Author: Michel Baljet

Today I had my debut column for RTV Purmerend's Purplus program. It went as follows

Behind Closed Doors: As the nearly 70-year-old, child-loving Grandpa Ed babbles on about his life, I think about Sonja. My beautiful ex-girlfriend with Eastern European roots from 2006. She struck out as I lay on the ground at the gas station near our house, motionless as I lay there. I defended, sure, but gave her more than enough space to continue expressing her emotion. The police came, and almost ex officio Sonja was taken away. I tried to explain that I would work it out with Sonja, that the best thing we could do was go home. It wasn't the first time. Crazy how long I was able to accept that. Love makes blind.

Grandpa Ed continues his story and talks -as if it were yesterday- about his time in the army, his driving schools and his beautiful ex-wife whom he affectionately calls "my M. In fits and starts, the sometimes almost uncontrollable emotions come to him as he talks about the last 15 years of his life.

'In 2015 alone, I reported 26 times to the police Michel. Just look.' 'And they do absolutely nothing!" roars Ed at me with an increasingly red face. In front of us are piles of papers and playing in the background are audio recordings of phone calls and meetings that Ed has secretly recorded over the past few years.

Ed currently lives in a small room in the Jaap van Praaghuis, but has a problem in his former home situation. According to Ed, he and his wife are terrorized at home by their children. His grandchild, Ed says -with tears in his eyes- was regularly beaten black and blue by his son. Often the police came to the door, but they don't take action. 'I can't watch it anymore Michel.'

By their own account, the police do nothing with Ed's 26 reports. The Safety House and many other agencies also seem to stand by and watch things explode. Meanwhile, Ed is becoming increasingly distraught. His constant calls for attention, and the way Ed brings this up, do not help. Purmerend's town hall is officially off limits to Grandpa Ed and he has not been welcome at the police station for ages.

"Then listen! Ed lets me hear one of his audio recordings on which a police officer agrees with him that Ed is solving the problem himself. It was only last year that Grandpa Ed felt he had to take matters into his own hands. 'My wife was stabbed with a knife Michel, by her son! I was an animal Michel, I was an animal ... I'm ashamed.' It only lasted a few minutes, but in those few minutes when Ed lost control, he tackled his son so hard that he had to be carted off to the hospital with multiple broken bones.

This story is not an isolated one. Nearly half of everyone between the ages of 18 and 70 will experience domestic violence at some point. Annually, 100,000 perpetrators create, 200,000 victims when it comes to more severe domestic violence. In only 12% of the cases it leads to an arrest. Child abuse occurs more than 119,000 times a year in the Netherlands.

Whatever actually happened behind the closed doors at Ed's home is irrelevant when you consider that the problem is not solved. And if there may have been a problem in Grandpa Ed's homes before, a new one has now been added. The distraught Ed is boiling, and it doesn't take much for this short fuse to explode. And if before then agencies have not intervened, then not only I, but also the perpetrator himself, fear that there is a chance that in a few months we will have to read in the newspaper how a family tragedy could have been prevented, because "it was a problem family known to agencies."

We should not dwell on domestic violence, but we should do something about it. The thought of hundreds of families in our region having to live in fear and violence should be unacceptable.

For RTV Purmerend: Here watch back from 13:30

'In my humble opinion the world upside down, there are not too few beds but too many homeless people!!!, said VVD Purmerend parliamentary party chairman Jan Peter Dompeling on Twitter last week in response to an article from the Noord Hollands Dagblad titled 'Bed shortage in Purmerend night shelter worrying'. In that article, the director of the Purmerend social shelter, Niels Kentie, states with crocodile tears that more space would be needed for the reception of homeless people, but it cannot be found. ''We are doing what we can, but it is worrisome.''

A municipality that writes as rejection criteria for a homelessness application on its website in bold letters that being homeless is not a valid criteria for such a homelessness application that is the world upside down Mr. Dompeling, but that is my humble opinion.

The Purmerend shelter receives 1.7 million euros per year for the reception of temporarily vulnerable citizens, 1.3 million from the municipality and over 350 thousand from clients' own contributions. Simply translates a generous 1,000 euros p.p.p.m.

