The rental van blocking the entrance wasn’t for the last remaining family in the building. In the entrance, a strong scent of Moroccan hash pervaded the air. The boys (boys? some well into their twenties) returned the salutations and continued to drag things up from the basement. Why should the left-over goods fall to the wrecker’s ball?

The graffiti hadn’t changed much since my previous visit – the boys aren’t all that keen on written expression. Up on the fourth floor, our host used one chair as a serving tray for two glasses of water. The mother recognized me, then sat with vacant eyes while the five-year-old tussled with his father. We waited for the fifteen-year-old to come back from school. All of the children’s belongings were packed, except for the laptop. The girl took it when she came home – it would be of no use to her parents anyway, neither of them can read or write.

We trekked down the stairs, loaded up the car. The boy was quiet, clung to his sister. When we pulled out, the mother looked away and the father gave a small wave and a smile.

Today, the mother goes to the hospital. I’m hoping to get her stay extended, at least overnight. No space found for the father, except for his car.

As of Wednesday, in an overwhelming smell of hash, I suppose the boys will appropriate the beds, chairs and curtains left in the apartment. Why should anything be wasted on the wrecker’s ball?

After three months of waiting and suspension of benefits in the interim, do we know yet if the mother’s residency permit will be renewed? We do not.

Onward, and so on. At a meeting with elected officials, immediately after this, they wished to discuss the situation of the thousands of immigrants in encampments up in northern France. We wanted their support for the successful integration of five of them who’ve made it through the hurdles, so far. Words were exchanged and notes were duly taken – I use the passive tense intentionally.

***

And now? I leaf through a friend’s Norton Anthology of American Literature, searching for the right poem with which to move into the day. But think of the children I’ll see today, instead.