7 eigenschappen van een goede huishoudhulp, welke vind jij de belangrijkste?


Wat is nu een goede huishoudhulp?

Zoveel gezinnen zoveel verschillende antwoorden dacht ik eerst.

Maar toch ben ik soms verbaasd als ik hoor wat voor de ene zeer belangrijk is en wat voor de andere een peuleschil blijkt te zijn.

Hoeveel of hoe weinig verschillende mensen verlangen van hun huishoudhulp, hoe ze vriendschappellijk met de huishoudhulp omgaan of juist zeer afstandelijk. Hoe veel of weinig respect er is wederzijds enz.

Dus tijd vond ik om eens te gaan polsen wat de meningen bij jullie daarover zijn. Werk je als huishoudhulp, of heb je een huishoudhulp, of overweeg je het, of zou je het nooit willen?

Geef je reactie maar hou het beleefd, daar kan iedereen wat aan hebben.

Eerst en vooral wil ik graag eens een opsomming maken van wat ik regelmatig hoor terugkeren als het over goede huishoudhulpen gaat.

Zelfstandig werken versus  te bazig

Sommigen die een huishoudhulp in huis halen, vragen wel eens "ik wil iemand die haar werk kent, iemand die weet wat ze moet doen, en waar ik niet teveel moet tegen zeggen wat ze moet doen" anderen zeggen dan al wel eens " ik heb graag dat ze zou schoonmaken zoals ik dat wil, en in de volgorde die ik aanbeveel, het is tenslotte mijn huis"

Herkennen jullie dit?

Waar ligt de gulden middenweg volgens jullie?

Op tijd starten en op tijd gedaan

Iets wat volgens mij wel heel simpel lijkt, blijkt toch op veel plaatsen een heikel punt. Zo zijn er huishoudhulpen die net op tijd toekomen en er direct invliegen, anderen komen dan graag een kwartier op voorhand, en anderen komen steevast te laat en blijven dan wat langer.

Volgens mij is stiptheid een belangrijk punt die het langst blijft duren. Toch speelt soms ook de klant hier een belangrijke rol. De ene keer biedt die een kop koffie aan en praat een kwartiertje, de andere verwacht van elke minuut aanwezigheid het onderste uit de kan te halen. Sommigen vragen dan wel eens iets extra, anderen durven niets te zeggen.
Hoe gaat het er aan toe bij jullie, hoe denken jullie over stiptheid?

Discretie en roddels

Een goede huishoudhulp moet volgens mij horen zien en zwijgen. Veel klanten hechten enorm veel belang aan discretie. Maar toch is dit voor de ene toch wat anders dan voor de andere. Sommigen zien discretie als nergens in een kast kijken of je ogen niet laten vallen op rondslingerende post.

Anderen zien het dan meer van " andere klanten hoeven niet te weten hoeveel was ik liggen heb".

Maar heel vaak worden huishoudhulpen ook uitgehoord. "Waar zit je zoal om te poetsen?, Heb je ook vuile vieze plaatsen om te poetsen? Zijn er plaatsen waar je niet graag gaat? enz

Hoe zit het met de discretie bij jullie?

Hoekjes en kantjes aflopen of onderhouden

Wat verwacht jij van je huishoudhulp? En vooral in welke tijdspanne liggen je verwachtingen. Laat ons ervan uitgaan dat je eenhuishoudhulp hebt voor 4uur per week. Kan ze dan volgens jou je ganse huis onderhouden tot in de kleinste hoekjes? Of zie je het dan meer als een wekelijks onderhoud? Badkamer, strijk, goten en voetpaden, terrassen, ramen binnen en of buiten? Boven en beneden of om beurten eens boven eens beneden. Ik hoor graag eens wat jullie verwachtingen zijn op dit gebied.


Huishoudhulpen met kunstnagels

Laatst hoorde ik iemand klagen over zijn huishoudhulp.

Echte klachten hoorde ik niet concreet, maar de man bleef maar hameren op het feit dat zijn huishoudhulp kunstnagels had en handschoenen gebruikte.

Nu zie ik daar zelf helemaal geen probleem in, maar wat zijn jullie meningen daarover. Hebben er nog mensen een beeld van een huishoudhulp, als vroeger, haar in een staart, schort en klompen, en vooral versleten handen?

