Rinaldo gets there first. At four o’clock, while the party doesn’t start until half past four. He plops down on the worn two-seater sofa. Everyone can choose their own spot here, he says. He is always cheerful, he says without being asked. “When people are angry I think: how do you cope?”
At half past five the neighborhood support center suddenly fills up. As if people had been waiting at the door. The support center is a kind of living room for people with mental health problems in the Rotterdam district of Delfshaven. The visitors are coming this afternoon for a farewell dinner, because the neighborhood support center is closing. The municipality has to make cuts. Hence.
Too bad, says Rinaldo. “There are always people here who want to help you.”
At half past six, Matthis van Veen (56) climbs the spiral staircase a few steps. Dinner is coming, he says. “It was ordered and slightly delayed. There is enough for everyone.” Van Veen ensures that the living room is open every day for order and peace. As far as possible. In any case, he himself is a beacon of calm and friendliness, even in the face of excited positions he doesn’t move a muscle.
Taking drugs indoors is not allowed – but if you do, you get a second chance the next day. “And a third and a fourth.”
He has been a care provider and coordinator of the neighborhood support center for seven years, employed by the Salvation Army. In recent years he has been coordinating together with Delaja van den Berg. Before that he worked in education. Before we eat he wants to say something. “As you know, we are closing. But I’ll stay in this area. At least another year. If you want me to come by, you can leave your address. And you can write down my phone number in case anything comes up.”
Then he descends the spiral staircase again. No anger or emotion. It is what it is. He’s not happy with the closure, no one is. The police officer didn’t think it was funny either, says Van Veen. “He comes in here regularly.” The local residents were shocked. 2,600 people have signed the petition, as well as about 60 organizations from the neighborhood, including the neighborhood council. It is feared that people will become lonely at home because they have no network or hang out on the street.
Home alone all day
The living room is full of people who can just about make it in the city with a little help. They have a place to live, but have no idea what to do with the letters they receive, for example. How to make a doctor’s appointment. What they should do with a reminder or a bailiff. Matthis, Delaja or one of the volunteers watches, explains and gives a suggestion. And they can go to the living room for a chat. Because being alone at home all day is just so lonely. That doesn’t make anyone happy.
Many of the visitors are addicted or have psychological problems. Taking drugs indoors is not allowed – but if you do, you get a second chance the next day. “And a third and a fourth,” says Matthis dryly. Alcoholic drinks are also not allowed inside. “I look at the behavior. If someone has had alcohol but is sitting quietly, they can remain seated.”
Hans has lost his glasses. He always hangs on a string around his neck. Now he’s gone. He stumbles around. A man in a long coat waltzes into the living room with a Dirk bag full of rattling empty cans in his hand. He sits down in an old armchair on the other side of the room without greeting anyone.
Gift package
The door opens, the cold rushes in. Three men in dark, padded jackets, hoods over their hats, backpacks on their backs, enter. They are not regular visitors. Hello, says the boldest one. “I heard we could pick up a gift package here?” That’s right. There are dozens of paper bags with treats ready because of the upcoming closure. Matthis goes to get three bags. “We are happy with it, we sleep in the park,” says one of the men. Throwing packaging in the trash, says Matthis.
“Sure.”
Arthur (63) sits on the floor and strums his guitar. He wears heels and his nails are long and colorfully painted. “After you turn 60, you do the things that are important to you,” he says. “I think the things I do are more important than the things I don’t do.” After dinner, he says, everyone will sing. He will then guide.
Photos: Angeniet Berkers
The food is brought in. Van Veen is standing on the spiral staircase again: “The food is here,” he shouts. “Everything is halal, except the babi pangang.” Normally, volunteer Helena with the red hair always cooks, but today an order has been placed. Large containers of rice, noodles, tjap tjoy and various meat dishes are displayed on a long table. There is also prawn crackers. Helena and Delaja fill the plates. A few people want their food in a plastic container and then go back to the back of the line with a plate. Everyone keeps their winter coat on inside.
“One cup of coffee, one cup of coffee,” Rinaldo sings. “Do you know that one?” he asks Matthis. Matthis nods. “You can soon submit that to Arthur as a request number.
To ‘houses of the neighborhood’
Six of these ‘mental health-related’ neighborhood support centers in Rotterdam must close. Those in Delfshaven and Zevenkamp will close in January, the rest will follow in the coming years. The municipality thinks that visitors can go to the normal ‘houses of the neighborhood’, a kind of community centers. Matthis van Veen: “The question is whether our people fit in and whether the volunteers in the houses of the neighborhood can deal with our visitors.”
People could go to the neighborhood support center in Delfshaven to print. There was a telephone that allowed free calling and computers that visitors could use. They could ask for help without having to make an appointment in advance. And they could have broken appliances repaired by Carlos. He can create anything, provided he does it his way and at his pace. It is popular, because most visitors do not have money for new things. Van Veen: “So he gets a lot of appreciation. That is good for his self-confidence.” There were also activities such as free language lessons and games afternoons. There was a sewing workshop. And there was a project in which people help each other to keep their finances in order. Matthis van Veen: “We try to strengthen their own strength and help them build a network.”
Franquitto (66) has awkwardly sat down in his chair in front of the moving buffet. He used to be an architect, he says. Until he suffered a brain hemorrhage. Franquitto is a nickname, actually his name is Frank. Gerard, a friend of his, goes to get food for both of them. Frank shouts from a distance what exactly he wants.
When the food is finished, Matthis is back on the spiral staircase. He starts a song. There is some humming here and there. Bring a gift bag and a candle, says Matthis. There is a card attached to the candle: “Thank you for your light,” it says. “Keep shining! Greetings Delaja and Matthis.”
