Donate NowKristina Rizga, for the Pulitzer Center (Photos by Akim Aginsky)
The deep-seated wrinkles on Dzintra Vorfolomejeva's reddish face make her look older than her 62 years. She sits underneath a small metal roof structure built to provide cover for the garbage containers, here in the Pardaugava District of Riga, with plastic bags around her containing what's left of her life: a couple of blankets, some soap, pillow and a hairbrush. She found food in the midst of the garbage today -- a loaf of bread, smoked fish and boiled eggs. She loves reading glossy magazines that are carefully tucked under her blankets. From November to May, when temperatures in Latvia hover between 40 and 3 degrees Fahrenheit, Vorfolomejeva stays at a homeless shelter. But when the weather turns warm, she prefers sleeping outdoors near her old apartment that is still vacant. "I like being close to my old friends. I also take care of ducks in the creek here and have to feed my cat-friends," she laughs.
Vorfolomejeva has been homeless since 2004 when she was evicted from her apartment for unpaid rent and utility bills. All of her life she worked as a nurse. At the age of 52, she left her job to care for her ailing mother. When her mother passed away two years later, she couldn't get her job back, or find a new one. Then her husband passed away and her last source of income dried up.
Despite a decade of bad luck and homelessness, she tells stories of human kindness. She points to a coffee thermos that a neighbor gave her. Another neighbor allows her to take a warm shower in her apartment. Someone brought her homemade jam. An old friend gives her small amounts of cash that she uses for public transportation or soap. "These teenagers came up to me once and said, 'Let us know if you need protection from anyone.' ... It's really not that bad," she repeats often.
But underneath that brave and cheerful veneer, there lies a sense of shame. "Thank God my husband is dead and can't see me in a situation like this," she says, looking down at her feet. "My old neighbor shakes her head in disbelief every time she comes to check on me." For most of their lives spent in the Soviet era, Vorfolomejeva and her elderly neighbors only heard about the homeless in the Soviet propaganda as an example of the evils of capitalism abroad.
Hard Times in Riga
As the seismic changes from Communism to Capitalism continue to sweep over Eastern Europe, it is often older people like Vorfolomejeva who have the hardest time finding or retaining jobs in the changing economy. As unpaid bills pile up, the unemployed face the threat of eviction. People in their fifties make up the largest share -- about 40 percent -- of all homeless in Riga, according to the Latvian Department of Welfare. Now, as Latvia is coping with the sharpest economic downturn in Europe and unemployment is at 11.3 percent, this age group is hit the hardest.
Look around downtown Riga today, and things still seem positively bright, at least on the surface. Hotels shimmer with lights, most historic buildings have been recently remodeled, and there seem to be more imported luxury cars on the roads here than in Los Angeles. But drive 20 minutes in almost any direction from downtown, and one sees fresh scars of the economic recession developing on top of older ones caused by the legacy of the Soviet occupation.
Pardaugava's district is one of many such areas bruised by the dramatic political and economic changes of the past twenty years. This area is filled with early 20th century wooden houses, along with typical Soviet-era block-buildings that are a visual echo of public housing projects in urban America. These multi-storied concrete or brick buildings scattered across Latvia still house about one-third of the country's population.
The most visible signs of prosperity since the collapse of the Soviet Union are rows of Mercedes and BMWs parked in between these buildings, and new window frames -- usually a sign that while the Soviet exterior is crumbling, the interior of the apartment has been remodeled.
There is another, more subtle sign of the changing times in these districts – a growing number of homeless shelters. Today, there are two government soup kitchens and seven homeless shelters in Riga, housing more than 2,000 people each year, according to the Latvian Department of Welfare. The total number of homeless is probably significantly higher, because many don't know about the shelters or refuse to use them, living in abandoned sheds instead. Nevertheless, the Welfare Department says that every year since the '90s, the number of people at the homeless shelters has been increasing.