Ik ben benieuwd wat jullie oordeel is

Geven jullie wel eens een cadeautje?

De ene huishoudhulp krijgt nooit een glas water aangeboden, de andere krijgt zomaar een mooi nieuwjaarsgeschenk en nog een andere krijgt elke week een kop koffie en een koek. Dan zijn er nog die elke week een reep chocolade krijgen of een pakje koekjes mee naar huis.
Hoe staan jullie daartegenover, kan het, is het not done, en wanneer dan wel of niet? 


Een goede poetsvrouw kent haar werk, is assertief maar kan een opmerking aanvaarden. Ze is discreet en dringt geen eigen meningen op over het huishouden van de klant.
Ze is stipt op tijd en verlaat de werkpost niet te vroeg.
Verder gaat ze met zorg om met het materiaal van de klant, is vriendelijk en beleefd. 

Vinden jullie deze stelling een goede omschrijving van een huishoudhulp? Vul aan, ik ben uiterst benieuwd.


Volg je ons ook?

Vind onze pagina leuk en vind er tal van huishoudelijke tips en weetjes, voor en van huishoudhulpen, huisvrouwen en al wie in huishouden geïteresseerd is.

Klik op de link hieronder en neem er alvast een kijkje

link

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Requiem: Chapter 1
- I'm orphaned looking at the two silver-grey urns on the steel plane in the lawn. It sings, but I don't really notice. The drizzle mixes with my silent tears and flows past my grief face. I want and will keep me strong, but nothing is more difficult. My soaked hair sticks like a snail in my neck. Wherever my parents may be, in these urns or as an immortal soul in some dimension, my thoughts are with them. I am neither an atheist nor a convinced pillar biter, but the longer I walk around this globe, the more I doubt the existence of a Supreme Being. Some call this creature God, some give Him a different name. “If “He exists and has power or influence on our world, if He has any power to intervene, then such a thing should not happen. Shooting images through my head. An afternoon in the snow with my father where we made a giant snowman with all the trimmings. The beautiful black hair of my mother that I liked brushing as a little child. The many ways of life I got from both my parents. A God who allows this, I don't want to know today. The person responsible for this is all the better. It is the only creature that possesses the ability to decimate, rape, slaughter and quartering its own kind without remorse. The only living creature that kills his own kind in an instant and goes on without looking back, without even dwell on his irreversible act, just as if nothing had happened,. The remains of my parents, twice a few handfuls of ashes, descend silently into their respective urns underground. A small copper-colored plate, not so large, on which in small letters their name, date of birth and death is printed, automatically slides across the space and takes their place. It seems to me like a misplaced magic trick: now you see them... then no more! In my heart, however, they will never disappear. Arturo Mitsukai and his wife Sachiko Matai had died a violent death. Violence is, of course, an unmistakable fact from the beginning of the existence of mankind. The survival urge that is embedded in our genes is difficult to cut out as a tumor or a tumour. It is peculiar to our society and burned in us as a mark. Both in humans or in society there is one rule, one law that is still valid. The law of the strongest! Sometimes the result of this law is directly proportional to the use of the power of the person using the force. Unfortunately, there are people who only know this answer, who only listen when they feel a hard hand. Another time, the aggression used is so excessive that the majority frankly disapprove of it because it passes its goal. But when that piece of perverse brutality touches you personally, it changes you forever. It's a cancerous tumor that keeps growing and at some point breaks open like an overripe pimple. With all the disastrous consequences. It crawls into your brain, it nests like a virus in your mind, a worm that does irrevocable harm. Friends and acquaintances of my parents, some of whom I had ever seen, people from the accounting office where I work, other completely strangers to me, have just expressed their condolences in a silence that is fraught with the way my parents literally and figuratively from life-carved. I just can't imagine it, I have to try to push my thoughts away in a separate corner where they may slumber in quiet grief.. That's where I'm going to keep them for a while until the time is right. Then, the moment it's necessary, I'm going to reenepen these feelings.. I will never forget what was done to my parents, never will I forgive the unsub! My name is Yukiko Mitsukai and today I promise retribution for these murders. I appeal to this blood deed. It is the revenge, the retribution that is the only exception to the peace-loving doctrine of the Akai. If it is not possible in these circumstances, if this promise is not at the moment, then I say that there is no reason for the existence of this use in the Akai. Exceptional circumstances require exceptional measures, you taught me that. As true as I am your daughter, I will find, and hunt your murderer wherever he may hide. If I have to search on the other side of the world or in the deepest pits of hell, he will not escape me. Even if that search lasts until