The result of this hefty investment from the municipality is that there are too few beds for emergency shelter so the homeless do not have to expect a roof over their heads every day, between 9:00 p.m. and 8:00 a.m., the result of this hefty investment is that there are waiting lists of 10 months for regular assisted housing, and the result of this hefty investment is that there is a waiting period of two months for an initial intake interview to determine whether you may be placed on a waiting list at all. Because, Alderman Nijenhuis, those listings of waiting lists that come into your inbox every month are purely of those who have gone through the arduous ordeal of getting through the intake.

'Our own people first' was shouted in the council when it felt cornered during a refugee debate late last year, right after that the council spent almost 2 tons extra on homelessness. On daycare, that is. We can now drink coffee four hours longer per day, but this cup of coffee costs the taxpayer 168 euros per hour. An expensive cup of excuse coffee which, in my opinion, could have been spent on real help. But that requires a will and a vision, and that dear people, is priceless. Alderman Nijenhuis' sober-bed-bath-bread idea costs more.

Alarm bells went off not only for me but for several colleagues and agencies Jan. 7. The reason for this is a video that appears online, in which Stefan Huijboom anxiously recounts his fear of being arrested because he had asked questions about Hezbollah to the Ministry of Defense in Beirut a few days earlier. And indeed: he is arrested. Behind the scenes, a handful of colleagues and agencies begin a rescue plan, but the reason for Stefan's arrest later turns out to have absolutely nothing to do with journalism.

Stuck in a Lebanese cell
Stefan and I are sitting in a café just off the Red Light District in Amsterdam; he looks tired, confused and anxious. The night before, Stefan landed at Schiphol Airport after being held in a Lebanese cell for seven days. 'Michel, you won't believe the conditions there. There are twice as many prisoners as beds and they cram 30 of you into a small cage. There is screaming, it was terrifying.'

As Stefan tells his story, I think he is lucky. For the same money or a little less, they would have kept him there for an extended period of time. Somehow, he has escaped (again), although chances are that the price for his earlier lies will cost him dearly afterwards.

Persona non grata
A few weeks earlier, Stefan left for Lebanon, the country where he will now be persona non grata for the rest of his life. He was tired for a while of Kiev and Moscow, from where he writes as a correspondent for Reporters Online and Geenstijl, among others, and was looking for a new challenge. Soon after arriving in Beirut, Stefan began picking up the pen to write again. Critical as ever, but in a country he does not know, with a language he does not speak.

Michel, I'm in the shit
On January 7, I get a message from Stefan via Facebook 'Michel, am in Beirut and I'm in the shit. Hotel room searched by police this morning. Why I don't know. Maybe bugged. Asked questions of the Ministry of Defense a week or so ago about foreigners fighting alongside Hezbollah.' I advise him to go to the embassy and inform some colleagues. Later that day he reports that the embassy, where he made an appointment, cancelled an hour in advance. 'Embassy calls. My case is not a priority, so come back tomorrow. Wtf!!!'

The next day at 9:00 Stefan has to report to the police. In the evening, Stefan still asks me to share his Facebook message, in which he tells the world that he fears being followed by asking critical questions and fears being arrested.

Under the radar
The next morning Stefan goes to the police, in a response to a public Facebook message he still lets them know that his 9:00 a.m. appointment has been moved to 11:00 a.m. 'What a terrible monkey country this is saying, "just come back at 11."' After that, there is silence. Both publicly and privately, he no longer responds to messages. Behind the scenes, the wheels begin to move. The embassy, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Dutch Association of Journalists and colleagues begin to look into Stefan's fate. Little by little information is coming in, chat groups are being set up and other journalists - some of whom are in the region - are asking via private messages if there is anything else they can do. On Twitter, things remain glacially quiet, and everything remains under the radar.

The following days become more and more confusing for outsiders, stories of espionage are circulating, and Stefan's orientation is also cause for concern. For a moment it begins to seem to me that the online silence surrounding his arrest is intended to increase the chances of a diplomatic solution. Through one of his clients in the Netherlands I understand that they are serious about it, "Other than that, we are maintaining radio silence. I decide to stand back.