Since the economic downfall accelerated last October, Riga's shelters and soup kitchens saw a 10 percent increase in the numbers of their clients, mostly due to the lack of jobs. In addition to high numbers of people in their fifties, the shelters are reporting sharp increases among two new groups: Men and women in their forties with education and significant experience, who are considered easily employable, and young people under 30.
Shelters For the Elders
Every night about 140 men and 30 families line up at the Men's and Family Night Shelter in Latgale's district. They get soup for dinner and can do some reading or watch television before they retire in rooms that house between 10 and 20 people. Only women with children are allowed to stay at this shelter during the day, but the men can leave their belongings in the rooms. Each neatly made up bed provides a glimpse into the lives of its temporary inhabitants – a romance novel, an old radio, a travel coffee mug from some business conference, a small suitcase from a bygone era.
Standing in the hallway on a recent day were five elderly men, waiting for an appointment with a social worker. Like most elderly people in Latvia, the men clearly take deep pride in their appearance and even in times of extreme hardship, maintain an orderly, clean image. This cultural norm makes it hard to identify most homeless in the streets. On the surface, these older men don't look like they are in dire straits, except for a few subtle signs -- old eyeglasses with one arm missing, a portable radio patched with duct tape, thin body frames, a jacket with frayed edges and thinning fabric.
Dagnija Kamerovska has been a social worker at this shelter since 2002 and became its director in 2007. At 47, she is a natural leader beaming with youthful energy and ideas. She looks exhausted, but talks rapidly, taking short breaks to answer two different phones that ring incessantly. She is coordinating the final touches on the first daycare center for middle-aged and older homeless in Latvia.
Having lived most of her life under the Soviet system, she says she's seen very clearly how the dramatic economic changes of the past 20 years created homelessness in Latvia: "In the Soviet era, the state took care of everything. An individual knew that he will always have guaranteed work, salary and an apartment. Then, almost overnight, it all collapses, in the early '90s. Now, an individual has to fight for all of these things, and it is still very hard for some people to adjust to it.
Around 2002, Kamerovska observed a distinct new wave of homeless people, the result of a real estate bubble in Latvia that drove apartment prices sky high. This fueled the rise of aggressive real estate speculators, who preyed on unsuspecting older people who were unaware of the market prices or their rights. They often sold their homes for a fraction of the market price and eventually ended up homeless.
By 2004, a new group of homeless emerged – people who couldn't cover the high prices of rent and utilities, like Vorfolomajeva. "I saw people in their '50s with two degrees in engineering, but no ability to use a computer," says Kamerovska. "So the lack of new skills and their age really disqualified them from a lot of jobs, even though unemployment was decreasing during boom times.
Since the global recession hit Latvia harder than any other European country, causing an 18% GDP drop in the first quarter of this year, Kamerovska is very concerned about the winter ahead. The Latvian government is working to get a second loan from the International Monetary Fund, which is demanding financial austerity and deep cuts to public services across the board. With municipal elections scheduled for June 6, many in Latvia believe that the government is holding off the announcements of the potentially most painful and controversial news -- cutting pensions or social services to the poor. There is also no discussion about what will happen to about 60,000 unemployed whose benefits are expected to run out this Fall.
So far, the government hasn't made very deep cuts to the homeless shelters or social workers. That's good news for Kamerovska and her team, as they are preparing for more clients this winter. "Most of the cuts are directed at the low-level, poor masses. It just doesn't look to me like the top is making any sacrifices, while they squeeze the bottom and ask us to make all sorts of sacrifices. … This probably means more people at our shelters, but we'll do everything we can here to make sure all people get a bed and a plate of warm soup.
Across town, Dzintra Vorfolomajeva continues to rely on the kindness of neighbors and strangers. The coming winter promises to be tougher than the last one, and she will need all the kindness they can muster.
(Top Image) Dzintra Vorfolomejeva, 62, has been homeless since 2004.
(Middle) Dagnija Kamerovska, the director of a homeless shelter in Riga, talks to Ieva Gudele, 32, about her prospects of getting subsidized housing. Gudele and her three daughters have been staying at this shelter for a few months.
(Bottom) Dzintra Vorfolomejeva.