Sister Outsider

This documentary photographic project aims to bridge the gaps between diverse communities within Ireland, amplify voices, dismantle stereotypes, inspire, and fortify relations between migrant women and the local community, and reiterate the indisputable fact that migrant women are fully-formed individuals who contribute significantly to society, despite facing avoidable barriers.

The choice of 'Sister Outsider’ as the title of this work comes with deep respect for the immense contributions of Audre Lorde, especially for the poem from which I borrowed the title. I was drawn to her words because of their resonance with the experiences of migrant women, and particularly with the women I photographed, with whom I felt a strong connection.

During the fall of 2024, over the course of five months, I interviewed and photographed nine migrant women from various backgrounds and nationalities who have either lived or are currently living in Ireland. They shared not only their experiences and stories, but also their perspectives on social issues and navigating life in the country.

I am sharing glimpses into the lives of these nine migrant women residing in Ireland, as they exemplify perseverance, resilience, success, and representation, to spark critical dialogue. Each woman’s story encompasses unique experiences, ideas, and viewpoints, shaped by the practical realities they encounter in Ireland. Throughout our discussions, we delved into topics such as migration, workplace violence, housing, homelessness, domestic violence, mental health, abortion, the healthcare system, motherhood, community, feminism, and society, among others.

Luciana

During a cold January afternoon, Luciana welcomed me into her Dublin home. She offered a handmade handwarmer filled with seeds that could be heated in the microwave for a few seconds. This thoughtful gesture helped our connection, broke the ice, and allowed the conversation to flow naturally for the entire afternoon. We began by discussing her motivation for joining Grupo Mulheres do Brasil – Núcleo Irlanda, the Irish chapter of a Brazilian women’s organization focused on promoting empowerment and supporting other migrant women in Ireland. Luciana had been aware of the group since her time in Brazil, where she worked as the secretary to the organization's president, gaining firsthand experience with its initiatives before continuing her involvement in Ireland.

After two years in Ireland, she felt the need to contribute her time and energy to a meaningful cause, so she joined the group’s Women’s Rights Committee. Her volunteer work involves writing, communication, developing campaign ideas, and sharing information about cancer based on her personal experiences.

We discussed processes, access to rights, information, and responsibilities, and Luciana shared her experiences seeking protection from domestic violence in Ireland.

"Here in Ireland, I've been through domestic violence. I've been through the whole process. I've been through the process of going to the authorities; I've been through the process of women’s aid; I've been through the process of going to court; I know the whole process because I've been through this," she said.

Despite knowing this is not always the case, Luciana found her experience with the systems surprisingly positive and hopes to change perceptions among migrant communities. "I think that maybe the difficulty, thinking about the Brazilians who are here, is taking away a little bit of the prejudice that the authorities don’t do anything," she said.

Luciana believes that dialogue and mutual responsibility are essential. From a Brazilian immigrant perspective, she stressed that migrants need to seek information, communicate their views, and take action, while official institutions and the Irish Government must also fulfill their responsibilities. Language was a key part of our discussion, as it remains one of the main barriers. Although the responsibility often falls on migrants, she highlighted ways the government could actively help, such as increasing translation services, supporting translators, or providing dual-language information in public spaces.

"Because, for example, when the authorities ran a violence campaign against women, they did it every day for 16 days, each day in a different language. When it was Portuguese, the whole Brazilian community was like, ah, Portuguese, and everyone shared. Maybe this has happened in other communities as well, in other languages," she added.

Drawing from her experience with cancer treatment, Luciana contrasted healthcare systems in Brazil and Ireland, noting differences in protocols and access to medical services. She underscored the importance of understanding cultural nuances in healthcare delivery and encouraged immigrants to navigate and benefit from the system effectively.

Although Luciana shared many ideas to improve the lives of migrant women and the broader community, she also emphasized the importance of migrants taking initiative, adapting, learning the system, and actively applying themselves in order to thrive in Ireland.

For the portrait, Luciana posed perfectly, her expression capturing the tone of the conversation. She patiently waited while I worked with the low light to get the right picture, making the photography process smooth and collaborative.

Jessica

I met Jessica in September 2023 on a sunny Saturday in Cavan. She greeted me at the hotel reception where she was staying at the time. We had been communicating via text for the past few days, during which she had shared some of the terrible conditions she had endured during her three years in Ireland. Currently homeless, she previously lived under Direct Provision for two and a half years, until harassment by center staff forced her into homelessness. During her time under Direct Provision, she was relocated through four different centers.

Jessica is an American social justice activist who sought asylum abroad after facing threats related to her activist work. Before coming to Ireland, she was heavily involved in political activism in Rhode Island, fighting against workplace bullying and advocating for marginalized communities. Using her IT skills, she helped construction workers and other underrepresented groups access technology they otherwise lacked. Her activism, however, allegedly put her at risk, which ultimately prompted her to leave the United States and seek safety in Ireland.

Once in Ireland, she was accepted under the Direct Provision system and placed in an IPAS center. Over a short period, she was moved between multiple locations. Jessica recounted experiences of harassment by center staff, including intrusion into her room at night, being pressured to do illegal tasks, and general behaviors that left her feeling unsafe and disrespected. These experiences had a severe traumatic impact and worsened her health.

"So I opened the door, and there he was, and he was demanding that I help him with a passport. Because I had good English. Okay. And I knew that was illegal. It is illegal for him to come to me and ask me to do something like that," she said.

