The baby is tiny, as small as a doll. Her mother, Kadiatou Bah, carries her daughter with pride in the lounge of the La Traverse shelter. “She was born nine days ago! ” says Kisha Estime, the person in charge of the center. “She saw her born”, to add the new mother, an asylum seeker from Guinea and who has been living for months in the halfway house located in Montreal North.
While homelessness threatens asylum seekers, citizen initiatives are emerging to prevent the exorbitant price of housing from making a vulnerable population even more precarious. According to a report published in September 2023 in Montreal, one person out of 10 is homeless and seeking asylum.
The young mother's radiant but tired face hides a more difficult reality. “I almost committed suicide after arriving in Canada,” explains Kadiatou bluntly. She had to leave behind her first daughter, then two years old, who she had to hide before leaving due to threats.
For Kadiatou, the La Traverse shelter was a lifesaver. In Montreal, she did not know anyone. Thinking about the hard road that brought her to Canada and thinking about her first child and the difficulties of family reunification, not to mention the economic reality and the specter of ending up on the streets, completely disorients her.
“It's MMe Esteemed who told me not to lose hope. Now that I am here, I am comfortable because she supported me in the most difficult moments,” says Kadiatou before stopping. She will not go into the details of this painful past.
Kadiatou is in luck: at the La Traverse shelter, where she has been staying for four months, she has her own room because she has an infant. Here, it's Kisha Estimate who decides. While residents generally have three months to find permanent housing, she goes for it on a case-by-case basis.
“She is a very good person and she really deserves a lot of help, given her strength and courage,” said the woman who accompanied the mother during her delivery.
Shelters managed by Quebec or Ottawa have a deadline when people seeking asylum can stay. The delay is generally two to three weeks. Then the asylum seekers have to make do their own thing.
Helping, a passion
The kitchen smells of the rich scent of Joumou soup, a classic of Haitian cuisine. A lady glances at the dish while doing the dishes. Here, the 27 people who live in the center become roommates and are responsible for maintaining the premises.
“I want everyone to do their part. Clean to keep things clean and not break things, because I'm the one who buys them, or if not, you have to wait for donations,” explains Kisha Estime, adding that people are making an effort.
At the time of our visit, the residents of La Traverse House are from Mexico, Senegal, House are from Mexico, Senegal, Congo (DRC), Haiti, Brazil, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, Burkina Faso, Burkina Faso, and Guinea.
This community life is not without its ups and downs, and M.Me Estime can also count on the services of Yannick Ndayimirije, a young asylum seeker whom she initially hosted. The 32-year-old colossus dreamed of working as a bodyguard and underwent security training.
MMe Estimation gave her first chance by offering to work as a security guard for the shelter. It is because she fully manages her project and because she is free to open her door to certain people that she was able to do so.
“Helping is my passion. I was born here, I am Canadian of Haitian origin,” explains the woman whose parents arrived from Haiti in 1961, the year François Duvalier became “president for life” by imposing his dictatorship.
Kisha Estimation's parents got involved as soon as they arrived in Quebec, and her father even brought his daughter to Haiti to do humanitarian work. She believes that her education had a big influence on the creation of the center.
Funding sought
Despite all the goodwill, the difficulty of finding financing for this type of project is a challenge. While Quebec has been demanding a reimbursement of $1 billion from Ottawa for a few days to amortize the expenses incurred to serve asylum seekers, small structures suffer from chronic underfunding.
“Just because big organizations receive money doesn't mean it's coming to us and we're going to be able to survive. You have to come and give us [the funding] directly,” says Kisha Estimation as she picked up some toys in the living room of the La Traverse Transition Center, which she founded alone almost four years ago. In addition to his house, there are two other centers of the same type in Montreal: Le Pont and Foyer du Monde. Together, these three organizations form a grouping Ad hoc Called the Regrouping of organizations in accommodation for migrant persons (ROHMI).
However, the Quebec Ministry of Immigration “does not fund any personal initiative for accommodation for immigrants or asylum seekers”, specifies a commitment for the ministry.
In Quebec, it is the Regional Program for the Reception and Integration of Asylum Seekers (PRAIDA), under the Ministry of Health and Social Services (MSSS), which finances the offer of temporary accommodation for asylum seekers.
Since the beginning of her operations, Ms. Estimate has been operating with donations. Recent assistance from the Foundation of Greater Montreal granted him a grant of $195,000 over three years to pay rent.
“But it's not free, because I built this without subsidies. It means that, when people have social assistance, they are able to pay me a small amount,” explains M.Me Esteemed. A family thus pays $590 per month if they receive social assistance.
However, she must bear the costs if someone is in need. “If the person cannot pay, I will try to find a solution. I'm going to keep it here because I can't leave it on the street.”
Kadiatou corroborates her words, who has seen the work and efforts made at La Traverse House over the past four months. “I see her, Kisha; she sometimes pays out of pocket to make us happy.”
She knows that she is benefiting from an exception, because her situation is complex. The young mother wants to bring her eldest daughter, who stayed in the country, and wants to find a job in an NGO, she who has a degree in sociology of organizations.
From Coast to Coast, the Same Mobilization
Located in the popular and trendy neighborhood of East Vancouver, British Columbia, Kinbrace Shelter goes unnoticed. Its founder is sitting in the bright living room when he welcomes us, surrounded by toys. In the big kitchen, it's back and forth.
Photo: Anais Elboujdaini
“At the time, we wanted to meet the pressing needs of our community. The model we chose was to better understand and support people by living with them,” says Loren Balisky. The co-founder of Kinbrace House, which now has nine housing units, lived for 19 years in one of the units with his wife and children, surrounded by asylum seekers.