I die myself or people kill me. In the course of that process, I will try to use all that you have taught me to achieve my goal. Because so much that's mine now comes from you. What you have given me is priceless. Something for which I must be eternally grateful and also am. My hands and feet will become my weapons, my mind will be tougher and sharper than the steel of a sword. I hope my vengeance can give you both peace of mind. The death of your murderer will not compare anything to what he did to you. That and nothing less I promise! Actually, I ' Akai' am at heart. ………. Arturo Mitsukai cut a leaf from a beautiful flower arrangement.. Arturo was in the winter of his life. His age, hard to estimate, could hardly be attributed to him his seventy-five years. Arturo was still as straight as he used to be when he was a proud and proud young man. His step was still confident and fixed even now. Maybe a little slower than before. His short cut white-gray hair was a natural pointer to the many years he counted. The wisdom that shone from his eyes, and the serenity in the words when he spoke of something, testified to years of experience but also to a well-founded knowledge of matters. His physical condition was tiptop, there he took care of himself every day. Arturo Mitsukai walked a little five kilometers every morning, outside when the weather was nice and otherwise on the treadmill he had purchased years ago. He also regularly cycled quite a bit of distance on his bike or stationary bike in his hobby room. A healthy mind in a healthy body was certainly not an empty phrase for him.. His greatest passion, however, was his greenhouse with exotic flora. Arturo had a large collection of flowers and plants. From dozens of species of orchids, including the hybrid species Cymbidium, Vanda and Phalaenopsis to bromeliads of different genera such as Billbergia, Guzmania and Aechmea. Yuccas and other tropical plants adorned his spacious greenhouse. In the beginning, when he started with some plants, he sometimes had a hard time distinguishing one species from another. Now after all these years of searching and working with them every day with passion, he knew them by their folk and Latin names.. Orchids, he sometimes told friends, thrive in high humidity. Therefore, they perfectly match with plants with a large leaf mass. He also told them that orchids are epiphytic, which means they can grow on other plants. Therefore, they are bound to a bark with a special substrate. To achieve a natural effect, one can make a kind of tree of it yourself and then combine it with, for example, the bromeliads he grew. Greenhouse building and its applications had few secrets left for Arturo, and sometimes he walked over to a random visitor with enthusiasm. He was forgiven with all understanding of the passion for his life's work. A layman in the profession would not understand what he was doing now. Why with tenderness and love he was still removing fresh green leaves and sometimes a flowering flower — pieces representing life — from a flower arrangement? One might think that this was an act of useless mutilation, a destroying a piece of natural beauty. Why he put the green petal and the cut flower separately in a bowl with tenderness would seem strange? He would soon find a suitable destination for this collection of cut flowers and removed plant parts. These leaves, flowers, meant new life. Fertilizer for another flower or plant. Their cycle of decay was part of the circle of life of another plant or flower. This was one of the roads that the Akai wandered. Akai or red in Japanese stood before the sun on their flag Hinomaru . This meant solar disk and they still coloured their national banner . For the Akai, that sun was the source of life and growth. The strength and aesthetics of a flower should not be subordinate to the quantity of the blossoms and the green of the leaf. Depending on the number and size of the leaves that were different for each type of flower. Thus grows and blooms a flower, a plant in all its splendor. Waste was a sin against the rules of nature. This way of life of the Akai brought balance, balance and peace of mind to the plant and flower world, as well as to the flora in the conservatory of Arturo Mitsukai. This way of thinking could be extended in a number of cases for some human life values. Sometimes one can develop certain qualities better by converting his known weaknesses in oneself into positive forces. The power of a man is only as strong as his greatest weakness. By going and working this way, man improves himself as a whole. By working on its lesser good sides, one strengthens the overall picture of oneself. When the door of the conservatory opened and the chill of the evening blew his fresh breath over the back of Arturo, he did not look back. The smell of jasmine tea met him in the person of Sachiko Matai, his life companion.. Like him, she was dressed in a sober black and white ensemble that extra accentuated her light skin. A skin like silk he knew so well, a body he still coveted. His love for Sachiko in the last season of his life was no longer marked by the bright colours of passion or by the impetuousness of youth. Now their relationship knew the gentle depth of control, a trait peculiar to their old age and the knowledge of their unconditional love for each other. Proof