Her own experiences sparked a broader concern. Jessica witnessed systemic mistreatment affecting other residents as well. She began reporting these issues to multiple agencies, newspapers, politicians, and even the Gardaí.

"So I made it my job to go to every single agency that purported to protect victims of crime, asylum seekers, immigrants, everything," she said.

From her perspective, the system is deeply broken. Her conclusion was stark. The IPAS system does not exist to help residents but instead perpetuates cycles of toxic situations, leaving it nearly impossible for anyone to grow or build a life in the country.

"It's clear to me that in any case, the IPAS system is not meant to help the residents at all. Not to help anyone but themselves, to collect their money for whatever, from whatever," Jessica said.

Yet amidst all this, Jessica’s warmth and humanity shone through in small moments. During one of our conversation breaks, she paused to look at a group of young women celebrating a hen’s party at the hotel. They were loud, playful, and carefree, wearing masks and holding toys. She looked at them with a gracious expression and said, "That is amazing, they should be loud indeed. We all have to experience that. Nothing more beautiful than loud and spontaneous young women."

That day, I had been photographing Jessica intermittently, capturing both candid and posed moments throughout our time together to convey her strength and sense of justice. Later in the day, as I was preparing to leave and catch my bus, I even checked the app and saw it would arrive in less than ten minutes. Jessica began talking once more, beautifully and passionately, about her activist work. Even though I had taken tons of portraits of her, when I looked at her with the light coming from the window, I noticed that this was the one. I grabbed my camera again from the bag and made the portrait. I thought I had already captured the essence of her, but just as I was about to leave, checking my bus schedule and packing my camera, she began passionately recounting her activism once more. Later on, during the edits, I realized that none of the other pictures had worked, and if it wasn’t for that one, I wouldn’t have her photo.

Jessica’s story is a stark reminder of the struggles faced by asylum seekers, even those coming from countries like the United States, and highlights the ongoing challenges within Ireland’s Direct Provision system. At the same time, it captures her vitality, compassion, and enduring spirit.

Izabele

Last October 2023, I met Izabele, or Belle, at her brother's bicycle rental and repair shop, Seven Ebike, where she sometimes helps with work. We sat at a table while enjoying some Brazilian coffee she had prepared.

We began the interview by talking about her age and hometown, then moved on to her experiences as a delivery worker. She shared both the positive and challenging aspects of the job.

“Well, there were a lot of positive things. I could work a lot of hours and set my own schedule. There was also the independence. But there were difficult moments too. In delivery, we are subjected to everything—rain, sun, accidents. If you stop, you won’t earn anything. It's very different from a permanent job. Once I got hurt and had to stop for a week. I had nothing to do,” she said.

Although she never experienced theft or robbery, which are common risks for delivery workers, she did face a violent assault she believes was motivated by xenophobia.

“What happened was that I got the food, put it in my bag, and was getting off the sidewalk on Dame Street when an old man pushed me onto the street with both hands. Fortunately, there was cardboard nearby, so I fell on it instead of the street. I could have been seriously hurt. I was kind of without a reaction,” she recounted.

She described the moments immediately after the assault, questioning the aggressor:

“Then I asked him, why did you do that? What happened? What did I do to you? He said: ‘You're wrong; you're on the sidewalk.’ But everyone saw the situation. I gathered a lot of people and said, I'm not wrong. I just left the restaurant. I just got my food. I started to get nervous. I started to cry,” Izabele said.

“It was possible to see that he knew I was not from his culture and that he did it on purpose. It was a huge sidewalk with enough space. I wasn't in the middle; I was in the corner. So, it was clear he targeted me as an immigrant,” she added.

Support came from people nearby, including a Brazilian woman, and despite the trauma, she decided to continue delivering the order.

When asked about her experience as a female delivery worker, Izabele highlighted respect and solidarity within the delivery community.

“The people who work in delivery help each other a lot. It's a strong community. These days, if help is needed, you can get it. When the first protest happened, I was there. I was already working here at Seven, but I wanted to help, to do something,” she said.

While she felt respected, she occasionally received comments on her gender from customers.

“Sometimes people would say, ‘Dude, you're a woman, how come?!’” she recalled. Over time, she began avoiding late-night shifts as she gradually felt more insecure.

The conversation then moved to policing in Dublin. Since July 2023, the Minister of Justice, Helen McEntee, announced an extra €10 million for policing Dublin, adding over 240,000 policing hours after an assault on a US tourist. Many delivery workers criticized the move, arguing that daily attacks on workers often go unnoticed unless they involve tourists.

“I think it would be essential, but the authorities need to fulfill their role. They should protect not only people born in the city but also immigrant workers. Immigrants generate an economy here—they do work many don’t,” she said.

We also discussed the responsibilities of delivery companies.

“There are rules that companies often don’t comply with. If a person suffers an accident, they have to send detailed data from the hospitals. But there’s rarely any response,” Izabele explained.

Finally, we spoke about the quality of life for migrants in Ireland, addressing housing, cost of living, and government support.

“For me, as a first-world country, costs have increased a lot, but quality hasn’t kept up. Rent and food are expensive. What has the government done to help immigrants here?” she asked.

