Moving day (stories)
The big move is over. Haus Haidehof is now one for the history books (of how Austria took in refugees from Ukraine). It was a cold, wet, long hard day. Thank goodness for teamwork and volunteers.
I first arrived on Thursday evening (for context please read this). I found a wonderful group of volunteers and a resident I had met long ago, last summer. She (I am going to share these stories on a no-name basis) is tiny, with a short brunette bob, about forty, from Poltava, and in a wheelchair. Last summer, she complained how much weight she had lost eating the food at Haidehof, and that Austrian doctors had given her pills, but what she really needed was better nutrition. On Thursday evening, she bore a smile from ear to ear: she and her new boyfriend (they met at Haidehof!) were moving, together, to a dorm in Vienna’s 16th district. They were thrilled to have been given a decent new housing assignment.
As the men packed up my car (Ukrainian men do not let women lift things in their presence, for which I was very grateful), her new boyfriend began to tell me his own story, which is so bonkers it could be a movie. He is slim, also about forty, from Odesa, and worked as a commercial sailor on cargo ships. When Russia invaded Ukraine, he was somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea headed for Morocco. The captain let the Ukrainian crew buy local SIM-cards and you can imagine the atmosphere as a bunch of husbands and fathers tried to figure out if their loved ones were safe, trapped in the middle of the ocean themselves. He somehow boards a plane to Thailand (details murky), experiences something like a heart attack, the plane makes an emergency landing in Vienna, and next thing he knows he wakes up in a hospital in Austria with $36 in his pocket and the police asking him if he would like to declare asylum. He agrees. Once recovered, he is sent first to Stadion (Train of Hope) and then to Haidehof where he meets her, and over time, they fall in love and become a couple.
It takes two normal sized cars to move them and all their belongings. She is nervous about a lamp that does not fit. I cannot understand why she would want to take an old ugly brown floor lamp, but then I look around and see piles and piles of boxes and IKEA bags (Vienna Mission 4 Ukraine provided 500 IKEA bags for dorm residents for packing!) and I realise that traumatised people who have fled war often comfort themselves by surrounding themselves with whatever “stuff” they can get their hands on. The lead volunteer, an incredible woman named Svetlana (the world should know its heroes) who speaks four languages fluently, explained to one of the drivers: “some of these people lost their homes, what is in those boxes and bags is all they have in this world, so we aren’t going to ask why so much, why so heavy…we just help them move it all.”
I did say the lamp would have to be left behind. That thankfully wasn’t a drama.
We set off for the 16th district, but I make a stop at a McDonalds drive-through on the way. No sense moving on an empty stomach, I argued. They were nervous at first, worried I might expect them to pay. They relaxed when I explained it is my treat. She told me she was only once at the McDonalds — last summer, when I gave her a €10 card. Back then I had some from my volunteering at the train station.
As we drove our way through the city center in rush-hour traffic, they ooed and awed at all the beautiful buildings lining Vienna’s historic streets. They asked which museum was which, and he mentioned casually he had never been to the opera. Not in Odesa, either. She chimed in how much she would like to go to the opera. She too has never been. “But then I would have to buy a dress!” she said and laughed. Their optimism was contagious. I explained about the cheap “standing” tickets which maybe could get them in and given her wheelchair, maybe they would even be moved to better seats. He asked me questions about his own status, and I explained the rules have now been challenged. Initially, Austria did not issue blue cards to Ukrainians who were not in Ukraine on February 24, but a recent court case challenged this, and the court ruled in favor of the challenger. I advised him to talk to the NGOs and their lawyers. Maybe he could switch his status from asylum-seeker to blue card holder. Maybe.
We arrive at a big socialist-looking block at the end of a busy, bustling neighbourhood, and the couple were so happy you would think I had brought them to live in Buckingham Palace. He called her “solnechka”, little sunshine, and quickly unpacked everything. I wished them all the best, and drove off, grateful to experience at least one happy ending. To think that two Ukrainians managed to find love even in the dreaded Haidehof — just remarkable. I heard so many complaints from that address over the past year that I only associate it with pain. But many residents made lasting friendships and found support in their fellow countrymen and women they met there. The social element of group housing should not be overlooked. I often make this mistake. But the fact is there are many very poor people living in Ukraine, and some of those who managed to come to Europe are in no way capable of managing an independent life here — they need some kind of oversight. They need a staff on duty. This was ingrained again into me on Friday.