of this they have been providing for so many years, so many days together in prosperity and adversity. It goes without saying that one achieves such a thing only after a long time. To be able to walk the way of life together is a privilege that one can rightly be proud. It is indeed an adventure of trial and error, a process of learning and understanding, of giving and taking. Periods of happiness and disaster alternate as in every human life, but each time one helps each other back on top of it. That was the core of their love. It was not always an easy road, but it eventually led to the daily enjoyment of the deep affection between a man and a woman. With a loving smile as a silent thank you, he sipped the hot jasmine tea she had brought for him. He preferred this kind of tea, not only because he thought it was the best fragrance tea, but also because the tea was made by laying jasmine flowers among the leaves of green tea. He found that symbolically in balance with his hobby, with his hundreds of flowers and plants he grew in his conservatory. Actually, the tea he drank was of Chinese origin where they used ten kilos of jasmine flowers to obtain about one kilo of jasmine tea. The tea at Arturo had a calming effect and worked relaxing. It also promoted his digestion, which at his age was indeed important. Therefore, he was always grateful for the jasmine tea that his wife prepared him every day without fail. He still found Sachiko Matai attractive and slim, although she was barely five years younger. On several occasions he told her that. True love and affection is expressed in words and deeds. Sometimes after years of silence or blindly accepting an established fact, that self-evident affection disappears with a little bit and at a time it's gone, one day it's completely gone. Sachiko allowed to color her gray hair black at her age. Sachiko did this to please her husband and not out of personal vanity. That would be a sin for an Akai. Arturo had once told me that if he met her for the first time, it was her black long hair that he first noticed.. He fell first for her black shiny hair, then for her silent smile that always shone in her eyes and when he really met her as his future wife, he fell for the wife Sachiko herself. It was so long ago. Times gone by and then she was such a young and ignorant child. Now, as a grown woman, she put her hair up in a bun, but at night, in the intimacy of their bedroom, she loosened it and caressed Arturo with the same love and affection through her raven-black long hair before kissing her goodnight. Sachiko had never used anything of makeup in her life. By the way, her husband always said that she possessed some kind of natural beauty, still blushing every time after the little complement like the young girl she had once been. Even before Arturo drank his cup of tea, the light went out in the conservatory and several things happened at once. Arturo and Sachiko were both surprised, both by the darkness and by the strange smell of the spray that came out of the nebulizer nozzles. Shocked, they wanted to run together to the exit of the greenhouse but their feet refused duty after a few shaky steps. The world began to turn in front of their eyes like a blurry image and they remained staggering, seeking support together. However, those last steps that removed them from the oxygen-rich and liberating evening air were no longer awarded to them. The delineated perimeter of the conservatory door disappeared into an ever-darkening fog before their eyes as they both fell unconscious among their orchids, lilies, bromeliads and other exotic plants that shared their love every day. ………. Slowly, the world came back in varying degrees of pain. It was beating like a nagging banging in the back of his head, a moping in his teeth, a dry throat begging for water, and his old bones that were apparently bruised in several places. It was an extremely tormented feeling all over his body that woke up from the anaesthetic. Arturo moaned softly when he opened his eyes. The light was too bright, flashed painfully like the sharp of a knife through his mind so he turned his head very carefully to the right. To his great dismay and fear, he saw that his wife Sachiko was in the same circumstances.. Like him, she was with both hands and feet tied to a chair. She sat next to him within reach. If he wasn't handcuffed, he could touch them like that. So close and yet so far apart. Tagged with a dirty cloth she too was slowly reeling and looked around her amazed and anxious. A surprised and troubled look appeared in her eyes when she noticed Arturo. Then the first musical sounds slipped through the space in which they were tied. The tones sizzled like glowing hot coals through their awakening bodies. Both Sachiko and Arturo, who could taste a piece of good classical music in different circumstances, regained consciousness on the sounds of a gloomy Requiem. That's a Mozart piece, it shot Sachiko in the head, almost at the same time as her husband recognized the piece of music. The familiar words sounded to them, but a throbbing headache prevented both from amazing at this music . Facts mixed with their tormented feelings. The Requiem of Mozart was the last and unfinished work of the Master, composed on his sick bed. It had been figuratively and literally his last composition, his