SUNDAY,APRIL 10 , 2022 .THEWASHINGTONPOST EZ SU C5
ber,despiteOchoa’sbestefforts,
Lauracaught covid-19. She was
intubated and kept in isolation
for twoweeks.
Theholidays wereabrief re-
prieve. Lauracame home,
Ochoa’ssisterwent into remis-
sionand Patricksurprised his
family by turning up at Apart-
ment103 for Thanksgiving.Life
was gettingback on track, Ochoa
toldherself.
Then one morning in March,
her son Alexcalledher at work.
She heard screaming.
“Come home,”hesaid. “It’s
very, verybad.”Runningoutoftime
Ochoa could see the Residen-
tialOneemployee hoveringout-
sidethe frontdoor, whichwas
scratchedand dented as if it had
beenbusted open.
There was still alot shehadn’t
packed: her porcelainplates, al-
bums with photosofher kids
whentheywere babies, Laura’s
karaokeset and Kelly Clarkson
CDs.Ochoa didn’t knowwhen
she’d ever come back to getthem,
or whereshe’d put themif she
did.
Heraunt’s placedidn’t have
muchroom, andthe storageunit
she couldafford to rentwas
small. She had beenlookingfor a
newapartment, but theoptions
weretoo expensive. Sheknew
nonprofit groups and govern-
mentagencies had beengather-
ing donations for the families
whoweredisplaced,but getting
themrequired paperwork, which
required time, which Ochoa
didn’thave.
“There’s justalot goingon,”
she said. “And Icannot split
myself in half.”
Hermother wasgrowing old-
er; her sister was gettingsicker;
her daughter wasnavigatinga
new, frightening life.Laurahad
comebackoncetoFriendly Gar-
den withher caregiver,and the
moment it cameintoview, she
hadstarted crying.“Notsafe,”
Laurahad said,rockingback and
forth.“Notsafe.”
TheResidentialOne employee
creaked the front door open.
Ochoa glancedathim and nod-
ded.She had taken offwork for
the dayand stillhad moreto do:
loadbelongings into the storage
unit, fill out insurance forms,
bringfoodto her mother,check
in withher sister.
“You’reokay. Thekids are
okay,”she thought to herself.
“Put yourfaith in God.”
Theemployeeclosed the door
to Apartment103.
Ochoa left and didn’tlook
back.grownup, whereshe caredfor
people and was cared for in
return.This was three decades of
her life.
“I wantto takeeverything,”
Ochoa thoughttoherself.
She checkedher phone.Twen-
ty-nine minutes left.
She started packing.
Thehomeshemade
Among the affordablehousing
options in MontgomeryCounty,
one of the wealthiestsuburbs in
the nation, FriendlyGardenhad
been seenastop-tier.
Thegarden-style apartments
wereHUD-subsidized, meaning
mosttenants paid30 percent of
their gross income as rent.It was
old but safe, quietand located far
enough westthatchildren who
livedherecouldattendpublic
highschoolsin the tonyneigh-
borhoods of Bethesda and Chevy
Chase. Tenants arrivedfromall
overthe world andstayed for
decades.
There was LucienTorchon, a
longtime UPSdriver whowas
visiting family in Haitiwhen his
wifecalledsaying the fire had
taken “everything,everything”
in their third-floor apartment:
immigration papers, passports,
the children’s birth certificates.
There was Josephine Gyasi-
Baaye, aGhanaian immigrant
whohad just started classesto
become asocial worker,and
Danna Carbajal,agregarious
woman from El Salvadorwho
livedwithherteenageson and
his twogeckos.
In Apartment 101ofbuilding
2411 livedJibreel and Tenima
Seid, wholeft Ethiopia for the
Marylandsuburbsbecausethey
wanted theirchildren to attend
American schools. And,next
door, lived Ochoa.
Originally from El Salvador,
she movedintoFriendlyGarden
in 1989as a25-year-oldsingle
motherofthree.Her youngest
son,Patrick,joined the Navy in
2018, but her oldertwo, Alexand
Laura, stilllivedwith her in the
$1,500-per-month unit. Ochoa
hadnever considered leaving;
FriendlyGardenwasthe home
she hadmadeinAmerica, where
she gotdressed to work at her
$2,500-a-monthjob as amedical
assistant, where she snuggled
withLauraand laiddinners out
for her big extendedfamily.
“Ourcultureistough. Latinos,
we struggle and somehowwe
manage,”Ochoa said.After the
fire, theyhad to do it again.
She and Laura, 38, moved into
her aunt’s house,whileAlex, 35,
stayed with another relative.
Sometimes, whenLaurarattled
offalistofthingsshe hadin
Apartment103, Ochoa feltthe
need to remind her it wasn’t
home anymore.IfLaura got
quiet afterward, Ochoastroked
her hair or the side of her arm.
“We’reokay, right?”she’d say.
“We’realive. We’resafe.”
Peopleliving in low-income
neighborhoodsinthe United
States face significantlyhigher
fire risks thanthosein wealthier
areas,according to the National
Fire Protection Association. In
January, acrowdedrowhouse in
Philadelphia caught fire, killing
12 people, eight of themchildren.
