occasions ÷ the last after a blaze broke out in the building, vagrants still sneak in through back windows after boring holes into the sheets of plywood. One area resident claims it continues to be used as a ãshooting galleryä for drug addicts.

On Parsonâs Road behind a recently evacuated house, an elderly man camps out in a dilapidated shed, beyond anyoneâs sight. Within the wild brush, his personal belongings including a weekâs worth of clothing, soup bowls and a couple of lawn chairs.

Fern Wade, director of Hands of Love, a non-profit organization set up to support the homeless, routinely ventures into such areas. She, along with the groupsâ 20 volunteers, deliver blankets and canned food to the destitute in Bermuda. What started with small breakfasts served along Court Street became larger lunches and then dinners, she says.

Ms. Wade describes living conditions in derelict housing as ãpitiful.ä Rotted floor boards in most places are littered with drug paraphernalia, liquor bottles, cigarette butts and dog-eared mattresses. She is worried the floor may give out from below or the ceiling may drop from above at anytime. Also, poorly positioned candles present a fire hazard, she says.

Even in broad daylight, the buildings are engulfed in darkness; slim shafts of light from crevices in the ceiling, floors and boarded-up windows offering the only relief. It is easy to picture their desperate occupants, stumbling desperately around their decrepit quarters, lonely and hungry.

But they make it their home, Ms. Wade says, recalling the sight of televisions and toasters piled in the corner ÷ even in the absence of electricity. And knick-knacks, including Christmas stockings are nailed to decaying walls with care. ãThatâs the strangest thing Iâve ever seen.ä

The large Ordnance Island Building in St.Georgeâs serves as a makeshift, unofficial home for up to 10 people on three floors. The staircase leading up to several bedrooms is riddled with holes. The rickety structure, does not, however, deter squatters like Jake, 56, who has been living in the building for several weeks. Jake, who is married, previously lived with his sister whose house was ãovercrowdedä with children.

He says his new home is considerably more ãpeacefulä and an ideal place for ãolder fellas.ä Jake (not his real name) bathes in an adjoining room with buckets of water. In another room, he pins up washed clothing on a line.

ãIt may be derelict, but I donât mind. Hey, itâs more comfortable than where I used to be,ä Jake insists, comparing his current home to the place he shared with his relatives. Jake maintains his position with Governmentâs Works and Engineering Department, leaving first thing in the morning and returning home at sunset. ãWeâre not all down and out,ä he says.

Jakeâs housemate Steve has been living in the building since it was originally abandoned a decade ago.

ãThey bounded up the doors and windows, but they canât keep me out,ä he says, pointing to a length of rope stretching from the second floor ÷ his means of entering and exiting the building. The 45-year-old man confidently admits he always ãfinds a way in.ä

Neither man intends to stay in these surroundings forever. But for now, they are complacent about their chosen place of residence, ãmaking doä until they decide to leave or are forced to move out.

The owners and tenants of properties close to buildings used by vagrants typically turn a blind eye so long they are not bothered by it, Ms. Wade says.

When furtive squatting escalates into drug traffic and other lawlessness, however, neighbours lose their sympathy.

Tills Hill resident, Umar Al-Khattab, faces what used to be both a ãcrack house and whore houseä across from his home. He took it upon himself to board up the decrepit dwelling of a vagrant couple, two years ago.

And just next door, Mr. Al-Khattab recently drove out known drug peddlers and prostitutes with a baseball bat. The owner, in return, allowed him to rebuild and use the property rent-free. The nearly renovated second floor is now a Dojo, where Mr. Al-Khattab teaches martial arts to local youths.

ãI still keep my eye on them (vagrants) but they find ways to climb up walls and jump through windows,ä he says. ãThe police canât do anything about it because as soon as they move them out, they come back again.ä

Ms. Wade agrees evictions either by landowners or the police are not the solution. The root of the problem is not being addressed, she says: The dearth of affordable housing and the need for better over night facilities, especially for single males.

ãThey move from place to place, chased out of one area only to occupy another. They will continue to squat anywhere they can find.ä

[[In-content Ad]]