Coline 

I’ve been friends with Coline since she moved to Ireland, having shared a home for a while in Clontarf, a residential neighborhood in Dublin, along with three other working women. Our friendship grew as we talked about our lives, dreams, and the unique challenges of living abroad as immigrants. Coline’s interest in a project I was working on led to her participation. We met at the Clontarf house, where she was still living at the time, for a portrait session, followed by a conversation at a local café where I asked her about her reasons for leaving France and relocating to Ireland.

“I felt an emergency. For myself, as in my own life. I have nothing that is keeping me in France. And although the economic conditions pushed me to stay in France, personally, there was an emergency to leave. To create a sense of who you are and what you're doing in the world.

On the practical side, it was also to go away from a family or a certain pressure that you would feel in society. I would feel in a society that when you're a woman and that you're past 30, as in job wise, career, couple, all these ideas that weigh a lot sometimes in certain areas in France, in certain women, you kind of achieve those goals. And if you don't, you have that pressure, or at least I felt that pressure, and then going abroad is more like a willingness to understand and to know the world a bit more and find meaning.” She said.

Apart from wanting to find a more free society that would match her ideologies and also feeling  that France was pressuring her more to achieve societal norms that she did not necessarily want,  Coline also had some cultural connections with Ireland that weighted her choice;

“I had interest in the Irish culture, the history as well of Ireland, as a country that was colonised, Ireland resonated to me. Also when I think Ireland, I think of the music. Kind of a warm atmosphere, and, which kind of  surprised me when I arrived in Dublin because the atmosphere is quite different from what you idealise or what you think.” Coline said.

As our conversation continued, Coline mentioned that, unlike many migrants, she doesn't face the same visa-related challenges, feeling her difficulties are comparable to those of native Irish residents. We both acknowledged the severity of the housing crisis in Ireland, which impacts our ability to make long-term plans and consider Ireland a permanent home due to its widespread effects on living conditions.

“I cannot afford to live on my own, being 34 and 35 years old in Dublin. For that reason, I don't really see myself here in the long term. And I think that's what many people face.” she said.

Besides high rents, another issue is that Coline, I, and more than 600,000 people in Ireland,  according to reports made in 2019, experience poor living conditions. Some of the main issues are mould, leaks, dampness, and rot, among others.

Coline agrees that while individuals should take charge of their lives, governments also must create conducive conditions for this. Both Ireland and France, she noted, often fall short in this regard. Politicians in these countries sometimes promote a meritocratic illusion, expecting citizens to independently secure a dignified life, which can lead to fewer supportive social policies and a neglect of necessary public supports.

“I can relate to taking responsibility, but how can you do that somewhere where you cannot afford to pay rent or to live in okay condition. And then some politicians's answers would be, move your ass or whatever.” pointed her out.

Furthermore, Coline spoke a bit about her own experience living before being diagnosed with ADHD. She also explained that even though the diagnosis is a big step, it is still the beginning of a journey that she is experiencing right here in Ireland, as although her processes to diagnose started in France, she got the diagnostic response while living in Ireland.

“My own experience of life is having a lot being taken, health-wise, for years, the condition that I had led me feeling lost in the world and not being very responsible, needing assistance and needing to be on sick leave. Because schools don't have time to take care of special needs, they don’t really think of the individual. It doesn't actually help you to become responsible for yourself. It's kind of, if you don't fit the mode, either you find a way, or good luck... it creates broken people.” She said.

Finally, regarding transportation, while not always a headline issue in Ireland, significantly affects daily life. Coline and I discussed how Dublin's public transport system was rated the worst among 30 European capitals last year by Greenpeace. Criticisms included lack of a monthly ticket option, high fares, and fixed-price long-term tickets. There have been calls for improving the system, including proposals to abolish fares. However, the Minister for Transport, Eamon Ryan, expressed concerns that this could lead to more unnecessary trips and emphasized the importance of enhancing the quality, availability, capacity, and reliability of public transportation instead.

“Transportation can be challenging and an impediment for actually going out, or just getting out of your work. It takes so much time. It's so long that it can take an hour and a half on public transport to go to work. And then, well, you have no time for your life. It creates a burden on people's lives here.” She said.

Coline pointed out based on her own experiences how better availability, capacity, and reliability would improve her life, and it is needless to say that the reductions or abolition of the fares would not only improve her life but that of many other people who are highly struggling with the cost of living in Ireland.

Juliana

I met Juliana in her apartment in Smithfield, where she quickly made both of us feel at ease and ready to talk. Before we began discussing the project, she read some of her beautiful and honest poetry for me, offering a glimpse into her personal perspective and voice.

We then had a long conversation about her personal life before moving on to her volunteer work with Grupo Mulheres do Brasil. Juliana has been part of the group for over six months. In addition to being a member of the Comitê de Boas Vindas (Welcome Committee), she also provides tutoring within the group.

Juliana spoke passionately about her volunteer work. She is responsible for tutoring Brazilian women as they navigate the job market in Ireland, helping them with tasks such as preparing for interviews, refining CVs, using LinkedIn effectively, and building confidence for professional settings. She explained that the project is structured in modules, and her module focuses specifically on job interviews.

She described some of the challenges the group faces, particularly the limited number of volunteers. “The difficulties I encounter involve the need for more volunteers. It's unavoidable because social problems persist. Each person requires individual attention,” she said.

Juliana also highlighted the need for more support from authorities. Although the group has already made a meaningful impact, she believes that with additional volunteers and institutional support, it could assist many more people.

