The place where people start to feel at home again

An elderly man sits in the backyard of a shelter in Msida, drinking a cup of tea. Not long ago, he was living on his own. Now he shares a home with around 30 other people, some of them families with young children.

It is an adjustment that has not been easy. But for people who can no longer afford a place of their own, having a bed, a roof and somewhere to start over is increasingly becoming a lifeline.

Inside the YMCA shelter, the sound of children playing fills the living room. A stack of toys sits by the entrance. Three children play together. They are among the 14 minors currently sheltered there. Their circumstances are different, but they share the same temporary home.

“Here you find a person of any colour, any religion, any language,” house leader Paul Gauci Borda says. “They have one thing in common—they are there for a short time, and they are all struggling to do better.”

On the first floor, a single mother lives with her three children, while another shares the shelter with her four kids. Two women without children also live there. Other beds accommodate men, while a family of four lives upstairs.

It is a snapshot of a growing problem. Homelessness is no longer confined to the stereotypes people might imagine. Increasingly, it includes pensioners, working people and families who have simply been priced out of somewhere to live.

For older people, in particular, the situation is becoming increasingly worrying.

Referrals for people aged 60 and over doubled in the second quarter, rising from 10 in the first three months of the year to 20 in the following three months. By the end of June, 15 older people had been sheltered.

Sitting down with care leader Amy Mizzi, she says that the people living in the house range from a two-month-old baby to a man over 80.

Mizzi says the increase is “very concerning”. Older residents often stay beyond the usual 18-month period because they need more time to get back on their feet.

Some had rented the same property for 20 or 25 years, paying around €300 a month before their rent eventually rose to €500.

On a pension of €700, or one shared between a couple, that leaves very little after electricity, water and other bills are paid.

One 65-year-old resident had spent his entire life living alone before finding himself sharing a house with around 30 people.

The adjustment can be difficult, Mizzi says, although most residents settle in within a week. Pensioners often find companionship in one another, cooking together and helping each other through the transition.

Another recent resident had been sharing a rented home with his mother. When she moved into a care home, the landlord found four other tenants willing to pay €1,300 for the property and he was left without somewhere to live.

These are the kinds of circumstances that bring people through the shelter’s doors, Mizzi says.

When the rent becomes impossible

Renting problems account for 12.8% of requests for a bed at YMCA Malta, making them the third most common reason people seek shelter.

Financial difficulties rank first, accounting for 20.2% of requests, followed by substance abuse at 13.4%.

Other reasons included people reaching the end of a prison sentence (10.4%), family problems (9.6%), mental and psychological health difficulties (6.8%), termination from another shelter (5.5%) and job loss (4.9%).

Health issues, immigration, housing problems, other addictions and domestic violence made up the remaining smaller categories.

Between January and June, YMCA Malta received 205 referrals, averaging around 34 a month. February was the busiest month, with approximately 44 referrals.

Of those who sought shelter, 119 were Maltese nationals, 60 were non-EU nationals, and 20 came from other EU countries.

The largest age group among those referred was people between 25 and 34, with around 45 referrals.

Amy Mizzi, YMCA Care Leader at the Msida shelter with a Bachelor in Psychology

A home, not a prison

Walking through the shelter, it is clear that the intention is to make the building feel as much like a home as possible.

Lockers line the hallway, giving residents somewhere to keep their toiletries and personal belongings. A chore schedule hangs on the wall. Gauci Borda explains that the responsibilities are not simply about keeping the house clean.

“This is not only for them to do chores to keep the house clean, but to teach discipline,” he says. The shelter tries to keep families together rather than separating parents from their children.

Where possible, families are given their own rooms, while shared rooms accommodate four, six or eight people.

Life in the shelter

Mizzi, a 23-year-old university student, says residents come from very different backgrounds. Some have experienced substance abuse, while others have been thrown out of their family homes or experienced abuse from a parent.

Some find it easier to adapt to communal living than others, but the aim is to give everyone the opportunity to rebuild their lives.

Mizzi says there is a persistent misconception that people who become homeless are lazy or take drugs. “It’s not the case,” she says.

Most residents work, she explains, and former residents have included managers and doctors. Homelessness is not something people choose, she says.

She wants the public to be more open-minded and less judgemental, particularly when commenting about people online.

The shelter is built around a support programme, rather than simply providing a bed.

During a resident’s first two weeks, staff hold a working session before drawing up a care plan together with their Appoġġ social worker. Reviews take place every month or two, and residents can access free therapy.

Staff also help residents prepare CVs, practise for job interviews and, when necessary, accompany them to property viewings if they feel nervous.

Parents receive help applying for schools and accessing services such as speech therapy for their children. A Saturday reading club is also due to start.

Residents are expected to follow house rules. Alcohol is prohibited and everyone must return by 11pm. Pets are not accepted, as animals that are not properly looked after can create difficulties for other residents, particularly children.

It is a structured environment, but Mizzi stresses that it is a programme, not a prison.

A bed, if there is one

The need for these services is reflected in how full the two YMCA shelters have been.

Dar Niki Cassar (DNC) was fully occupied on 176 of the 181 days during the first six months of the year, with an occupancy rate of 97.6%. Y Communal Home (YCH) recorded occupancy of 95.9%. Together, the shelters provided 8,684 bed nights by the end of June. The average waiting period was 2.5 days at DNC and four days at YCH.

The standard stay is 18 months. Residents who need more time can move to semi-independent accommodation or to the Communal Home for approximately another year.

Not everyone completes the programme. By the end of June, 10 people had been terminated from the shelters. The reasons included relapse, emergency referrals and challenging behaviour.

The hardest part is finding somewhere to go

For all the support residents receive, the biggest obstacle often comes when it is time to leave.

Finding affordable accommodation has become increasingly difficult, Mizzi says. Although residents are generally able to sort out their documentation within 18 months, having the necessary paperwork and savings does not mean they can find a landlord willing to rent to them at a price they can afford.

Staff previously began looking for accommodation once residents had saved around €4,000. But Mizzi says that amount is no longer enough.

Dorothy Scicluna, who joined YMCA in 2006, says rough sleeping used to be relatively rare.

That began to change shortly before the COVID pandemic. Since then, she says, the situation has exploded.

Many people who use the organisation’s drop-in services are living outdoors or in abandoned buildings. They are often people who have fallen through the cracks of the system, particularly because of the cost of living and rising rents.

For those inside the shelter, the immediate priority is having a safe place to sleep and enough stability to start planning what comes next.

In the backyard, the elderly man continues to drink his tea. On the level below, a garden is due to be turned into a playground for the children. It is a small detail, but one that reflects what the shelter is trying to provide—not just somewhere to stay, but a place where people can begin to feel at home again.