This has nothing to do with journalism
The following days remain silent online; even on Stefan's accounts, more and more concerned colleagues begin to distance themselves from the case. 'This has nothing to do with journalism,' and even his mother, with whom he maintains a poor relationship, expresses herself on Facebook. 'I know, but I'm not allowed to say anything.' Privately, I get a message from his mother. 'It's too bad still have to process it myself. Love that you are busy with him, but one thing he lies about everything. Bye

The lies
As Stefan takes a sip of his chocolate milk he looks outside, in the café near the Red Light District in Amsterdam some new people are coming in. 'It was so enormously expensive Michel, not normal. I found out that it wouldn't be long before I wouldn't have a penny left. In the hostel where I was staying a safe was open, in it was someone else's wallet, I then took pictures of his credit card. When I was finally really broke I used those credit card details to pay for a hotel. That went well twice, the third time it stopped working.' The total amount involved was $800. 'I knew it was wrong and that the police were after me. People from the hostel and the credit card owner started adding me on Facebook, which told me enough. I thought, if I throw it on journalism, then I might get easier help to get out of the country, I was desperate Michel. Then I approached you too, and later I spread a video on Facebook that I was afraid I was being followed by the police after asking questions and that they had searched my hotel room.' In reality, it turns out later, Stefan was still walking free at the time we thought he had been arrested. 'I had turned off my Facebook for a day.' Later, when Stefan did get arrested, most people still don't know anything about what really happened.

Shame
Embarrassed, Stefan says staring at the table. "What have I done? Many colleagues are angry with me, and what are clients going to say? The Dutch Association of Journalists wants nothing more to do with me.'

According to Stefan, the $800 Stefan had charged to his credit card was repaid, under the watchful eye of the Dutch embassy, by a Dutchman who was in Beirut; the trip back to the Netherlands was paid for by a client.

'I am enormously embarrassed in front of colleagues who have worked for me. Some of them have let me know that they are not yet ready to sit down with me. It has yet to sink in. I am very keen to talk about it. It is now a burden I will carry with me to Ukraine.

'I saw no way out Michel, I thought this was my only option to get out of the country...'

After we leave the night shelter at 8:00 in the morning, we stand in front of the DEEN supermarket talking. The coffee maker in the supermarket is working again, after breaking down for days, and the croissants are on sale. It is cold outside and for the next few hours we have nowhere warmer to go. We talk a little, mostly about life.

Meeting up with 'friends'

Wouter just turned 18 and has been living in the night shelter for four months. He has applied for the Casa24 project, a youth project of the General Reception Center Purmerend. However, the waiting time is long; it can take from 6 to 10 months. Until then, he sleeps in the night shelter at night and wanders the streets during the day or meets up with "friends.

Wouter grew up in a foster home, where he was raised for eight years before he left. 'This week I was also standing here in front of the DEEN and all of a sudden my foster mother came by, but I think fortunately she didn't see me, I don't want her to see me like that either.' As Wouter searches his phone for an old photo of himself, he says he used to be "much broader and healthier. Blowing made him lose weight.

He kind of falls between two stools. Because he has turned 18, some agencies can no longer help him, and because he is only 18, other agencies cannot help him.

Walter's hopes are based at Casa24, an assisted living project of the Purmerend shelter, which also runs the night shelter. The project is for young people between the ages of 18 and 25, and has existed since 2012. In a maximum of 18 months, these young people are given the opportunity to find their place in society again. But reading an evaluation from 2012, I do wonder what kind of young people can expect help here. For example, some of Casa24's intake criteria are that you must not have psychiatric problems that cause behavioral problems, no addiction, have a strong motivation and have a normal IQ. This makes it seem a bit like they are overshooting their target market, since young people with that description are usually not homeless either. Moreover, like the AOP's regular shelters, Casa24 has long waiting times. For example, it could easily take 10 months before there is a room for Wouter.

He is not alone.

Wouter is not alone. For example, Gert-Jan Schipper of Clup Welzijn Purmerend states that, according to their counts, in addition to the homeless who use the night shelter and acquaintances from GGD, GGZ and/or police, there are about 30 young people of between 18 and 27. They have no permanent residence in Purmerend.

Currently, Wouter receives assistance from the municipality. In Wouter's case, this is 236 euros per month, but none of this has been paid yet. After paying the night shelter (5 euros per night), Wouter is left with about 90 euros to live on, but then comes the health insurance premium which he cannot pay.