Andrezza

I met Andrezza* last year, in 2023, on a night out at Fibbers, a rock bar in the city center of Dublin. Immediately, we connected and shared personal and intimate stories. We kept in touch and went out a couple more times. When I told her about the project, she agreed to participate.

On an icy night in January 2024, I met Andrezza at the emergency accommodation where she lives with her two-year-old twins and her older son, who is 24.

Andrezza’s motivation for leaving her job at a museum in Brazil after finishing her journalism degree was to learn English, but she had no idea of the journey she would experience over the next ten years.

On her first day in Ireland, when she got the key to her accommodation, she met the man who would become her first husband. They started a relationship and were in love for at least three years before he proposed, and she accepted. After their marriage, however, things gradually changed. He became aggressive towards her and eventually towards her older son.

“Then he started threatening my son. When he began threatening my son, I said, 'No, I'm not going to stay here.' I went and moved to an apartment,” she recounted.

After starting to heal from that first abusive relationship, Andrezza met another person. Unfortunately, this relationship also became abusive. Her second husband, who is the father of her twins, subjected her to domestic violence. During this time, she became pregnant with the twins after he insisted on having children, despite her initial desire not to have more children, as both already had children from previous relantioships.

"From the beginning, when we started going out, he always wanted to have a son. I said I didn't want to, because I already had Chris. Chris was grown up, so I told him, 'I don’t want to have a child anymore.'"

Despite her wishes, she ended up becoming pregnant. Unfortunately, she lost a baby at four moths of pregnancy due to health risk, leaving her traumatised.

The abortion, which she experienced without the support of her husband, greatly impacted Andrezza’s life, and she started experiencing severe emotional pain.

“I was sure I wouldn't survive because of the pain of losing my daughter. Everywhere I went, I saw a child. I couldn't see a child, a baby, that I started crying, and then I thought: I'm only going to have a cure if I became pregnant again,'” she said.

After some time apart, Andrezza began to heal from the relationship and tried to rebuild her life. But as often happens in abusive cycles, her former husband reappeared, seeming changed and remorseful. His behavior softened, and as the pain of losing her baby persisted, Andrezza allowed herself to believe things might truly be different. They decided to try for another pregnancy, this time through IVF to avoid complications.

The treatment was very invasive and painful, but she finally became pregnant with twins. It was a risky pregnancy as she experienced bleeding, and although she was happy, she had to endure more painful and distressing moments while being confined to bed all day.

"I was the one who had to give injections to my own belly. The hormones I had to take for the treatment made my belly swollen, and I felt very sick, as if it were pregnancy.” Said her.

Then the signs of emotional abandonment began to manifest from the father, who was not providing Andrezza with emotional and practical support, and was attempting to spend as much time away from home as possible. Consequently, her older son had to halt his college education to work, enabling them to cover their portion of rent and bills. This was necessary as her husband, at the time, was not contributing financially, and the benefits from her pregnancy and maternity leave were insufficient to meet their expenses.

Focused on her future, as soon as she was physically capable, Andrezza decided to apply for a driver's license. She recognized the necessity of a car not only for transporting her children but also for her eventual return to work as a childminder, requiring a larger vehicle. Despite numerous obstacles, Andrezza passed the driving test on her first attempt.

"I told myself, 'Either I pass now, or I don't pass.' I was determined to pass. After the test, I felt confident that I had done everything correctly. I had no room for failure. I dedicated myself to studying extensively and even watched instructional videos the night before the test. And I succeeded. When I found out, I was ecstatic. I couldn't believe I had passed," she recounted.

Even during her pregnancy, amidst signs of emotional abuse, her husband committed the first act of physical violence against her. It occurred on Christmas Eve when Andrezza, after a confrontation, was heading to a scheduled ultrasound appointment alone, as her husband refused to accompany her.

"On December 24, 2020, as I was preparing to leave for my ultrasound appointment, I got into my car. Suddenly, he appeared, opened the front door, and stood in front of the car, threatening to break the window if I didn't comply. I felt terrified, fearing for my life. It wasn't what he might do to me that scared me; it was the realization that he might kill me. He demanded that I open the door, insisting he would take me," Andrezza recalled.

During the attack, he ended up breaking the handle of her car, and Andrezza called the Garda. The Garda arrived, arrested him, and stayed with Andrezza until she was finally able to go to her ultrasound clinic.

After this violent attack, Andrezza obtained a safety order against the perpetrator for five years, and he left home for some time.

Finally, the due date came, and Andrezza’s twin babies were born in good health. After a series of acts of violence and abuse, the perpetrator abandoned the babies and left the house, leaving Andrezza by herself not only to look after the babies but also to pay for all the costs of the house and of the babies.

During and after the pregnancy, until the babies reached 6 months old, Andrezza had access to a social worker who provided her with considerable support. This social worker was affiliated with the National Maternity Hospital, where Andrezza delivered her babies. Despite her immense gratitude for the assistance received, Andrezza was taken aback when the social worker abruptly ceased providing services, a requirement of the benefit, and ceased all communication with her, disregarding numerous attempts at contact. All Andrezza desired was a copy of the reports detailing her time under the hospital's and social workers' care. These reports would not only aid her in securing custody of the babies to shield them and herself from the abuser but also serve as evidence in court of the violence perpetrated against her and the babies.

"After my sessions with the social worker ended, I lost all access and support without warning. She refused to compile a report on my experiences, which would have greatly assisted me, allowing me to employ it in court to substantiate his aggression towards me during pregnancy. Even though there was a Tusla report, she failed to do this for me," Andrezza said.