On Friday morning, I woke up and looked out the window with dread: pouring rain and +3C. A miserable, cold, very wet day. I arrived at Haidehof and reported to Svetlana, who arrived on site for the first time last Monday and since then had set up shop and essentially helped the NGO on site coordinate the entire move-out process, making sure residents were not falling through the cracks. Some did fall through the cracks, in that they did not receive permanent housing in Vienna as promised, but this is no fault of Svetlana’s. She fought for every one of them. The housing assignments are mysteriously produced through a back and forth that involves several NGOs and the city of Vienna and I still cannot tell you who makes the final decision. I fear, no one. And for this reason, the process is about as inefficient as one can imagine, when there are twelve chefs in the kitchen and no head chef. Again, I have no direct knowledge, this is what it felt like to me observing the process from afar. I digress.
Svetlana tells me a grandmother and her nine year-old granddaughter need to report to their new housing by 10am. It is in the 21st district, the entire opposite end of Vienna. I introduce myself as their driver. The grandmother is at first not exactly thrilled to see me. They have loads of bags and suitcases. We load up as much as possible, and I put the two of them in my car, and another volunteer packs up his car with the rest of their stuff. Even the laundry drying rack.
We start driving and I realise we have no time for a McDonalds stop so I do not offer — grandmother is very nervous that we arrive on time. She has no idea what awaits her, only an address. She asks me my nationality. I reply. Then she looks at me, and says, “are you Tanja Maier?”, yes, I reply. The tone changes like night to day. She apologies for not having immediately recongized me. It turns out I helped them with a card last fall, and also helped her granddaughter receive a school placement. They arrived in August from Nikopol. Her son is raising his two kids alone. She came with the youngest; he stayed behind with the 15 year-old older brother. In September, there was a point when the city of Vienna asked us volunteers for a list of kids living in Haidehof (yes, really) and through that process, the kids finally got to attend school. The granddaughter loves her third grade class; she has a very kind Serbian-Austrian teacher who understands the Ukrainian kids due to the similarity of the languages. But as we drive all the way to the very other end of Vienna, I realise a commute to school for the rest of the academic year would be next to impossible, easily 1.5 to 2 hours one way on public transport. I gently explain this to grandmother.
We arrive in Strebersdorf (practically Lower Austria) to a low-rise apartment building owned by the city of Vienna. This is the first I have seen of a Ukrainian family being assigned this social housing usually reserved for permanent residents of Austria who wait years on waiting lists for affordable rent apartments. There is no elevator. A Ukrainian woman opens the door to a small apartment on the second floor. She has two teenage sons. They are at school. There is a bedroom with a simple bunk-bed and the thinest of IKEA mattresses waiting for grandmother and grandaughter, along with a cupboard and a desk.
I don’t want to be nosy but I cannot understand how five people will fit in this apartment.
Grandmother takes it in stride and the three of us go back to the cars to carry all the luggage. Granddaughter waits quietly in the room. I think about how many moves this little girl has endured in her young life so far. We carry all the bags. They are so unbelievable heavy. I ask, what is inside? Grandmother explains: she made friends with a social worker, also from Serbia. He gave her clothes for her granddaughter for the next ten years. She couldn’t bear to turn him down. It is a mental thing, I am sure. Clinging to stuff to give yourself comfort, even when that stuff makes your life more difficult. There is nowhere to put half the things in that bedroom.
I wish all the ladies good luck. Grandmother gives me a huge hug like she has known me forever. I arrive back by at the dorm by 11am, but nothing is happening. Svetlana explains: the residents want to eat lunch here, and will only be ready to go at 2pm. There is a group of a dozen residents who for whatever reason (I really don’t know the real answer, other than some of them have problems with their paperwork because they were in bad housing in Lower Austria they ran away from, and now Vienna doesn’t see them as Vienna’s problem to reassign housing to, as they “belong” to Lower Austria, as I understand it) will be sent to the arrival center (!). But the arrival center is not a long-term solution. It is sleeping on cots in group rooms and shower in a container in the courtyard outside. There isn’t even a lift at the entrance. There is hope that from the arrival center the dozen can be sent to another temporary hostel in the 13th district, but this too is not a permanent solution.
I shake my head in utter disbelief. The authorities (if in a perfect world there was someone actually in charge) had TWO MONTHS since they announced the decision to close this dorm to find suitable housing for all residents, knowing who is old, sick, handicapped, has a small baby, etc. But once again this stupid federal system in an already small country gets in the way. Ukrainians find themselves trapped in a game of ping pong between federal states who want to pass responsibility to the other. The same problem since day one: no single person or body takes ultimate responsibility, which is exactly what you need in a crisis, especially when dealing with vulnerable people.
I am asked to check on room 9. They are to be my “customers”. A very old lady and her daughter. I am to drive them to the arrival center, beg for an assignment to the 13th district hostel, and drive them there. They don’t have much luggage, I am told.