'At the shelter they did help me register with the municipality, the first month or so I wasn't registered anywhere.' Wouter doesn't seem to mind very much that he is not insured. Maybe he just doesn't know any better.

I can also weld

Wouter points to a truck parked next to the supermarket. 'I'd think that would be cool, Michel. Working on a truck like that. Nice traveling, going abroad'. Wouter never went on to study. He doesn't really like studying, he says, 'maybe one day a week, but I'd rather not. You know Michel, I can weld too, I just didn't make it to the exam.

I have noticed in recent weeks that Wouter is easily influenced by his environment, and so I regularly wonder if this is the right environment for the somewhat rebellious boy. Don't get me wrong: the night shelter is not a good environment for anyone at all, let alone someone who has just grown up. Whereas on the one hand he looks at elderly people and his foster parents with respect, for example, on the other hand he shits on society.

'I had to be inside with my (foster) parents at 9pm. I mean I get it, when it gets dark it's best to be inside, at night the rats come out, but sometimes I just wanted to smoke a joint and be with my friends, I couldn't do that there, now it's easy.' When I ask Wouter later what he regrets most in his life, it is the choice he made to leave his foster parents. He hasn't visited them since he's been in our night shelter.

No regional affiliation

Being homeless did not start for Wouter in Purmerend. He ended up here through a referral from a drop-in center in Amsterdam. "I couldn't get help in Amsterdam, I had no connection to the region, they said.

Purmerend and Zaandam have a core regional function and together they take care of the municipalities in the region in terms of sheltering the homeless. So if you become homeless in Volendam or Edam, you will also end up in Purmerend. Each municipality has its own approach to the reception of the homeless; Haarlem, for example, opts for a policy with more guidance and longer opening hours, while Purmerend clearly opts for the you-seek-it-yourself-out mentality.

Wouter lives most of his day on the street. He hangs out with friends, smokes a joint and admirably regularly rides a new bicycle, the origin of which is unclear. In my view, the lack of guidance and the level of assistance do not help him either. The assistance of 236 euros is too little to pay all his fixed expenses. Wouter does not yet have a real plan for the future, but wishes do. Would you like to have children? I would, two, preferably boys," he says to me one day.

Then he becomes a criminal

The oldest ex-homeless person in my new circle of acquaintances says that 10 months of waiting for Wouter will mean that he will become a criminal. Our "grandfather" has seen it often enough. Wouter is alone in the world. But there doesn't seem to be anyone else who will really notice if Wouter should decide to choose a different course in his life before he is welcome at Casa24, the only question then is what it would then end up costing society, and what this will mean for the future of - the hitherto fairly innocent - Wouter.

There are an estimated 9,000 vagrant youths in the Netherlands. According to the Wmo agreements, municipalities are responsible for the stable social care of vagrant youth. Personally, I think that placing Wouter in a night shelter only to offer him no guidance in addition does not fall under stable social care. I wonder if they think the same way in politics.

It is still early when I walk into Waterland Hospital. The lady at the reception desk nods with recognition and understanding. By now some people in the hospital may think I work there, but the lady at the front desk knows my situation. The hospital is about the only place you can still be dry and warm as a homeless person on Sunday early in the morning. The daycare is closed and the library is only open for a few hours in the afternoon.

Geert is already waiting for me. With a crossword puzzle in front of him, as I have come to expect from him. Our regulars' table at the hospital has been moved. For Christmas there are performances in the hospital hall for a few days in a row. There is also a grand piano in the hospital hall, I am still waiting for the day when - out of nowhere - as sometimes happens at Amsterdam CS, a talented player emerges and plays the stars from heaven. Until now, we have had to make do with a somewhat less talented player. But, we can't complain. We sit here warm and dry every day, and around 9:30 a.m. the volunteers drive by daily with the coffee truck, to provide us with a cup of coffee and ask how we are doing.

Every day Geert spends at least two hours on his bicycle. An hour to get here and an hour to bike back late at night to his sleeping place in a business building that he happens to still have the key to. There he sneaks in late at night, when everyone is gone, to sleep on the floor. He is no longer welcome in the night shelter because of his big mouth, and since then he has been ostracized from the region's social services.