During the initial 1.5 years of the babies' lives, the father neglected to provide child support. Despite Andrezza's efforts to seek legal recourse immediately after the babies were born, it wasn't until 1.5 years later that she obtained a court hearing. Although the judge ruled in her favor, ordering the father to pay child support, they overlooked the period prior to the court hearing.

When I asked Andrezza how she felt when sharing her story with me, I was concerned if, during those moments of reliving, it would make her feel worse or subject her to more emotional pain. Her reply was very generous, inspiring, and courageous:

"It's hard to remember, you know? But it's good at the same time because it makes me realise that everything I've been through has brought me to where I am today. It shows me that despite all the hardships I've faced, I've survived. So, in a way, it gives me strength when I reflect on it. It also triggers me to remember, but it's good to remember sometimes, to recall how terrible it was. Because our memory tends to erase bad things for survival." She said.

Andrezza was left alone to pay the full rent of her house after her former husband left, having to pay for his part of the rent and receiving no child support or any other financial support. It was in that moment when the state failed and let her down that the absurdities she had to experience exposed how the systems are pushing people to homelessness when they most need help instead of aiding them to rebuild.

Once Andrezza noticed she was not going to afford the full rent, she applied for HAP and started to follow their instructions. One of the instructions was to ask the other housemates to leave the house, as advised by the local authorities that she would only get the HAP approved once she had a house to herself and her children. After her housemates left, she sent the documents to the local authorities to her surprise. Their response was that the value of the house was not acceptable. Even though she was in constant communication with them and following all the correct procedures, their response was still negative.

Andrezza tried all possible ways to negotiate between the landlord and the local authorities to adjust values, and she even offered to pay the difference, but it was still denied. Without the former housemate, HAP, or any financial support from her ex-husband, and with two very young babies, Andrezza found herself unable to pay the rent, and a new battle started to gain time until the eviction day. She appealed to RTB, knowing she was going to lose, to gain some time and be able to find a house in the meantime.

Besides being on the brink of losing her house, Andrezza also lost her job because, as a childminder, she used to work looking after the children of her boss in her own house, and now that the eviction was imminent, there would be no house for Andrezza to look after her boss’s children. In the meantime, she kept searching for another house, receiving only negative responses.

Andrezza already knew the date she would have to leave the house, and as time passed, noticing that she wouldn’t find a house, her only choice was to rent storage spaces to keep her things, which she did, and just before the eviction day, Andrezza started moving her things, which was extremely exhausting as she needed to make approximately 25 car trips."

"On September 14, 2022, the woman from the agency arrived. She stepped out of the car accompanied by a man who was changing the keys of the house, a key-chain already in hand. We hurriedly began to empty the house, as we hadn't had enough time to take everything out. I had rented a van, which made two trips. It carried some of our belongings, but the rest of my things were left strewn in front of the house. That's when reality hit me. I broke into tears; my mind was in chaos. I didn't know what to do. I was with my two babies during their lunch break, unable to feed them. I needed to use the restroom, but the house I lived in was locked. I had nowhere to go, so I sat on the ground in the grass," said Andrezza.

Without knowing if they would have anywhere other than her car to spend the night, Andrezza spent the day calling the council, seeking the emergency accommodation promised to her. It was supposed to be arranged once she returned the landlord's keys, but things didn't go as planned. After numerous calls and spending the day on the streets, unable to properly feed themselves or use restroom facilities, the council finally called at 10 p.m. They had found a place for Andrezza and her children to spend the night: a B&B in the city center, with the condition that they leave in the morning.

The B&B was the first of five emergency accommodations they lived in for only one and a half months. During this time, although the quality of the places gradually improved from the previous to the next, Andrezza and her family were forced to endure a number of human rights violations. Many of the emergency accommodations failed to provide the minimum standards required for adequate housing. According to the UN, habitability and the availability of services, materials, facilities, and infrastructure are key aspects of measuring adequate housing, and the places Andrezza and her family lived lacked in many of these aspects.

This entire ordeal not only took a toll on their physical and mental health but also inflicted various forms of damage on the family. In the first B&B where they stayed for five days, there was no access to the kitchen or any food. Additionally, there was only one bathroom shared among seven families, with each family typically consisting of at least three members. Needless to say, the bathroom was constantly occupied, and sanitation levels were very low.

"And I was desperate; my babies had diarrhoea and vomiting; they got a bug in this BNB. We didn't have access to the kitchen in this BNB. We didn't have a sink in the room. And we were eating ready-to-eat food from Tesco for five days. It was a nightmare. The babies lost weight. They didn't want to eat because they were used to hot food,” Andrezza said.

They finally moved to another place where they had their own bathroom, which felt like an improvement, but on the other hand, they still had no access to the kitchen and were prohibited from cooking inside the room or using any kind of facilities.

“Babies kept losing weight because there wasn't a stove. I couldn't use a stove; there was no way. I came to Dublin to pick up beans at my friend's house. I would take the bag of beans, cook them for me, and put them in this fridge…. We ate rice and beans, and the rest was just bread. We couldn't have a kettle in the bedroom or anything,” she said.

“Once, we went to take the clothes to wash. There was a guy taking off his horse's clothes. In the same machine that we used to wash the clothes of the babies, I felt super bad,” she added.