They first acquired a large house with seven standalone units in the building. It was refurbished at the end of the 1980s. After several years, they bought the house next door.
The idea is simple: two Canadian families live in the same apartment complex with six asylum seeker families. “It's a very transformative way to be together and to work alongside people who are experiencing forced displacement,” explains the person who started this project in collaboration with his church in 1998.
Today, Kinbrace benefits from the financial support of a multitude of non-profit organizations and charities. The shelter also receives donations from the Vancouver credit union and individuals, in addition to the proceeds of several fundraisers. There are not a lot of such initiatives in the Western Province.
Photo: Anais Elboujdaini
Thousands of kilometers separate them, but the projects of Loren Balisky and Kisha Estimation are the result of the same type of personal initiative.
The realities may be different — British Columbia welcomed 7,695 asylum seekers last year, while Quebec received 65,570 during the same period — but for the two founders, people are at the heart of their efforts.
“I have always liked to help people,” says Kisha Estime in Montreal, while Mr. Balisky is delighted that in 25 years, Kinbrace has become “like a small village.”
“When it comes to relationships and it's not just a service, you can't lock people or a population into stereotypes anymore,” he said.
A Situation That Is Far From Being Rosy
The difficulties are numerous, and the observation is constantly emerging: people need psychological follow-up, the money to run the center is barely enough and the demand is constantly growing.
“There is always a line outside my door. Three weeks ago, it was an endless line, because PRAIDA is sending them to my house. The deadline has expired there, so they are trying to find accommodation here. We are forced to make a waiting list, and wait for a place to become available to take a new person,” explains M.Me Esteemed.
Waiting times vary, as it also considers the person's need, situation and ability to integrate with the rest of the household. Kisha Estimation is also seeing more and more people who need psychological support... and even psychiatric support.
“People have not been seen by a doctor, or have not been able to talk about their situation. A single mother, for example, comes back here to Canada and her spouse is not there. Or maybe his kids aren't there. There are so many stories and ways in which they can suffer from traumatic shock. A person who has passed through the United States, who has been raped or who has been tortured along the way. These people are suffering,” says M.Me Esteemed, who is used to the difficult stories of the people she hosts in Montreal.
Displacement
With the difficulty of finding affordable housing, a trend is emerging: asylum seekers who, a few years ago, moved to the Vancouver neighborhood must now live much further away in the suburbs. Previously, a one-bedroom apartment in the neighborhood cost $600 per month. Today it is $2,500 per month.
A situation that Mr. Balisky deplores, since it weakens the model he has set up and the importance of keeping asylum seekers close to their first place of residence. “We became an anchor point where people who stayed with us for a few months then moved to the neighborhood. We saw each other on the streets and they would come from time to time to have dinner at the weekly meal we eat together.”
At Kinbrace, the founder believes in building temporary transitional housing for asylum seekers because they are vulnerable. “I haven't done extensive research, but the success of asylum seekers who pass through here seems to be directly linked to the length of time they were able to stay [in our facility] to get back on their feet.”
Complicity and Improvised Family
Kadiatou is changing her little one's diaper in a room she has occupied since September. Kisha Estimation made an exception when considering the situation that Kadiatou was going through. When asked for the name of the little girl, everyone has the same complicit smile.
Photo: Adrien Gaertner
“I called her Kisha,” Kadiatou told us. The way in which MMe Esteemed saw me as his own daughter touched me. I also consider her to be my own mom, my second mom. She means everything to me.”
These moments gave the woman who is nicknamed “Mother Teresa of Montreal North” the strength to continue to run her center.
“It's just stars in your eyes, marvels for four years. I saw families grow up here, I had a mom with triplets. Look, there are a lot of things that mark me here,” she says, hugging the little girl who bears her first name.
In Vancouver, Loren Balisky takes us on a tour of the owner. In the kitchen, a young boy runs among the employees. Chickens are escaping from their pens in the back yard, and he laughs out loud. Home, which has seen hundreds of families pass through, is a stronghold where relationships are forged, sometimes for life.
Photo: Anais Elboujdaini
“We have no limits for people to leave the place,” he explains, aware of the support residents receive over the weeks.
At the Doors of the Street
“We help 40 to 50 people a year to move from being homeless to a situation where they have a permanent home. The profile of asylum seekers is varied. We house families, single people, single mothers, and elderly people,” explains Mr. Balisky.
But Shelters, As Much As Montreal That at Vancouver, are seeing the number of asylum seekers increase.
This trend worries Mr. Balisky, who fears for the mental health of asylum seekers who frequent such places.
“I hear it from the asylum seekers who have been in these shelters — it's very traumatic for them. They are often in Vancouver in the Downtown Eastside neighborhood. They see and interact with people who are traumatized themselves. Here, in Kinbrace, they experience a lot of moments of vulnerability, but we support them,” says the man who believes that the government lacks vision.
“Canada adheres to international agreements that provide protection [for refugees], which is good. Of course, I support all of this, but no one foresees what is to come. It's like closing your eyes, guessing how many people are going to arrive and then responding in a hurry,” he says.
In the Kinbrace Common Room, which overlooks the backyard, an Afghan couple talks painstakingly with an employee at the shelter. The couple introduces themselves to us shaking their heads.
Mr. Balisky shakes his own, before explaining, with a touch of distress, that their case for refugee status is complex. He adds that they nevertheless have the support of some employees during the day: “I always wonder how many single people are refused refugee status for simple mistakes in this bureaucratic process.”
“If we were really progressive as a country [...] we would remove barriers and ensure that asylum seekers could quickly integrate,” he laments, who has been used to see the complexity of the immigration system for 25 years.
Resources to go further:
Emergency shelters in Montreal