requiem. One of those futile facts that shot through the spirit of Arturo. Something that barely mattered right now. He knew that Frans Xaver Süssmayr had composed this unfinished composition of Mozart into a legendary polyphonic piece of music. Why Arturo was thinking about that, he didn't know? Just a neurotransmitter that passed some information through a synapse into a human's head. A chemical reaction at a time when other things were much more important in their difficult situation. They heard the sounds and words of Lacrimosa , the sixth part of the Requiem of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart from various corners of the walls threatening to flow on them. Lacrimosa Dies Illa, In terms of Resurget Ex Favvilla Judicandus Gay Giant, On that day of tears To which the guilty man From the ashes will rise To be judged A theatrical figure dressed in a wide white robe entered the room and suddenly danced like an unreal ghost with swirling gestures around them. Arturo and Sachiko followed the creature with anxious eyes. In every tone of the death song he waved a samurai sword around them, between them, and finally hit them during that macabre dance occasionally with surefire blows. The shining weapon reflected light at every move and at every stroke. Flashing blows to injure, not yet to kill. As a conductor's measure, the white spirit used the razor-sharp weapon on the sounds of the song, like a master he felt and shielded to the rhythm of music. Lacrimosa Dies Illa, Cutting and carving. bumps and twists. The gag choked in part the screaming of pain, their begging for mercy. However, the blood flowed with every note, more and more in a gloomy crescendo, in a menacing climax. The white dress their executioner wore turned red, soaked with blood on the sounds of gloomy music. The song led to an inhumane tragic but certain death. And death danced like a devil around them! In terms of resurget Ex Favvilla Judicandus Gay Giant, Huic Ergo Parce Deus Pie Jesu, Domine, Dona Requirement Requiem. Then be merciful to him, Oh, God.! Dear Jesus, Lord, Give them peace. The life of Arturo Mitsukai and his wife Sachiko now flows very quickly into streams out of them. Their bodies had been torn and pieces of skin were hung up unmaterially on their bodies. In their blood-filled eyes there was no hope, almost no light left. Just a sputtering pilot that threatened to extinguish every moment. Dona Requirement Requiem . A plea! Give them peace! The white-red nightmare, which unfortunately was not a dream, straightened up in all its strength, ready for the last notes. The sword raised high above himself, and on the word 'Requiem' he pulled out with all his power for the final blow, beheaded his two victims with a smooth movement in one stroke with the razor-sharp Nihonto.. The final sung word of the Requiem shouted the form even louder than the voices of the choir several times, while the heads of Arturo and Sachiko rolled on the ground in front of his feet as a final release from their suffering. His ultimate satisfaction, their forgiveness in death! 'Amen, Amen, Amen!’ © Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere Requiem: Prologue or Chapter 1 - Requiem: Prologue - Requiem: Chapter 2 -
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The Other Side of Emigrating to the United States
#journalism Newspaper article. Topic: Emigration of Venezuelans. Author: Darimel Urdaneta (MeredithSkywalker) The other side of immigrating to the United States There are many reasons why a Venezuelan decides to emigrate, but they all conclude that in Venezuela there is no future or quality of life, that is why many decide to leave to different parts of Latin America, but in recent months there has been a boom of migrating to the land of opportunities such as the United States of America. Learn the story of Irma, an 80-year-old lady who, with the help of another Venezuelan, managed to cross the river de grande from Mexico to the United States. Irma is a native of Maracaibo Venezuela, and at 80 years old she managed to cross the border with the United States. Irma had fainted while trying to cross the river and another Venezuelan helped her cross and arrived safely to the mainland. The humanitarian crisis that Venezuela is going through has forced Venezuelans to escape from the need that is currently experiencing in Venezuela. Some states in the country suffer from electrical fluctuations, such as total loss of electricity by hours or even days. There are no medicines, medical care is precarious. No public transport, no food on the shelves and where a Venezuelan can get food is at very high prices, since the minimum wage is $3 per month, and for a family of 4 people you need $350 for the basic food basket for one month. And besides all this is insecurity, there are guerrillas, criminal gangs and the most feared is the police themselves who harms Venezuelans, many Venezuelans have been persecuted politicians and that is why they flee Venezuela. At the OAS, David Smolansky warned that estimates the number of Venezuelans abroad will reach 7 million and recalled that the Venezuelan is leaving the country due to the crisis and the world “must welcome us”. According to France 24, Venezuelan citizens pay up to 12,000 dollars to coyotes to cross from Mexico to the US illegally. However, they