Wellington and Palmy students, united by felonious landlords and inhospitable housing

Nestled just outside the shire of Palmerston North in Limerick lies a student borough doused in black mould.  

Palmy student Sarah* is the only girl in a borderline condemned boy flat facing death every time they cook dinner or step into the bathroom. 

The only thing keeping Sarah’s bathroom vanity intact is the thick black mould with a door hanging on by a hinge. A former disability bathroom, the vast shower has a damp, sleek look and unidentified yellow staining. 

The aged gas stove requires a bit of ingenuity. 

Sarah says, "The fire ignition has broken, so you have to stick a match down there and hope that your fingers don't burn.”

Sarah prefaces that the condition of her flat was terrible to begin with. 

"It's not like we can't maintain it, and that's why there is black mould, and the kitchen is shitty. It's what we were given when we moved in. The windowsills are gross because we get condensation every day.” 

Though I sit high and mighty in the clouds of Roseneath, Wellington, I'm still haunted by my humble beginnings in the slums of Wallace St.  

A five-minute walk to the Wellington Massey Campus and neighbouring Woolworths, Wallace St seemed like our winning lottery ticket at the end of the hall's flat hunt. 

Only when the former industrial design students moved their Avant Garde furniture and faux grass green carpet out were we faced with a dope den with rotted support beams and toilet skids. 

Much like Sarah’s flat, no amount of fairy lights, Dettol or alcohol could disguise its condemnable state.  

My flatmates now graciously laugh at the times when one of our mums started crying as she moved us in, mopping mould off the ceiling, rat-catching comps, and my window falling out into the street and not being fixed for a month.  

We were once shown photos of a friend k-holing in our shower, and at the same flat, a previous tenant allegedly fell off the balcony.

Coming from two different cities, but the same university, Sarah and I understand the feeling of brain-numbing cold and coughing mould out of your lungs. These ‘character building homes’ are a common living experience for students around the country.  

According to a 2022 survey by Newsroom, tertiary students in New Zealand are more than twice as likely to be living in mouldy homes. Māori and students with disabilities are even more likely.  

Out of 522 students surveyed, two thirds of them said that they could see their breath inside their homes. 

I ask Sarah why her landlords had not attempted to fix the crumbled remains of their vanity, and an awkward situation arose — Sarah's landlords are her flatmate's parents.  

"When we ask him if his parents can fix the bathroom, he says we can just fix it ourselves if it bothers us that much.” 

Using their son as a money laundering scapegoat, the landlords originally told Sarah she would be paying $125 weekly. It was only after moving in that she had to pay $165.  

Similarly, my former landlord is a skilled alchemist, spinning shitholes into a gold rush. He charged me $240 for a room that felt like I was sleeping outside, and said he was too busy with all his other properties. 

As he would churn out another excuse, my eyes wandered from his ridiculously red Air Forces to the large wad of multi-coloured keys, and I wondered how many other 19-year-olds he allowed to suffer from respiratory infections.  

During a bit of a rowdy night at Sarah's, a mat belonging to the landlords was sacrificed to the fire pit. After the son ratted them out, the landlords demanded $250 once the mat was replaced, which they refused and threatened the tenancy tribunal.  

"I was like, hold the fucking phone, no, we are not.” 

While Sarah and her flatmates shiver under the one heat pump in the hallway, the flatmate and his parents are on a European ski trip. 

"They are blowing our rent on skiing.” 

Despite living in squalor, Sarah says she would consider staying in the flat if the rent was cheaper. "I would stay if the rent were $125, and I'd be satisfied despite the mould”.  

Sarah and I agree that there is an unhinged kind of fun that comes with terrible flats.  

We shared stories of stealing street signs, smoking cigarettes inside, scaling the balcony when the front door stopped working, and breaking the toilet seat after one too many ‘bathroom dance parties’. I remember Chromecasting a virtual fire to stay warm. 

Sarah loves the boys she lives with, whom she has known since primary school, and loves hosting in their homemade tin hut in the backyard. 

Whilst we both agree that Massey flatting culture is fucked and renters' rights need to be elevated, it's kinda funny when your flat is that bad. 

My second year flat, which sits on a faux throne at the top of Wallace Street, will forever be the worst and best thing that happened to me.

*Name changed for anonymity.