Before crossing the border into the United States, Óscar, an asylum seeker, waited more than 6 months for a work permit that never arrived, condemning him to extreme poverty.
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“Is it expensive to print a work permit or what? If migrants are reasonable, they come here to work, to pay taxes. It’s labor,” says the man who waited in vain for more than six months for authorization to work.
Originally from Venezuela, Óscar worked in the kitchen for over 10 years and taught primary school children in the past. He only had one wish: to be hired as quickly as possible in Montreal.
Photo Chantal Poirier
Throughout this time, he refused to work illegally and counted his expenses to the nearest dollar to survive in Montreal with $770 in social assistance: $400 for his dilapidated studio, $97 for a metro pass. , $110 for his cell phone. The rest – crumbs – for food and medicine for the month.
Without a working oven and a fridge, Óscar used to make his meal of rice and chicken last for three days to save on food.
Photo Chantal Poirier
“I bought ugly fruit at a discount, almost all my clothes are second hand, and I can’t spend anything,” Óscar confided with a sigh, a few days before jumping the lines to return to the United States.
Son of farmers and accustomed to the abundance of the Venezuelan plains, Óscar had to fall back on damaged fruits and vegetables sold at a discount at the grocery store.
Photo Chantal Poirier
Unable to help his family
Added to this sad observation was the total impossibility for him to send any money to his family in Venezuela, as he had done in the past.
“My sister just had a baby. She had to sell the air conditioning and her phone to buy the basics. If I could have worked, I would have sent him $500,” he regrets, his eyes moist.
Even his mother wondered what he was doing in a foreign country, unemployed, while he was the only one in his family outside Venezuela.
This constant anxiety weighed heavily on Oscar’s morale all summer.
He spent his time alternating between walks around subway stations and a few hours clearing tables at a friend’s cafe in exchange for a sandwich.
“I experienced misery that I had never known anywhere else. Not even in Venezuela,” he says.