highlight that the arrival of undocumented immigrants on US soil has broken records, and according to the Customs and Border Protection Office (CBP), in April they had recorded the highest figures in the last 20 years: more than 178,000 people arrived irregularly, in many cases putting their lives at risk. Just as there are stories with happy endings like that of Mrs. Irma, there are heartbreaking stories, as is the case of Ana N (her name is protected) a Venezuelan woman who crossed with her two children and her husband, they had paid a coyote to cross them along the river and the current was high by that date. In view of the fact that Ana's youngest son was crying, a crying coyote decided to throw the baby into the river, the people who witnessed this atrocious act could not do anything, as a coyote is part of Mexican cartels, however the father of the creature threw himself into the river to try to save his son but his effort was in vain since the baby had died. The question of emigrating is not only crossing the river, because when you cross into cells inside the United States shelter, you can spend days there without being able to communicate with your relatives, how can you also not bathe until a week passes. That's what Juan N told us (his name is protected), he told us about his journey from Maracaibo to the United States. “One morning they went to pick me up in Monterrey, the driver who was going to take me to Ciudad Acuña, passed with a caravan like 10 cars. From Monterrey to Ciudad Acuña they were about 6 hours. Among the drivers were communicating about the alcabala, and there are police officers who behaved hateful and the drivers were paying them. On a mandatory basis we all had to have a role where we were sealed in migration with permission to be in Mexico for 180 days. We arrived at Ciudad Acuña at about 6 in the afternoon, they left us in a house that had a large patio, and there they all agreed to order food while we were waiting there. The one who went to buy the food arrived at about 10 o'clock in the evening with pizza and other food there, so everyone ate and we waited for instructions. At 2 in the morning they woke us all up because it was time to cross to the United States. Everything looked like a movie, we went jogging and we got to a mountain, we had to cross 3 barbed fences, and it was a shame with the children, the older people, struggling with those wires to be able to cross, but among all of us we helped. Then we approached the river and that river reached me through my chest, I measure 1.78. the current was tight, but we all managed to cross. Then when we crossed we had to climb a steep one and there was mud and people were slipping but we still crossed it. After crossing we had to change our clothes for dry clothes, because if it was wet they wouldn't let you through. Then the patrol arrived and they gave us good morning and then they asked us why we passed so early, and they recommended that it was best to happen after 6 in the morning which is when the river is low, but they also welcomed us to the United States. We were 49 people, and he called more patrols because in one of us we didn't all get in. Then they took us to the river yield and checked everything, and if you got something wet they'd dumped it at you. In the review they tell how much money you arrive in cash, keep it in an envelope along with your passport and phone. From there you wait for processing, taking pictures and fingerprints. And you have to wait, a lot of people moved her to other places and no idea where they were taking them. And those who process there they open a file and they must wait for a transfer and tell you that you are on the list for the transfer. I spent 8 days in that stay, there are people who only had 3 days there as were people who had a month. The hardest thing is the wait, because you sleep on the floor, on a foami that is on the floor, your pillow was your shoes, at breakfast you ate a burrito, at lunch rice with beans, meat and at dinner you eat another burrito. You don't have a watch, you have to ask the officers about the time, the men were outdoors along with 100 mates or even more, and the women if they were inside but were less in group, they were like 20 or 30 women. Women are the same, they don't see the light of day either, only they lasted less time in the shelter. They only had officers sitting in their offices working in front of them. In my experience I could only bathe twice. They told me soap, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, new socks and new underwear in the two bathrooms I had. Being there is quite difficult because of the uncertainty but it's worth it, as the lifestyle you live in the United States is not achieved in another country, besides security.” That was the experience of one of the interviewees and from what you can see it is crude, but it is the reality that many Venezuelans and other immigrants of other nationalities come to live while on the journey and in the shelter. However, Venezuelans who arrive in the United States illegally seeking asylum, in addition to risking their lives, are exposed to being deported again to Venezuela, due to the condition in which they arrive, while others must hire lawyers while waiting in detention centers. Sources: NoticieroDigital.com Elpitazo.com Laprensadelara.com XXX