Mental Health

A renter’s plight in Victoria

Ramya GN Reddy

Reprinted from the Housing as a Human Right issue of Visions Journal, 2022, 17 (2), pp. 9-10

Many middle-class Indians work towards realizing a common dream: to see their children settle abroad.¹ While I am an Indian from the educated working class, my parents were different. They were content to have their married daughter and grandchild close to them. I was born and raised in a bustling Indian city where my newlywed parents had bought a house that they painstakingly remodelled and modernized as our lifestyles evolved.

It is a largish four-bedroom bungalow in the heart of the city, close to everything urban life has to offer. My son was born in this house, as was I. Neither of us knew what living in a rental entailed, nor did we know that we would be deprived of our basic right to secure housing when we moved to a developed country that boasts better infrastructure and quality of life.

My son was born preterm and diagnosed with respiratory issues soon afterwards. He was repeatedly unwell and struggled with periods of growth arrest. Doctors prescribed him steroids. When he was two, I took on the challenge of moving out of India in the hope of finding clean, pollution- and dust-free air that my allergy-ridden son desperately needed.

Relying on internet research, I decided to move to Canada. Further research pointed me to Victoria, BC—a city touted as having optimal year-round weather and an unhurried pace of life compared to larger Canadian cities. After applying for a master’s program at Royal Roads University (RRU), I secured a study permit for me and a visitor permit for my son.

After some strife, I also managed to find a daycare spot for my child before we left India. I was confident that my son would have a safe place to be while I was in school and hopeful that our move to Victoria would give him a new lease of life. We were blissfully unaware of the looming challenges of the housing crisis in Victoria.

Upon arrival we were fortunate to have a relative who put us up at a hotel near my school. But after more than two weeks there, we had yet to find a rental that would accept a toddler and an immigrant without local references. We were further limited by our need to stay close to my school and my son’s daycare. Early conversations with locals helped me understand that vacancy rates were less than 1%.² Even with substantial savings, my family’s financial support and resource assistance from RRU, my chances of finding a rental in such a tight market were slim.

I took cabs and relied on friends to get me around the city, then rented my own car. However, my lack of familiarity with the city and local communication styles made it hard to keep up with local Canadians competing for the few available places.

My son and I moved from the hotel to an Airbnb, then another Airbnb. I struggled to fulfil my academic commitments and stabilize my son’s health. We made two trips to the emergency room within our first month on the Island. The first was a close call. The doctor who triaged my son plainly stated that we had arrived just in time.

Anxious about being un-housed, it was hard to think clearly and provide the care my child needed. I attributed his declining health to lack of rest resulting from our numerous moves. The inaccessibility of stable housing compounded my son’s health troubles, since, besides prescription medicines, the supplies I relied on to ease his difficulties (teas, tinctures, etc.) were in suitcases I stored in one place while we bounced around.

After several weeks I found a room in a house where the kind landlady was willing to board us temporarily. It was a small 10' x 12' room, and we stayed there for more than two months—sufficient time to stabilize my son’s health and get a grip on my school schedule. I regained some of my mental strength and renewed my search for a rental.

I had been flexible on budget from the start. I needed a two-bedroom, but I was now willing to rent a one-bedroom and live more than 30 minutes’ driving distance from school and the daycare. Yet, it was to no avail. I faced many rejections.

Some landlords mentioned concerns about unfenced yards being unsafe for a child. Others asked for proof of employment, and several others had polite explanations for refusing my application. As a newcomer to Canada and an international student who relied on personal or family finances, providing proof of my ability to pay rent was a herculean task. Then there was the request for local references. For this I provided names of my landlady and the teaching faculty at RRU. These didn’t hold water, as prospective landlords needed long-term landlords and wanted to run credit checks, neither of which I could help with.

We had to cope with a lot more before we finally secured a rental, over three months after we arrived in Victoria. It was a two-bedroom basement apartment, not up to code and lacking sufficient light and ventilation. Yet when I read the email confirming that the place was ours, I felt like I had won the lottery. I didn’t stop to consider the compromise we would be making. Moving all the way from my parents’ spacious bungalow to a small two-bedroom was difficult. My son adjusted quicker than I did. He was just glad he had more space than in our 10’x12’ room.

We made this basement our home, doing our best to work around the limitations of air and light. After a year, the house containing our little suite was put on the market. The new owners wanted to entirely remodel. We were yet again left in the lurch.

In the three years we have lived in Victoria we’ve moved homes thrice. The decision was never our own. While we have been lucky to have wonderful landlords, this has not reduced my anguish, nor have I begun to feel that we have secure housing.

As I write this article, we are set to move again, as my elderly landlords are looking for more senior-friendly housing and have put the house up for sale. Given the current rental market, I know that finding another home will be an uphill task.