Conspiracy thinking at the homeless shelter

'Just wait until the economy picks up, then I'll be back to my old self in no time,' Geert tells me - almost confidently. He is not a real Purmerender, but is a temporary resident here because his municipality is not one of the 43 municipalities in the Netherlands that has responsibility for social relief. Purmerend does. He says he worked all his life, day in and day out, until the crisis came. The construction industry went belly up. These days he fills his days doing newspaper puzzles - while mulling over daily life. He regularly speaks to me to spout his bile about the municipality and agencies, like a true conspiracy thinker he creates his vision of how everyone is against him.

There are also conspiracy-like rumors about me in the homeless shelter. I am said to have been hired by the North Holland newspaper, and other newspaper, perhaps a TV program, to write about this. But it could also be the police, or an organization of the shelter itself. I have heard through the grapevine that I may become the new prime minister.

Taking everything with a few grains of salt, though, is something I learned quickly here. But I can understand their frustrations: for me, unlike my peers, many things went very smoothly. My registration in the municipality of Purmerend was taken care of in a few days, my assistance was in my account a day after approval and retroactively my health insurance was also fixed in no time. Why did things go so damn easy for me while people with similar problems take months or even years?

Homeless make money

The night shelter in Purmerend is nothing more than a roof over your head. Don't get me wrong: it is a roof over my head for which I am grateful every day, but in terms of guidance you don't have to expect anything from it. Anyone who thinks help is provided immediately is wrong. I have been here for a few weeks now, but won't have my first intake interview until the end of next month. Anyone who needs help must have not only patience but also the strength not to fall further into decay.

Pro-actively I could find some help at, for example, the Brijder foundation, they do help, even though I don't have an addiction. From the Purmerend Social Shelter I have so far only received a phone call that I was on the verge of not having a bed for a few nights, because there were more applications than beds, and that I had an appointment for an intake interview on January 28. Two months of relying on my own willpower and initiative. While I do still have that in me, I see plenty of people around me who could use a helping hand.

The regular shelter for a homeless person is expensive. If, after sometimes 10 months of waiting in Purmerend, you qualify for a small room where you can then spend a maximum of 8 months, you pay around 400 euros for it. You are not entitled to rent subsidy. A guy here who has a university degree told me that he would have 45 euros left over per month if he took a room. In fact, besides the rent, he has to pay off his debts and pay his insurance. So for him the emergency shelter is still the better solution, because it is only 150 euros per month. The only thing is: if you refuse the temporary room, you are no longer entitled to emergency shelter.

The Reception Center in Purmerend also receives subsidies, in addition to the money they receive from room rentals. In 2015, this was over 1.1 million euros from the municipality. The rental costs of the premises are low or zero, for example, the night shelter where I stay is a demolition property of the municipality and the foundation recently received over 90,000 above the normal subsidy for the renovation of the premises. Similarly, the Brijder recently received almost 175,000 euros extra to keep the daycare open a few extra hours a day for the coming year.

A lot of money goes into the business of homeless shelters. But it is not clear to me where that money goes.

Hospital

As I chat with the evicted fellow homeless person Geert at our hospital's log table, I think of another night shelter user lying in a hospital bed a few floors up. Earlier he had been turned away for not having insurance. Then - whatever he had - became so serious that he ended up in Intensive Care. Meanwhile, he's being helped, even though they still don't know what's wrong with him. But so it almost went really wrong because he didn't have insurance. Ever tried to get insurance if you don't have a permanent address or income?

As he continues with his newspaper puzzle, Geert continues, "You know Michel? In Holland it's better to be in jail than to be homeless. At least then you know for sure that you have a meal, a bed to sleep on and the right to medical care. Yes Michel, it's better to be in prison.'

And when I have had a hard day and am almost losing all courage, I would agree with him.

In my opinion, I had Margje Fikse expected an unkempt man with a long beard and with hair like dreadlocks. I think that before my arrival in her studio she imagined that I would be surrounded by shit flies, that I would be wearing three layers of clothes and would stink from 3 weeks of not showering, that I would be pushing a shopping cart with all my belongings in Aldi bags and half a liter of Schultenbräu in front of me into the NOS building, only to then join her in the studio drunk, burping and farting to talk about homelessness. talk?

