An Average Day in the Life of a Refugee by J. G. Martinez D. for The Organic Prepper
For those of you wondering how my life is, I have written this article to give you an idea of what it’s like living as a refugee. Here is how we have been living these last few months, waiting for the day we can come back to Venezuela.
Simple morning ritual: water, push-ups, and coffee
Street fruit vendors begin working very early. By 7 AM, they are screaming all over the place with their speakers, waking up everybody. Including me. After that, I have no choice but to get up off my mattress, fold my microfiber blanket, and get into my wardrobe. My son usually takes over my space on the bed while it is still warm. He lays there until he decides to wake up and have his breakfast. I lift his mattress and support it against the wall with a plastic garden chair. Our space is small, but we manage to keep it clean and organized.
After having a glass of water, I perform 20 push-ups to get the blood circulating. Doing this warms up the body. I brush my teeth, a quick face wash, and then go upstairs to the unfinished part of the building to prepare coffee in my hobo stove. It’s a pressurized coffee maker I brought with me. It has been with me for over 10 years now, and it’s perfect. Not too much needed when your kid is safe and well-fed.
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Next up: chores, news reviews, and social media
Splitting the firewood with a borrowed kitchen hatchet and a hammer is a chore I do every day. It’s best not to leave the firewood on the open terrace. Although Lima is an arid desert, cold and moisture are high at night, and the firewood will become moist if it is left out. I take a small cardboard box and put the split firewood in it and get it into our bedroom. If someone had told me that in a couple of years, I would be cooking with fire in the middle of a deadly pandemic, I would have laughed in his or her face. I try to split firewood without making too much noise. In this cold, damp air sounds seem to travel much further, and I know hammering can be annoying to the landlord’s family. I try to split as much as I can once I get to it, and fast.
When I have finished going over in my mind what I have to accomplish during the day, I quickly review news on a few websites about the evolution of the situation in Venezuela. Mostly reputed journalists with awards report the news. There is a bit of biased garbage and misinformation.
I try to write one or two paragraphs of my book and make some publicity in the groups on the different platforms for my online English classes. Lots of professionals need to learn English, at least reading it, and I have found some students. However, the SARS/Cov2 crisis has hit everyone hard, and we professionals are no exception. Mining companies have minimal operations, meaning just a few technicians and engineers have been left working, and the rest of them sent home. Recently I found out one of the partners of a student died reportedly with SARS/Cov2. He was only 37 and healthy.
As I warm up and prepare myself for the remainder of my day, I post a few random comments, check my twitter and Facebook accounts, and post links to my articles. I try to not read anything about the spreading of SARSCov2. I have enough information already without ever having asked for it.
Related: Thoughts on Nomadic Survival from a Venezuelan Refugee
Wash time: Myself and the laundry
Since we have no hot running water, if the weather permits, I take a cold shower. If it’s too cold, I will heat water on the stove to wash with. I can’t get an electric head shower because I would have to pay for the electricity bill. So I just boil water over a fire and pour it in a small tub of cold water to warm it up enough to bathe. I hate when my underwear accumulates, and I have to wash them by hand for hours. After I bathe in the warm water, I wash my underwear in it. One piece at a time is a much better deal. Clotheslines on the roof get full from the other tenants of the building. I barely have space left to hang a T-shirt, some socks, and a pair of pants.
