CHAPTER I

THE ISLAND
“This issue will destroy New York City...”

 
It was an ordinary day in September when New York City's mayor Eric Adams declared that his city was about to be "destroyed". More than 110,000 migrants had arrived in the previous months, and 10,000 more were to follow.

Their arrivals pushed the city's unhoused population to a record high and the shelter system far beyond capacity. Hotels, schools, and tents were turned into shelters. One of the largest emergency shelters was placed on an island. An island that even many New Yorkers have never been to.

RANDALL’S ISLAND
For some locals, Randall's Island is a recreational haven – kids come here to play soccer, families gather for weekend barbecues, workers jog along the waterfront for their morning run.

For the up to 3,000 migrants housed in the six white tents on Athletic Field #83, it is a temporary home. 


As you cross the bridge to Randall’s Island, you're surrounded by people with a white badge around their neck. Each badge with a headshot and a QR code acts as an entry ticket to the shelter.


Walking along the waterfront the sound of reggaeton grows louder. The air is filled with the smell of boiling oil. People are speaking Spanish, French, and languages you might not have heard before.

The lawn outside the shelter has become a viable pop-up market, hosting around twenty chefs, street vendors, and barbers.
“Lunch! Lunch!”

Manuel Lopez and Liz Estrella Tellez arrive at Randall's Island every day at 11 a.m., shouting “Lunch! Lunch!” from their stand. They prepare their $10 menus – pork chops with beans, fried fish with beans, fried chicken with beans, or pork chops with boiled potatoes – at a friend's apartment in the Bronx.

“Some days we sell it all,” Manuel says. “Other days, business is slow. But we have to make a living somehow.” They have to send money back to Peru, where they left their 1-year-old son with his grandmother.

Venezuelan Yorvin Yonaiker says he's building a client base in the United States so he can soon fulfill his dream of opening his own barbershop, the Barbería Latina. "I'm doing something productive, something good. Something admirable."
“Patience is everything”

With 22 years of experience cutting hair, Venezuelan Joan Villanueba describes himself as “a professional barber without a title.”

On Randall's Island, he works from sunrise to sunset and sees about a dozen clients a day. After not getting a single client on his first day, Joan had to lower his price from $15 to $10.

He says, “If my customers are happy, I am happy.”