But you just look good

With some surprise she said "but you just look good? It was like a world opened up for Margje at that moment, and you know Margje, I didn't even blame you. I think a lot of people have that image when they talk about homeless people. Fortunately for us homeless people, this is different. I bet most of us walk the streets unrecognized among others.

Emergency shelter in Purmerend

It was a week ago that I reported to the emergency shelter in Purmerend. It was 9 p.m. when the door opened and a girl in her twenties answered the door. Outside it was cold, I was carrying my backpack that had been my best friend in recent years in my journey through South America. Never in those years had I had to sleep on the streets. Outside it is cold, I think back to just a few months back when I didn't even need to own a coat so warm it was.

In the living room sat about ten generally just-dressed men of various ages, ethnicity, religion and background watching the same television screen. It was a nice big flat screen, not the first thing I would expect in an emergency shelter but then later I learn that it was donated by a church. The girl who answered the door was new, a substitute, she had only been working there for a few days, and you could tell, it was all a bit awkward.

It's not fucking normal

There was a slight tension, a menacing atmosphere, one that I recognized from prison. When you have lost everything, your last possessions - which may seem silly in good times - are your only hold. And you defend them. Your spot on the couch, the program you want to watch, the few minutes you have to shower and your cup of tea. 'It's not fucking normal! You guys look like pigs!" roars a new roommate as he thunders into the living room visibly disappointed. 'Is it so damn much to ask that the bathroom be left a little tidy, I have no intention of showering in someone else's dregs and shitholes!' Almost emotionally, he then drops off to cool off and smoke a shaggie. It often happens that emotions, which in my eyes are often still about small things, threaten to get out of hand.

A bed for 150 euros

The emergency shelter, a detached spacious single-family house from 1956 looks tidy, the 15 or so male residents share three bedrooms and 1 shower, the two women share a separate room and have their own shower. From 21:00 to 8:00 this place is my temporary shelter, because there are more homeless people than beds in Purmerend every three or four days it will be determined if I am still entitled to my bed. If I want to use the shelter I will pay a personal contribution of 5 euros per night just like everyone else. I'm lucky, in Purmerend you can have this 5 euros written down with an IOU at the time when, like me, you have no money. You then pay it when you have income again. In other cities, such as Zaandam, where you pay 7.5 euros per night, you have to pay directly.

If you didn't know any better, you would think that getting out of a situation where you have nothing is easy. But believe me, it's not that easy. With zero euros in your pocket you are very limited, you can't travel easily, you can't buy hygiene products so that you can still get a bit of a decent living, and you depend on the kindness of others for food. At the night shelter you can get a hot meal 5 days of the week, at the day care too, so with a little planning it is doable, at least if you have a bicycle.

168 euros per hour

'Ah here it is,' the supervisor at the Brijder says to me when I stop by the day care center one day. 'There are 100 of them. According to last year's survey, Purmerend has about 35 homeless people and 65 homeless people, which is double the number four years ago.' 'Nonsense shouts a fellow sufferer to me from across the room, there are many more of us.' I think for a moment and decide I agree with my fellow sufferer. I have met so many homeless people in recent days that 35 seems on the low side to me. On weekdays, we homeless are welcome here between 9:30 a.m. and 1 p.m. at the daycare, a warm cup of coffee, a chat and some help where possible. Brijder is happy, or at least the director of Brijder is happy. Today, the newspaper reports that the Purmerend city council is making extra money available for the daycare: 174,720 euros to be exact, so they can open on "weekdays from 9:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. According to Het north hollanddaily newspaper it is "Probably then the daycare could be open from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, but that is still being looked into" in my head I quickly calculate what this means for the taxpayers... 174 thousand is 15,000 euros a month, a mere 700 euros per 4 hours, 168 euros per hour. That's expensive coffee, especially when you consider there are 5 of us sitting here today. Where does that money go anyway, I almost thought out loud.

I am aware that I have put myself in this situation. If only I had finished my studies, if only I had started working for a boss, why not go back to Venezuela after all, are thoughts that come up regularly. All thoughts that are not going to help me today, so I decide to let them go rather quickly.