Andrezza and her three children were finally transferred to a more adequate house. Although they experienced a number of improvements and felt a sense of relief, it is still an emergency accommodation with no sense of security, as they can be asked to leave with only days of notice. Furthermore, there are still several issues regarding habitability.

Being allocated a house from the housing list would be ideal and represent an important step for Andrezza and her children to continue rebuilding their lives. To expedite this process, being accepted onto the medical priority list is essential and only fair. Andrezza and her baby, Marie, have health issues and are eligible for medical priority status. Unfortunately, due to bureaucratic issues, they have not yet been awarded this status, and they have been waiting for two years.

Luz

I visited Luz at her home one weekday evening. Before setting up my camera, we discussed our lives, interests, life after the pandemic, and the Dublin Riots that occurred two months earlier. We also highlighted the importance of such discussions in promoting the inclusion and voices of migrants, minorities, and vulnerable individuals.

When asked about her motivation to join the Mulheres do Brasil group and her role within it, Luz explained that when Élida (Co-founder of the group) proposed founding Grupo Mulheres do Brasil-Ireland and invited her, she immediately accepted. She had a history of volunteering in Brazil and felt compelled to support the Brazilian community in Ireland due to observed needs and challenges they faced.

Luz's role in the group involves guiding and directing new members towards the group's objectives and values. One significant challenge she highlighted is the lack of financial and logistical support from the government, which hinders the group's ability to fully dedicate themselves to their cause.

“There are funds for community groups, but they don't always reach the small groups. It feels to me that the ones with larger infrastructures end up always accessing what should be granted to the community initiatives that are actually doing the groundwork, but sometimes don't meet bureaucratic criteria. So it seems like the deal remains; it almost feels like a rigged game, as harsh as it may sound. I think that organisations like ours, which are community initiatives, could perhaps develop better and work more if these funds were better distributed and targeted.” Said Luz.

Feeling frustrated by the lack of support, Luz proposed the idea of a community liaison within public bodies, such as the city hall, to give community groups like theirs a voice and representation.

"My suggestion is to have a community liaison within public bodies like the city hall, so that community groups like ours can have a voice and participate more actively," Luz said.

Balz

Balz received me in their house at night, and we started our conversation over tea. The first topic was regarding their name, Balz, which is shortened from Balzacian Bacchic. The name comes from their interactions with literature, with the first name Balzacian originating from the novel "A Woman of Thirty" by the French writer Honoré de Balzac, and it is an expression used in Brazil to define women in their thirties. The second part of their name, Bacchic, is related to Bacchus, the god of winemaking, fertility, festivity, and theatre. As per their fluid gender, Balz adopted the English version of the name, which is Balzacian Bacchic, because in the English language, nouns do not have gender.

As our conversation progressed, Balz began to discuss the barriers they encountered as a migrant and the barriers faced by other migrants in Ireland. "I think one of the main differences from when I arrived to now is mainly access to health and understanding how health services work. For example, to this day, I keep explaining to people how the Leap Card works," they explained.

Although Balz had already learned some English when they arrived, they noticed frustration with the learning curve of the English language and adjusting to life in Ireland in general. Balz dedicated themselves to learning not only how to be fluent in English (as they wanted to be an English teacher) but also how to immerse themselves in Irish culture, trying to adapt and learn all the systems. Those choices are not always common among migrants, and we both agreed. Some migrants do not have the same privileges, and yet Balz was also unable to access the Irish system when they most needed it.

"When I went through all my problems with my ex-husband, it took me a long time to take action. I didn't have the information I needed. Someone put me in contact with the Immigrant Council of Ireland, and then I had a consultation with a lawyer, and then I told her about my whole case, and then she said that I could have separated from him earlier and that I wouldn't have lost my visa," they said. "I had the impression that I suffered for much longer than I needed to if I had known about those things before, you know?" said Balz.

Balz and their ex-husband began their relationship in January 2018, and they were very much in love. The only barrier stopping the relationship from progressing was that Balz wouldn’t be able to remain in the country as their visa was close to expiring. Their ex-husband, who is from Poland, proposed to marry them on March 8th; they accepted, and they got married on June 12th of the same year.

After the marriage, a new, long journey began with visa and immigration bureaucracy. Balz struggled to obtain a stamp 4 and complete the necessary documents. This struggle generated a lot of anxiety and depression for Balz. The bureaucracy was not just paperwork; they had to move houses, and finding accommodation was difficult due to the housing crisis and landlords unwilling to provide lease contracts. The shared accommodation in which they were living when they got married had no contract as the landlord didn’t want to pay taxes, which is a legal obligation on the landlord’s behalf.

The paperwork was finally completed after 8 months, and Balz was able to seek official employment. However, that was not the end; on top of that, Balz was experiencing domestic violence.

"After I got the definitive stamp 4, I had the strength to find a way out of the marriage because I had already been assaulted; sometimes I had already gone through several things; I was just waiting for the visa to get done so I could free myself," reported Balz.

In December 2019, Balz felt strong enough to end the abuse and fight for themselves further. "That day, when I was getting ready to go to work, another assault happened. And then I said, No, today it's over. Today is the day; today is the day that it's over."

On the same day, Balz went to Dolphin House (Dublin District Family Law Office - https://www.courts.ie/dolphin-house) to ask for a protective measure. "I was completely alone inside the court, with the judge and a clerk. And then, when I got out of there, it was that feeling that it was just me and myself. In the world. And to do everything. You know?" said Balz, tears in their eyes. "It's been four years," they added.