I go to the room and knock on the door. A very old lady with white hair in a bun opens it, but just a crack. She is in her nightgown. She tells me her daughter is gone and she needs her daughter to come back and dress her. I head to the cafeteria to look for the daughter. I see about a dozen residents eating a last “supper”. I think about all the photos I was sent of what was marketed as “food” from this dorm over the past year. I find even being inside the building very emotional. It is a dark place for me. It feels even stranger with so many of the rooms now empty.
They send me to the 7th floor to check on a old Georgian man. He isn’t there, but I see the view from the top for the first time.
We wait half an hour and try again. I go with a group of male volunteers, all Ukrainian, most of them refugees themselves, including my group “admin” Vassily, and we manage to find the daughter who agrees to give us their six IKEA bags (very light; their worldly belongings include two plastic pots from plans and an egg carton), but says they need another half an hour to change. She isn’t totally coherent. I find myself complaining to Svetlana downstairs, “how could anyone look at this very old woman and her daughter who is not altogether with it and not place them in some kind of permanent housing, how can such an old woman who can barely walk without assistance be sent to sleep on a cot?!”. Svetlana nods in understanding but I know none of it is in her control. It is also not in the control of the staff on duty. They whole thing is a mystery, why some families received good housing assignments, while others were left in limbo. Everyone present is trying their best but the fates of these poor people are not in their hands.
Mother and daughter emerge about half an hour later. They are wearing old, worn coats and don’t look dressed warmly enough for the weather. The boys help the old lady to the car. She cannot walk on her own without support of an adult on each side. Vassily comes with us, for which I am so grateful because there is a lift at the arrival center but it is not near the street entrance and we need two people: one to talk to the authorities with the daughter, and the other to wait with the old mother in the car.
As we drive, I start to ask questions. It is difficult because daughter doesn’t articulate much or clearly, but this what I learned. Mother and daughter are from Zaporizhzhia. They have been in Austria nearly a year. They seem to have been passed from A to B to C to D. They were in Haidehof only two months. Before that, they had been in the arrival center, twice (!), where the granny had fallen down, twice (!), the had run away from terrible social housing in Lower Austria with a mean private landlord “who was very mean to us”, and had also even been in the hostel before. In short, these two women, who are clearly from that group of very poor people in Ukraine who live on meagre government pensions, have been passed from Austrian authority to authority for months.
I take a deep breath.
We arrive to the arrival center, a building I know well as I deliver Hofer cards several times a week there. I agree to wait in the car with the mother, and Vassily and daughter head inside. He texts me updates as the “negotiations” progress. They have to beg for an assignment to the hostel, explaining the old woman cannot sleep on a cot and survive the arrival center, again. I am alone with her in the car for 40 minutes, and she barely speaks. I am really worried about her health. She seems extremely frail. I try talking, and get half answers. Finally, they return, having successfully secured a “ticket” allowing us to drive directly to the hostel.
Once again, through the pouring rain, through half of Vienna all over again, to a leafy green neighbourhood not far from Schönbrunn Palace, we pull up to a former youth hostel which now acts as an “emergency” shelter for Ukrainians. The staff are super nice and welcoming. They remember the family. The cannot understand why they got sent to Haidehof it everyone knew it was closing. We help the old woman out of the car. She barely manages the ten meters from car to chair. We bring in their bags, and the daughter immediately sees Ukrainians she knows from the old dorm. It is like a reunion of sorts. I see old, poor, and handicapped people. It is tea-time. There is a nice-looking cafeteria. The staff are friendly, but also dumbfounded: new people arriving and where will they house them? The ground floor is full.
I am left with the impression there are a ton of well meaning social workers trying their best but without someone on top making final decisions, overseeing the whole process, extremely poor, sick people are shuffled around Austria like cattle. What would have happened this week had 50 volunteers not showed up to help with moving, bringing a van and at least a dozen passenger cars to help?
I am emotionally drained and decide I cannot do any more drives that evening. I still have mom duties. Kids to drive around.
On Friday morning, I also ran into Natalia who you see on this video. She was assigned a dorm in the second district, but blind Ihor was not assigned there, and he was very nervous about not living near his friends. She had begged to have him assigned to the same address, but no luck yet. Artem, their friend in a wheelchair, was apparently also being sent to the hostel. Why a wheelchair user was not given priority in housing assignments remains a mystery to me. Maybe because he is alone. Single men seem to have the hardest time receiving housing. They are often assigned rooms with four or eight men of different nationalities, I am told. Artem waits patiently in his leather jacket and jeans, ready to go. He is not complaining. I find it all so hard to process.