Just apply

'Surely you can just get benefits,' Margje Fikse says confidently, sitting next to me in the studio I think Thierry Baudet is nodding along. In my mind I am happy for Margje, she will probably never have needed benefits. Neither did I before this event, but I learned pretty quickly that applying for benefits is not that easy. For starters, you need an address, and I didn't have one. In fact, because of my stay outside the Netherlands, I didn't even have a BSN (social security number) anymore. In addition, the processing time for an application for benefits can be 8 weeks, and, especially as a homeless person, you are stuck with a long list of obligations. For example, you have to report where you sleep every day. Some of my roommates even have to forward almost every move via SMS, if you don't do that then your rights expire. 8 weeks without any income is a long time, even as a homeless person and especially as a homeless person who wants to get his affairs in order as soon as possible. For example, I recently spoke to a homeless person in Amsterdam. He had given the Vondelpark as his sleeping address. Actually you are not allowed to lie there but he had a nice spot. One evening he thought he saw police, so he went for a walk around the block; later it turned out that they were members of the social investigation department to see if he was really there. They couldn't find him, immediately stopped his social track. When I met him at the homeless desk, he had to apply again from step one. Also in Purmerend I speak with fellow sufferers for whom it is not strange that enforcement comes at 6:00 in the morning to check if you are really lying on the bench you declared earlier at the station.

I don't want benefits at all

I don't even want benefits, I think, feeling like I'm wasting my time just a little after eight in the morning in the lobby of the hospital. Ideally, I'd like to get a job somewhere today. Unfortunately, finding a job is not that easy. Tight I have another job application, but everything has been unsuccessful so far. I don't think it helps either that I quit college twice early, have a criminal record, and that everything I've done has been as an independent contractor.

236 euros per month

Between 8 a.m. and 9 p.m., I don't have a roof over my head. I don't yet have a day job, so I spend many of those hours in the hospital hallway and the library. Plenty of time anyway to learn from other experiencers what the world of the homeless looks like, and especially plenty of time to mull over the crookedness of some things in the system. A system that, in my mind, tends to help people get further into trouble instead of getting people out.

That's weird, says the newly-adult homeless person to me. I get 236.35 Euros of assistance per month, from that I have to pay about 150 Euros to the night shelter, then I'm left with about 86 Euros and I haven't even paid my health insurance. What am I supposed to live on?

Waiting lists

In Purmerend they have the Algemeen Opvangcentrum Purmerend (AOP), the night shelter where I stay is part of this organization. In Purmerend, a municipality with just under 80,000 inhabitants, the AOP is the organization you need to go to as a homeless person. Even before my arrival in Purmerend, I had applied for the regular trajectory, a temporary (emergency) accommodation with housing guidance. The waiting time for this trajectory varies a lot, I have spoken to people who have been waiting 10 months for housing and I have heard from others that it could be much faster. My intake will take place somewhere within two weeks, but that could just as well be after two months if I have to believe my housemates.

It's December 12, it's my birthday. Just after 4:30 in the afternoon, I walk in the back door of my mother's house. My poor mother, she hasn't really hit it off with this son....

To be continued

There are two ways I can look back on my life right now. I could start with "Homeless ex-con with no completed education seeks employment" or "Innovative award-winning entrepreneur begins new chapter. A world of difference, but both apt as can be.

It's cold outside

I think I've had a cold since the day I landed. My mother always jokingly says: you were born with a cold. I believe it so. I don't think I was born for these temperatures in Holland either, I said that 10 years ago and I keep repeating it. Still, it remains cold as I walk toward social services. Even though I have left many things behind, the large backpack I am carrying remains heavy. Actually I should say I am lucky I almost think out loud, at least it is not raining.

Walk-in hour

It happens to be walk-in clinic time when I walk in to the social services work center. You're in luck, says the gentle-looking lady at the welcome desk. I'll walk with you right away, I don't think there's anyone else there so you can be helped right away. I think this is the second time in my life that I have needed help from social services, the first time was in 2006 just after my prison sentence, then contact with social services was short-lived.

I am here because the lady at the municipality counter referred me; at the municipality I was because the lady at the social shelter referred me there; at the social shelter I was because the lady at the homeless shelter counter in Amsterdam rejected me, and there I was because I became homeless and was looking for a place to sleep. Life can be strange sometimes.