Aweeklater,smoke flooded a
19-story buildingin the Bronx,
killing17, mostofthemAfrican
immigrants.
Similar incidents have hap-
penedin Silver Spring,one of the
few remainingenclaves of af-
fordablehousinginsidethe Belt-
way: In 2016,afaultygas regula-
tor caused an explosionatthe
Flower Branchapartments, kill-
ing seven tenants.
Montgomeryofficialssaid it
was amiracle there were no
deathsatFriendly Garden,
thoughthere wasalistof161
people —125 adults and 36
children —theyconsidered
“long-term displaced.” Among
themselves, sometenants called
it something different: homeless.
“It’slikestartingover,”said
Gyasi-Baaye, amotheroffour
who lived twofloors above
Ochoa.
Torchon, wholosthis apart-
menttothe fire, saidhiswife
nowjumpsat loudnoisesand
gets dizzy in elevators.“We can
never feel thesame wayweused
to be before,”headded.
Thecountyand Residentia-
lOne, FriendlyGarden’s proper-
ty-managementfirm,offered to
cover fourmonths’ rent for those
whoweredisplaced, but many
have struggledtofind placesin
DISPLACEDFROMC1
Apartment 103 was the home woman made in America
BILL O'LEARY/THEWASHINGTONPOSTMontgomerytheycan afford
long term.Rents per squarefoot
in the county,where affordable
housingisscarce, have increased
morethan50percent since 2000.
So in the weeks after thefire,
sometenants,likeTorchon,
stayed in hotelsormovedin with
family members. Others, like
Gyasi-Baaye, wererelocated to
empty apartments in otherResi-
dentialOne complexes,where
they slept on the flooruntilthey
could figure out howtoget
furniture.
Those whose units weren’t
burned to ash were told they
could retrieve smallitems in
supervised15- or 30-minute
slots.
“Patricia.”
Ochoa felt her brother nudge
her.
“You have anotherbag?” he
asked. He had been hauling
thingsintoOchoa’sHondaCR-V
and wassweating.She nodded.
Ochoa had beenbackonce on
her ownto getimportantdocu-
ments andLaura’smedication.
This time, she grabbed whatever
she could: framedfamily photos,
pots,pans, akettle. Christmas
decorationsandapillow that
said“World’sBestMom.”An
etchedwooden surfboard from
Hawaii —asouvenirfromher
son in the Navy.InLaura’s room,
she gathered up her daughter’s
clothes by their hangers, stuffing
themintoabag withher nail
polish, makeup and coloring
books. She peeledoffthe draw-BONNIEJO MOUNT/THEWASHINGTONPOSTTOP: LauraVelasquezusesher
armsto showthesizeofthe
explosionthat made
uninhabitabletheFriendly
GardenApartments unitwhere
sheandmother,Yanira Patricia
Ochoa,lived.Theymovedin
withOchoa’s auntshortlyafter.
LEFT: MontgomeryCounty
officialssaiditwas amiracle
thatthere werenodeathsat
FriendlyGarden, though 161
residents—including3 6
children—wereplacedonalist
of thoseconsidered“long-term
displaced.”In2016, afaultygas
regulatorcausedanexplosion
at theFlower Branch
apartmentsin SilverSpring,
killingseventenants.“Our cultureis tough.
Latinos, we struggle
and somehowwe
manage.”
YaniraPatriciaOchoa,who lost her
hometo the explosionand fire at
FriendlyGardenApartments.ingsLaurahad pasted on the
walls.
She was lucky, Ochoatried to
tell herself.She still had things to
save.
Ochoa felt for herneighbors.
Many had helpedto takecare of
herchildrenwhen she first
moved in,pickingthemup from
school or watching themat the
playground whileshe tookwhat-
ever workshe couldtopay the
bills. Whenshe did nightschool
to become amedical assistant,
somedroppedoff dinneror
checked in on Laura. She cher-
ished this sense of community,
which felt sometimeslikea
shield against theotherthings
thatmade life at Friendly Garden
precarious.
Afew years ago, anxietyspread through the complex
whentenants heardthatdevel-
opers mightbeturningtheir
homesinto aluxuryhigh-rise
serving the Purple Linelightrail.
Ochoa fretted withher neighbors
at meetings with county plan-
ners,but news about theim-
pending development seemedto
dissipatewhen the pandemichit.
Thevirus brought along other
problems.
Considered too“essential”to
workfromhome during the
pandemic, Ochoa was terrified of
bringingthe coronavirushome
fromher clinic to Lauraortoher
elderly mother,both of whomare
at higher risk of dyingfromthe
disease. In July,her oldersister
went on chemotherapy forstage-
fourovarian cancer.And in Octo-THE WASHINGTON POSTApartmentblock
wherethe explosion
tookplaceLYTTONSVILLERD.Claridge
HouseSource:OpenStreet Maps,GoogleMapsFriendl
Apar yGarden
tment
sRosemaryHills
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