For Naiara, a Brazilian, the coronavirus crisis has cost her work in black caring for an elderly man . She was back on the street with her one-year-old daughter. Paola, from Honduras, came to Spain persecuted and shot to death for her activism in favor of the LGTBI community. She hopes to be admitted as a refugee. Mammadou, Senegalese, passenger of patera, only aspires to work. Lives stranded on the outskirts of Madrid. "This is the periphery," says Daniel from a garlic-planted orchard overlooking modern Tres Cantos buildings.

Daniel Almagro and his wife, Lola Díaz, are nurses, lay missionaries, parents of large families and of the Emmanuel Mission, a host community that they started six years ago upon their return from Chad. When fear of the pandemic raised suspicions, blocked borders, they did not close the door.

At the beginning of March Paola entered; in the end, Naiara. And meanwhile his last kid, Pedro Nolasco, was born. He came into the world at a difficult time. He was separated from Lola because she had tested positive for the Covid-19. They are all well. All: the couple, their seven children and the eleven people - the majority, African - with whom they share their lives and, since March, confinement. Too many? "In September we were 17," recalls Daniel.

They are divided between an austere stone house for those received, the garage that the family prepared to settle in and a couple of truck modules. The project is based on responsibility. The youngest study Vocational Training. Everyone should participate in homework, attend social skills, language reinforcement, sewing workshops and work in the organic garden . Its founder does not hide who is in charge. "I demand them because life is going to demand them, reality is not a world of rights and that's it."

Neither volunteer entries nor class exits. The rules of the confinement make the community find, like the sad day, a little low-key this morning. Daniel is encouraged by citing the latest initiative. Led by Paola, they began to manufacture sterilizable masks. To assemble protection visors. They received thanks from the Tres Cantos City Council and the Dr. R. Lafora Hospital. But they benefited from the effort themselves. "They make a routine, they feel that they collaborate, that they are neither useless nor recipients of aid," he says with pride.

Echoes of screams come from the small children's area - swing, green soil and basket. "My children," explains Daniel, "live it naturally." The older ones fight over Wi-Fi and homework while several little ones scamper around the modest estate, the Meow cat and Elisabet the rabbit. An unbaptized rooster languishes bored in an entire pen for him.

Volunteers who finance it

The 'Emmanuel mission' is supported by the NGO 'Embrace Africa', by the volunteers who finance it and provide support of all kinds. Daniel links it "to Christianity as a way of life, not as a religion". It is ecumenical, open to other creeds. No one is obliged to attend the Catholic celebration in the chapel but they all join in the subsequent dinner.

"I do not feel anything special, this can be done by anyone ...", replies the founder and corrects himself at the minute, "... without faith you cannot do it". He describes an experience "intense and abundant, with much difficulty and much happiness". Among the satisfactions, having integrated fifty people "discarded by society" who today have their own roof, contract and path. At her side, Lola experiences "a free life, where everything is given and shared."

Daniel distances himself from welfare and misunderstood charity. "The reception is directed right now to the dependency, not to independence, to give a resource for a time and, when you take it away, they don't know how to move." He would also change things in his Emmanuel Mission. " It was designed to last a maximum of a year and a half, but it creates an accommodation, they have to see an end ." From its periphery, it demands from the government a way out of the "limbo" of the "without papers" to give them the opportunity of "real roots".

Naiara has been in Spain for 17 years. Jumping without documents on the wire of exclusion. She remembers her nights, not long ago, sleeping at the entrance to the Metro, the day job, the brief visit to her daughter. This crisis threatened to sink it. "I have run out of food, it has never been so difficult," he admits. He found a life preserver and tomorrow he will look for another place "to furnish the head a little."

Serene, with a wooden crucifix around his neck, Daniel considers that the coronavirus "has undressed us, made us feel fragile." Their efforts are now focused on relocating the sheltered because on June 10 they will have to leave the property, owned by Canal de Isabel II, and despite the promises they have no destination yet. They would like to continue being close to Madrid, where he and Lola work. They trust that someone will be encouraged to help them. Uncertainty worries them as much as they are used to. "We are always vulnerable, we are always out in the open."

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