I actually wouldn't stay

I was now at social services for a mailing address, without a mailing address my citizen service number could not be reactivated, without a citizen service number I could not apply for health insurance, sign an employment contract and so on. Actually, it was not my plan to be in the Netherlands at all. The plan was actually to stay in the Netherlands for only two weeks. My grandparents had been married for 65 years, I had become an uncle and I had not seen my mother for almost three years. After two weeks of vacation here, I was supposed to fly back to South America. Yet things turned out differently.

Who would have expected that

I have that sometimes more, that things turn out differently than I first thought, and many things that happened in my past seem surreal even to me. Looking at me as a boy in a boys' choir, no one could have predicted that I would later be stuck in a Texas prison. And once I was stuck there, no one could have predicted that years later I would be a business owner and on the ballot in a municipal election.

By the gentle-looking lady at the job center desk, I was ushered into the room of a free employee. Another lady, I estimate her mid-20s, sat on the other side of the desk. In the space of 45 minutes, we go over my life. I notice that we dwell on the negative things a little longer than the positive things. For example, my 2004 prison sentence had more value than anything I had done after that. Here, with this lady, the positive things made no difference. She knew that I had arrived in the community that morning, so some of the questions I didn't quite understand: what all did you do to get work, isn't there another place that can serve as a mailing address?

Maybe she sincerely expected an answer like: of course ma'am, I have a hundred alternative mailing addresses. I just like the coffee at social services so much so that's why I come here. Or to the first question of what I had done to find work before joining social services I could also have answered: Well during the 400 meters from the town hall to here, you know, the town that referred me to you, I drafted 8 cover letters, had 4 telephone applications and 2 rejection letters. I only answered the questions to the best of my knowledge. At the end of the interview she informed me that my intake would be 2 weeks later, in the morning at 11:00. As I walked away I wondered what the intake would be like, considering this was not it.

I'll do that myself

As of tonight I could go to the emergency shelter, at least for the next four days. At least from 9 p.m. until 8 a.m. in the morning, I would have a roof over my head. Where should I start? The stupid thing was that I had actually been working for two months, but everything wasn't working. To date I had only rejections and my lodging where I was staying until yesterday was really only meant for a few days, something had to be done.

Actually, I'm not really good at anything. I mean, actually I'm not really really good at anything. I've never concentrated on becoming the best at anything. Many things I can just do reasonably well. I think it's combining those things that I'm good at. I would like to be really good at something, as in the best at it. But what?

This was not the second time since I was Holland that I had been to social services. almost two months earlier I had tried.

A few months earlier at the homeless counter in Amsterdam

After a few hours of waiting, the verdict came. Sorry sir, said the spontaneous icy-looking lady at counter of the homeless shelter in Amsterdam. 'You have no connection with the city, you have not lived here for the past two years.' It did not matter that considering I had not lived outside the Netherlands for more than two years in any municipality for two years, so had no connection anywhere. She let it be known by her cold, otherwise emotionless facial expression that with this my problem was no longer her problem. I wondered if she attended drama school for this position, or if she was naturally so cold. Would she take her work home with her, would she ever stop to think about the lives of the people on the other side of the counter? If I didn't already feel worthless I did then.

One thing was for sure, it was discouraging. As I turned to walk away she called out, I think deliberately with some extra volume, "even IF I could do something for you" the waiting list for assisted living is currently a year, so you would have had to be patient anyway. I thanked her - sort of - for her effort and walked past the emphatic security guards out the doors of the homeless shelter. Somehow I found reassurance in the image of the dozens of people in front of me who had also been shown the door. 'You guys are jerks,' 'the Nazis weren't as bad' were previous compliments the icy-looking lady had received as feedback. I wasn't alone either, in 2013 the Netherlands had an estimated 25,000 homeless people, over half of them in my age group.

The following months I tried it on myself, applying for jobs, looking for housing, you name it. Until today, Until this point.

The emergency shelter

It was just after nine o'clock that I rang the bell at the night shelter which from the outside looked like a normal detached house. A girl in her mid-twenties opened the door that let into a living room with where about 10 other peers were sitting....

To be continued.