Stepping into the housing crisis

Nunatsiaq News reporter Arty Sarkisian (File photo)

In this year-end series, Nunatsiaq News reporters look back on their most memorable stories from 2024.

Before landing in Kinngait in the middle of July, I definitely knew about the housing crisis in Nunavut.

Well at least I definitely thought I knew.

I’m in my first year living in Nunavut but I had read reports about housing being the government’s “top priority.”

I listened to MLAs talk about the territory’s “unique needs” in housing and heard people who described old, mouldy and overcrowded households.

But when I was in Kinngait, the community with the greatest need for new public housing according to Nunavut Housing Corp., I wanted to actually see this crisis.

As soon as I landed in the hamlet at around 7 p.m., I started walking around town knocking on door after door.

For some reason, nobody embraced the idea of inviting me — a random stranger on their doorstep — to come into their home, walk around and take pictures.

By the end of the night I was sure that all of the 1,400 Kinngait residents would get to know the weirdo knocking on doors and asking to come in. But not a single one said yes.

Finally, I got lucky.

I walked up to a burgundy, one-storey house across from the hamlet’s Northern store.

I told Sarah Samayualie and Qiatsuq Ragee the same thing I told the others and, finally, I didn’t hear the standard “no,” or “we’re busy,” or “come later.”

Ragee simply asked, “Why?”

As in, why would anyone be interested in learning about us?

“We are like everyone else,” he kept saying, as he welcomed me inside.

As soon as I walked in, it was clear I really did have no idea what the housing crisis was like.

Despite all my pleas not to worry, Ragee and Samayualie tried to quickly clean up the place. But there was nothing they could do about the cracks and holes in the walls, kitchen cabinet doors that wouldn’t close, and very old queen-size mattresses that filled the entirety of their three tiny bedrooms.

And, of course, there was nothing they could do about the smell of mould in this 1960s house.

On any given night, there could be 11 people sleeping in the house: Samayualie and Ragee, their three grandchildren, three of their adult children and their partners.

“And there was another grandkid on the way,” Ragee said.

Neither Samayualie nor Ragee had a full-time job, and both said they felt like there wasn’t enough space for the three generations of their family.

The most surprising thing for me was that living in such conditions didn’t make them angry or disappointed. Yes, they wanted a bigger space, but overall they seemed to be feeling … OK.

Another person who lived in Kinngait her entire life chuckled when I told her this.

To her, the existence of overcrowded households in Nunavut was obvious. Almost normal.

It’s the Qallunaat who are shocked by those conditions, she said.

Well, maybe.

In 2013, the authors of the Qikiqtani Truth Commission’s report wrote that for Inuit in the 1970s settlement life often imposed “a new form of poverty.”

A footnote for “poverty” explained that the word should be considered in the “context of the period.” It said it was possible for Inuit to feel like they were living comfortably, while by western standards they would be considered “extremely poor.”

I guess the context has changed little since then.