A Foot in Two Campos

Church halls pretty much anywhere in the western world all look remarkably similar.  This one was just like the one in Yorkshire I went to in the 1960s as a Brownie, and the one in south London in the 1990s when I hosted fundraising jumble sales, and then in Somerset in the 2010s when I ran charity training courses.  This one, though, was in a small Axarquía town in inland Málaga province.
 

Ranged along the standard-issue folding tables were heaps of naked and half-dressed Barbie dolls, piles of teeny dresses, hats and trousers, and bags of colour-separated miniature boots and shoes.  And five magnificent women, Alison, Janet, Barbara, Mary and Trish.  They work on this project throughout the year, knitting, sewing, crocheting, shampooing dolls’ hair, putting together matching outfits.  Then each doll goes (temporarily, they assured me) into a plastic bag with four outfits and a little checklist.  Finally, in December, they will be carefully placed into a pretty cloth bag and delivered to Los Ángeles Malagueños de la Noche ready for Kings’ Day on January 6th when the children get their presents.

Their other project for homeless people is the sponge bags, another of Janet’s brainwaves.  We gave out 180 last year and they hope to match that this year.  A sponge bag, each with a flannel, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and a bar of soap.  Two years ago (or was it three now?) I distributed forty of them at the homelessness day centre and was desperately moved by the delighted gratitude shown by the attendees on receipt of something so simple that we all take for granted.
 

Back in the church hall Mary made tea and I sliced a cake I had brought as a very inadequate thank you to these stalwarts.   I gave them the message of gratitude from the Chair of Los Ángeles Malagueños, and described for them how the Kings’ Day toy distribution happens, and how lots of children write their letters to the Kings in advance, and how we try to find toys that match their wish-lists.  Many of dolls made here by this group get put in the bags for those children.  (See Sunburnt Angels for the story).
 

I was useless.  And they were all so skilled.  An actual hairdresser was washing and combing the dolls’ hair!  I was captivated by the bags of teeny tiny shoes that someone else had bought and donated.  But it was a fiddly job, finding shoes to fit each doll!  Why are these things not standardised?   I managed to put a dress on one doll and then to find her a pair of shoes.  The team explained about different brands of dolls, and the problems of the angle of the foot and its lack of flexibility.  I decided that my minimal talents lie elsewhere, so I collected up the mugs and went off to be vaguely useful by washing up, now that the sink was no longer acting as a hairdressing salon.  As I disappeared into the kitchen I heard a frustrated cry of “Has anyone got any knickers?  This is a lovely dress but you can see straight through it!”  Undeterred, the team rifled through the boxes of tiny accessories, and knickers were produced.

Especially at the moment, TV documentaries and so-called “reality” shows like to depict us as “expats”  lounging around our swimming pools (in truth, few of us have them) or huddling together in our bowls clubs (I’ve never set foot in one).  The actual reality might be too boring for them.  The actual reality was there in that church hall that afternoon.  Kind people, not seeking recognition, living in their new country, driving around collecting donations of toothpaste or dolls, crocheting and sewing through the winter, and spending a sociable but intensive afternoon once a month creating Christmas magic for children and families they will never know.

#NingunNiñoSinRegalo

#NoChildWithoutAPresent

©  Tamara  Essex  2019                              http://www.twocampos.com

DONATIONS GRATEFULLY RECEIVED!

We sometimes sell some donated items to raise money to buy small missing items for the doll project or the sponge bag project.  In addition, the general needs of Los Ángeles Malagueños de la Noche are unending.  Donations can be sent direct to them – here are the details for the account for Los Angeles de la Noche (this is their international IBAN number which receives donations in any currency!):
Unicaja: ES60 2103 3034 42 0030013426

PAYPAL OPTION NOW AVAILABLE!
Simply go into your own Paypal account and for the recipient, put the email address:   tesoreria@angelesdelanoche.org

There was a nurse on my flight home to Málaga.  A Spanish nurse, working in a GP surgery in Dorset.  British husband, dual-nationality totally bilingual daughter.  We’d been chatting in the queue about the newish Ryanair rules requiring us to jam our handbags INSIDE our cabin bags, just for passing through the gate before boarding.  ¡Qué pena!  What a pain.  She was flying to Spain for just a couple of days, to collect her daughter from the Spanish grandparents in Granada province to bring her back for the new school term.

Inevitably THAT subject came up.  The other Spanish nurse at her surgery had already packed up and left the UK.  She hadn’t wanted to go through the palaver of applying for Settled Status because she’d been out of the UK for a year recently when her abuela(grandmother) had been ill, and she already knew that would cause hiccups in her application.  This woman, Almudena, had put her application in but had not heard the outcome yet.  She was a bit worried, as she’d applied quite early (the Settled Status application system was piloted first in the NHS before being rolled out) so she thought there might be a problem.  Without it she was worried she wouldn’t be able to travel in November.  I’d read similar concerns on the Facebook forum for Spanish people in the UK.  I have no idea whether their concerns were justified or not – but when you have those uncertainties, you daren’t make plans.

The young woman in front of us turned to listen.  Her t-shirt bore a feminist slogan in Spanish.  She joined in the conversation, almost spitting her answer.  “No voy a pedirlo”, she said, her upper lip curling slightly.  “I’m not going to apply.  It’s not fair.  I went there to work, cleaning up their grandmothers so they don’t have to.  If they don’t want me there then I’ll leave.  I can work anywhere.”

“I thought the same” said Almudena.  “I was furious.  I made my life there, I had the right.  Just because their stupid country made a stupid decision, why should they turn MY life upside down?”  The presence of the feisty one had brought out more of Almudena’s frustration.  Talking just to me she had only had positives to say about Britain.  She had called it “home”.  But the anger had been there, simmering very close to the surface.  Now it was “their stupid country”.  I didn’t object.  How could I?

The young care-worker said she might go to Italy next as someone from her village was already working there, and she’d like to add Italian to her impressive list of languages.  Though other EU countries don’t go out actively trying to recruit nurses and care-workers in Spain.  Only the UK does that.  Ironic, really.  The Home Office refuses Settled Status on some technicality for a nurse with 25 years of experience in the NHS (having been educated and trained at Spain’s expense), and at the same time the NHS advertises in the Spanish nursing press and general newspapers to encourage more, to replace those who are exiting.  Meanwhile, the Spanish health service welcomes the returners with open arms.  They now speak perfect English (useful for dealing with British patients in Spanish hospitals who don’t have the language) and they have worked in a variety of settings in the UK with a wide range of nationalities.  Excellent attributes!  But, sadly, attributes which are not valued in the UK, in our rush to either actively eject these workers or simply ramp up the Hostile Environment so they leave of their own accord.

We filed on board.  After an acquaintance of a mere half hour, Almudena hugged me and wished me a good flight and a good continued life in Spain.  I wished her luck with her Settled Status and reminded her to join the Facebook group for Spaniards facing Brexit.  A couple of hours later we landed in Málaga and I headed home to Colmenar.  Yes I still do keep “a foot in two campos”, and I love my visits to Dorset to see my lovely friends.  But I am settled in Spain.  I feel as though my “status” is that of “settled”.   My adopted country is being kinder to me than my birth country is to Almudena and countless like her.  I shall go back in October for the big protest march.  I’ll march for Almudena too, and for all the nurses, care-workers, shop staff, plumbers, mothers, partners, neighbours and friends who don’t want to leave, don’t want to be pushed out, don’t want to feel so UN-settled.

©  Tamara  Essex  2019                                                 http://www.twocampos.com