Fixed Address

They say 11 is the lifetime average number of residences for a North American. I just did a personal tally and came up with 15 so far. How ‘bout you?

Every single one of mine has included the amenities of flushing toilets, beds with mattresses and pillows, mud-free flooring, well stocked pantries and electric fridges, weather-proof roofing, secure walls and windows, gun violence free neighbourhoods, multiple rooms, and comfortable things to sit on throughout. E, who’s the same age as me, isn’t able to remember just how many dozens of places she’s lived, but rarely has she enjoyed any such luxuries in the miserable, cramped spaces she’s called home.

The earliest ones were in rural El Salvador, where she was raised by an abusive and violent mother. Those houses were also the settings where various men began violating her, sometimes with the permission of her mom. None of those places were comfortable and none of her memories of them are happy.

As a young woman she made her escape across the border to Guatemala. Bouncing from one abusive relationship to another and through the chaotic series of temporary shelters they provided, she eventually began working on La Linea simply as a means to survive. Before long, she had also taken up permanent residence there, something very few other women do, for fear of their lives at nighttime. When we first met E in 2015, she had already been living in a tiny hovel of a room for several years, and by her expression, was “content” to live out the rest of her days in the nest she had made for herself there.

But then.

On May 27, 2017, a nightmare, even beyond what so many of the women fear, became E’s reality. She was attacked, raped, shot seven times through her arm, abdomen, groin and head. And left for dead.

There’s lots to tell of the days, weeks and months that followed and some of it was captured by Natalie’s posts during that time – Saturday Night, The Stranger Beside You, Bruised, Broken and Breathing (we referred to E by her working name, Lorena, back then – a name she has since laid to rest forever). The story eventually unfolded as a truly miraculous journey of recovery. Life has never been the same, of course, and once E was mostly healed and on her feet again, some of the most significant losses she grieved were her personal autonomy and the displacement from what she called home. Once again, she had no real place to live, and that was almost as traumatic to her soul as the violence done to her body.

So it was very exciting when, in 2019, with the generous help of donors, not least of which was North Point Community Church, Tamar’s Hope was able to purchase a small piece of land, just enough to erect a two-room wooden structure and invite E to make a new nest for herself. The arrangement we made with her was to eventually transfer the title to her name if she maintained the little house and paid a very small fraction (approx. $2700CAD) of the cost of the property in regular payments over the next few years. Five years on, we were so thrilled and proud to get the news she made the complete and final payment!

Off to the lawyer it was last week to sign and thumbprint (E does not read or write) the stacks of papers and all the fun it was to make it formal and legal. Home ownership was so beyond any hopes or dreams E had for her future. She may not know all the places she’s lived, but she is confident she’ll never need to look for another.

E is absolutely delighted. And so are we!