Sadie Njie witnessed this sad scene on the East London street where she lives.
10 am. Katherine Road, Forest Gate. The sun is shining at the start of a beautiful autumn day – for some. Others are unable to enjoy the last rays of warmth and hope.
Surrounded by most of their belongings, a man and a woman are having a heated discussion in the middle of the road. It looks like they have been kicked out of their house. The lines on the man’s face suggest late 40s, but his movements are younger than that. The woman is fending off passers-by who are starting to dig through the mountain of bags for something to steal.
‘Please, don’t take anything. Don’t touch that, just leave.’
Her voice is loud and I can hear her clearly through my balcony window. It is obvious that she is in distress. I walk downstairs to take a closer look, and to see if I can help. My flatmate flags down the man with an offer of assistance. Recognising how much stress the couple is under, he is extremely polite:
‘Excuse me, Sir, sorry to disturb you. We live across the street and we wondered if you needed somewhere to store some of your things, maybe?’
The man seems thankful and after a moment he replies eagerly.
‘Are you sure? I would really appreciate it. You have no idea – just let me just talk to my wife.’
I can already see that the woman is unhappy and will decline our offer. She looks our way with a contemptuous expression, and as the man walks towards her she begins cursing in Portuguese. Not wanting to be the cause of further trouble, my flatmate and I go back indoors. Before we cross the threshold, the man turns to us and quietly apologizes.
‘Sorry.’
Although I cannot help but take offence at the woman’s reaction, I am still sympathetic to their plight. So when the man comes back on his own half-an-hour later, to ask whether the offer still stands, I don’t dismiss him outright. How could I ignore the desperation in his voice?
‘Of course, let me just get the key, and we will come and help you.’
We help the man carry the things across the road and into our building. They are heavy, but it feels good helping out. The woman is nowhere to be seen. Packing the things into our storage room, I can see that the man is relieved to get his belongings off the street.
‘I’m sorry about my missus, she can be impossible sometimes. We got evicted by the council this morning,’ he explained, ‘so she’s very upset.’
But as I walk back to grab some more of the things I hear screaming. Suddenly the woman has re-appeared, shouting her head off:
‘Get the bloody things out of there. I’d rather leave them on the street than with these Somalis.’
The man stands silent, his head bowed down, looking at the ground. She is still ranting, and after a minute he turns to face us. He doesn’t really know what to say.
‘I’m so sorry… Again. Hhhm. But she doesn’t like……we have to move all the things out again.’
The following morning, the man and the woman were gone but their belongings still lay on the pavement across the road.
Minus some items picked up by passers-by.