We continued the conversation, and Balz shared some more intimate and important parts of their former abusive relationship while they were still living with their ex-husband. I believe that this story is very important to share so that other women who might be experiencing the same issues can relate and seek help as soon as possible.

"We ended up getting very attached to each other because we couldn’t count on anyone else. So it was us. It was me with him, and he with me. At least I thought it was. Anyway. And then it became something that first became an emotional dependence. Then it became a financial dependency. When I couldn't get a job. Then there was the question of even bureaucratic dependence because I could only be here because I was married to him. And sometimes he used this against me. When I didn't know," they said. “He would say, I’m going to immigration, and I’m going to tell them to send you back to Brazil. In our fights, he used this argument many times. And it was very painful." They said.

As we moved to the living room to take their portrait, Balz asked me if I would like them to read their diary. I agreed, provided they felt comfortable and safe. They started reading an entry from December 5th, the day before they decided to end the abuse. Here is an extract:

"And that makes me a little anxious—that little fear of the future, you know? At the same time, I'm relatively balanced and at peace. I have things to do, and my mood is actually in better shape. So, they are two contrasting and opposite forces. As well as the love and hate I feel for him, at the same time, by not able to decide 100% if I want or not to continue my story with him. I look at myself in the mirror, and I feel tired. I see the eyes and the face down. I can't smile at myself when I look at myself in the mirror. I sleep little; I get too distracted," they related, tears in their eyes.

While still experiencing abuse before December 2019, Balz began to learn more about their rights while living in Ireland. They had a meeting with a caseworker who taught them about different types of protection orders, the Dolphin House, and the consequences of the processes, among other things.

One important point throughout our conversation was access to information. There are useful processes in place in Ireland that help people regardless of their nationalities or visa status, and although far from perfect, these processes would change the lives of many people if they had access to them.

In Balz's case, even though they were actively seeking information, some crucial knowledge was not provided during key moments.

"I had to ask for free legal aid. They asked me, 'Aren't you working?' I said, 'No.' And even on that day, nobody said, 'Hey, but you could also be getting an income.' Nobody said anything. I could, from the moment everything happened until COVID started… I could have received some help, but instead, I spent all my savings," Balz said.

The conversation to start here is how people living in Ireland, especially migrant women experiencing intersecting forms of discrimination, can access necessary information to improve their lives. Language is an important factor, recognised by the Irish government, as evidenced by the use of the Polish language in some spaces such as health centers and streets during the pandemic. So why not try to expand the number of languages and spaces so even more people can benefit from existing processes?

I also inquired about Balz's healing process, and they shared it with me and the audience. They pointed out all the emotional and difficult processes and situations they experienced during the peak of the crisis, such as experiencing the court process alone, losing an exciting job opportunity, the pandemic, being unable to visit Brazil, and the grief from the relationship, among other things. These experiences led them to a very low mental state, to the point where they started to experience suicidal ideation.

"I started writing some suicide notes on Facebook, and then I had my therapist from Brazil; many years ago, she saw it. And then she called me, and then I went back to therapy with her, online, during all the pandemic period and after," Balz said.

They were discharged by the therapist in 2022, and Balz is now taking care of their mental health through other forms of care, such as having a sense of community and a group of friends that they regularly meet, practicing spirituality, and the opportunity to visit Brazil twice since the occurrence. All these processes and actions taken by Balz helped them in their healing process and motivated them to get back to reality and look for a job in their area. They plan to go back to study and restart thinking about some of their other passions, including working with art, culture, and art production.

Another important philosophy that Balz shared with me, which helped them in their healing process, is to always respect their time for doing things and to take breaks as an alternative to working and producing nonstop. They shared a note from the writer Clarice Lispector to illustrate the philosophy.

"There is an excerpt, a note from Clarice Lispector, which is a note for the linotypist of the book; she would type the book into the machine, and then it would go to the linotypist to make the copies. Nowadays, everything is digital, but that was the time of Clarice. So she said in the note: 'Don't touch my punctuation. My sentences have their own way of breathing. It's how I breathe. It's how my writing breathes. Respect them. Even I was forced to respect myself,'" Balz said.

"So, that's it. We are obliged to respect ourselves, and we can only overcome these things because it takes a long time. I'm only able to say this now after 4 years, so I had to learn to respect myself," they added.

We said goodbye as I was running late for the last train of the night. It was a very cold mid-November night, and I complained that I had brought the wrong scarf, but Balz fixed the scarf around my neck in a much warmer way than I had worn it, which helped with the cold. The next day, we met at Fibbers, as I had forgotten some of the camera gear in their house, and they kindly offered to bring it down to the city for me. Although I couldn’t stay with them, I was glad to see the more Bacchic layer of Balz.

Beatriz

I met Beatriz in person at the hostel where she was residing in Dublin City Centre. We conversed in the kitchen area, engaging in informal chat over coffee. Subsequently, we commenced the interview by discussing her experiences as a delivery worker, during which she immediately addressed the issue of street lighting.

“The work itself wasn't too challenging; even the bag and such weren't difficult... I think what is particularly challenging here in Ireland, especially at night, is the street lighting. There's hardly any lighting — very minimal. It's difficult to see the streets well. Sometimes, when making deliveries, you have to traverse through parks. However, these parks lack even a single light pole. Visibility is severely limited; even with a flashlight, you can only see five steps ahead. So, that was something that greatly concerned me,” she said.