One volunteer explains to me: many refugees have gotten used to the fact that someone will step in, some volunteer or social worker will help. I observe this sense of being a passenger, in a way, but also they have a collective sense of a lack of control over their own fates. There is a young mom with a toddler. She too has to go to the arrival center. I am shocked by this. Why, I ask her? My papers, she says. I was in Lower Austria so there is a problem. I pass her a Hofer card quickly. She smiles from ear to ear. Her adorable toddler runs around, oblivious to what is happening.
I also gave a Hofer card to the daughter from Zaporozhzhia while we were driving. I hope she knows how to use it. I am not sure, to be honest. There were moments when I really questioned her own ability to make decisions. These are people who need social workers and some sort of supervision, but they do not need to all be in Vienna. That is the irony of this stupid federal system. If there was one “refugee boss”, they could open a hotel in the middle of nowhere and many of these people, especially elderly and handicapped, would be happy as long as they had a bed and decent food and the camaraderie of fellow Ukrainians, access to doctors, and social workers to ask for help when needed. That would not need to be in the nation’s capital where housing is so hard to find. Every Ukrainian in Vienna I speak to is looking for the same, elusive one-room apartment or room in a shared apartment for €400-€500 per month because they cannot afford more. It is an impossible hunt at the moment.
I spoke this morning with a wonderful woman who is now 12 weeks pregnant (her partner is on the front in the Ukrainian army), who is working legally in a Vienna hair salon, but now needs to find new housing. She cannot bring a baby home to private rental room she shares with another woman. I promise to ask around, but those one-room apartments with affordable rent are like golden tickets. Everyone is looking for one. Vassily, my admin, finally found one for himself and his mother, but it came without a kitchen. So now he is trying to find a kitchen and who can deliver and install it. And so it goes.
So, that’s it. An end of an era. The never-ending story finally ends, at least at that infamous address. A team of 50 volunteers of all different nationalities helped 100 Ukrainians move to new housing this week. I believe the last group left this morning. Unbelievable.
My heart breaks for everything these Ukrainians have been through and continue to go through, from having to flee their forever homes to struggling to feel settled and constantly being uprooted in a new country.
I received many a hug yesterday from Ukrainians who knew me but I didn't remember them. I pass those hugs onwards to all of you, because it is your collective generosity they are all so thankful for. One mom is now volunteering herself. She explained her daughter is severely handicapped and I helped them both with Hofer cards, long ago, last spring. She cried when she saw me “You were the first person to help us in Austria.” I really wished I remembered meeting her, but those days at the train station last spring were such a blur, I met so many…
So now I take a deep breath and return to my “regular” “work”. Will distribute more Hofer cards to the arrival center this weekend. Thankful we can still do at least this. It is something small but a helpful gesture and it is appreciated.
Tomorrow is Easter for Ukrainians who celebrate.
Thank you for reading and for your continued support.
p.s. if you are in Vienna and a lawyer or notary public, I need please a small favor next week. Could you please send me a message? It’s one page and a few signatures identifying me for Canada, and I promise would be super quick; I just don’t know whom to ask for help.
Liebe Tanja, da ich leider auch keinen Anwalt/Notar im Freundeskreis habe, habe ich dies auf "mastodon" gepostet. Hope that's ok with you.
---------------------------------------------------
@NonnaWien@mastodon.social
Hilfe für Tanja Maier (Wien)
https://tanjamaier.substack.com/
"If you are in VIENNA and a lawyer or notary public, I need please a small favor next week.
Could you please send me a message? It’s one page and a few signatures identifying me for Canada, and I promise would be super quick; I just don’t know whom to ask for help."
If you are willing to help, please see this Link :
https://tanjamaier.substack.com/p/moving-day-stories
and scroll right to the end.
(to the p.s. and comment)
Für 🇦🇹 er:innen: gerne weitertröten ❣️
--------------------------------------------
Hope you find a helping spirit this weekend.
And thank you for todays touching report.
Big hug, Regina
“some of these people lost their homes, what is in those boxes and bags is all they have in this world, so we aren’t going to ask why so much, why so heavy…we just help them move it all.” Svetlana, of the four languages.
Amazing. I continue to shake my head in astonishment, and at the same time cry for the little joyous moments, which come from the human interaction so deftly described and chronicled by you, Tanja. I am eternally blessed by knowing you and your world through your words.
"Καλό Πάσχα" in Greek meaning (have a) "Good Easter" Mass is tonight; I will be looking at the candles all lighting themselves, as the light is passed from the alter through the congregation, one person to the next. A light of hope, of renewal, and of a bright promise.; I will think of all the refugees you have touched.
I can never understand how sadness and joy, two seemingly opposite emotions, can so well be bound up together in m y person. Thanks kindly as always for what you do. Slava Ukraini.