As Beatriz and I continued our conversation about her work, she mentioned instances where customers complained about delays, attributing them to GPS failures. She also recounted a xenophobic incident despite having worked for less than a month.

“Yes, I experienced an insult. I heard something like, 'You stupid immigrant' or something similar,” she recounted.

Upon asking if she had encountered any physical violence, she affirmed and provided details of the incident.

“Right on my first day. It was kind of raining. I went to make my first delivery. I was going to the restaurant to pick up the delivery. I went there near the university, the Trinity. There are several streets, like small alleys. The street I entered was very empty because it was kind of raining; it was cold. I turned a corner, and there was a group of about ten teenagers; they must have been around 11 or 15 years old. I turned (to the street), and then they started to shout at me. I ignored them because I did not know what to do.

I just accelerated the bike. Then they started running after me and kicked my bike’s tire and shook my bag, and when he shook my bag, I fell. My bike was a little big because it's electric and I was too small for my bike. When I fell, the weight of the bike fell on top of me.

I had my arm, my knee, and my waist bruised and abraded for the whole month. My concern when I fell was if they were going to do something to me on the floor. But then a guy inside the restaurant screamed. I don’t know if they were going to do anything; I don’t think so either, because they didn’t come close. They just left," said Beatriz.

Beatriz's narrative left me speechless once again, considering she endured this violence on her very first day of work and within weeks of moving to Ireland. I inquired about her feelings and experiences in the days following the incident.

“In the initial days, I didn't feel like working at all. But it's a matter of necessity, isn't it? We can't simply stop,” Beatriz said.

Amid these difficult moments, Beatriz also shared that something unexpectedly good came from her work. She smiled as she told me how she met her Irish boyfriend while making a delivery. “It’s funny — it happened because I fell off my bike,” she said. “He helped me, brought me tea, called me a taxi, even paid for it... I just felt something very good from him.”

Our conversation then delved into her overall impressions during her brief tenure in Ireland. She highlighted the warmth and kindness of the Irish people she encountered. However, she also raised concerns about the healthcare system's impact on migrant lives.

“My knee continued to ache, but I refrained from seeking medical attention due to the exorbitant costs. For many migrants, especially those arriving with limited financial resources, emergency healthcare expenses resulting from assaults pose significant challenges,” she said.

Beatriz stressed the need for greater societal awareness regarding the violence faced by delivery workers and migrants in general.

“I believe it's crucial to raise awareness. Many Irish individuals are unaware of the extent of this violence. Some individuals I spoke to believe these incidents were merely acts of street hooliganism. Therefore, a more extensive and informed dialogue is imperative,” she emphasized.

Furthermore, she suggested improvements to the street lighting system as a simple solution that would enhance the quality of life for all, not just migrants.

“I understand the challenges in installing new utility poles, but enhancing the existing lighting infrastructure would undoubtedly be beneficial,” she suggested.

In addition to awareness, Beatriz advocated for governmental action to provide migrants with increased access to opportunities and representation in various job sectors.

“To afford migrants more opportunities, there needs to be a concerted effort to expand access to education, employment, and awareness programs. It's a matter of basic social psychology; without exposure to diverse perspectives, one cannot truly understand the value of different occupations,” she said.

Helen

I met Helen at St. Mark's Church on Pearse Street in Dublin City Center. Although the mass had ended, she graciously invited me to join her for a conversation inside. As we entered the spacious church, Helen greeted fellow attendees from various nationalities, illustrating the integration of different communities.

During our discussion, Helen shared her housing challenges in Ireland, expressing frustration with the accommodation system's bureaucracy:

"Since I came here, actually, Ireland is good. I can say there's security, but still, there are some challenges. The housing crisis, it's not easy to find accommodation, and then again, you have to apply for something; they take too long to reply to your application. You keep on waiting, and you don't know whether you have positive or negative answers, or you need something," she said.

Helen described the challenges of living in temporary accommodation. "It’s not that easy, actually, because we share a room... There are things you can’t do because you are sharing; you have no privacy at all. So, there’s nothing I can do, but I just continue to sleep there because I have nowhere else to live," Helen said.

Despite encountering discrimination and facing challenges, particularly regarding housing, Helen remains optimistic about the future in Ireland. "And then again, in some places we get some challenges of discrimination as well, in the buses, but we just cope with life, and we hope maybe one day things will change. Things will get better... So, the main problem is house prices because you can't find somewhere to live peacefully and enjoy your privacy. You're sharing bathrooms; you're sharing everywhere. So, you are not comfortable with the life you are living... Even if you are working, when you come back home and you need to rest and have a sleep... Maybe you work at night, but your room-mate wants to play her music, making noise and disturbing you, and you can't say no because you are sharing the room, you are not comfortable, and you have no privacy. The main problem is the housing crisis in Ireland. That's the main crisis," she said.

When asked about ideas to improve the lives of people in Ireland and promote social integration, Helen suggested creating sports and music groups for immigrants and locals to socialize and exchange cultures.

“I was thinking, uh, a suggestion. Um, maybe they could create groups for sports for immigrants...  for people to meet so they could have different sports... You can only go where you belong, and this would make people socialise. They can create music programmes. So that people from different countries all over the world can meet and socialise with each other.” She said.

"AGENCY: Vote with her" project, co-funded by EU.

Supported by European Network of Migrant Women and femLENS.