The clubhouse hums with energy. Voices overlapping, laughter rising. Señor Hermes, one of KLABU's oldest members, shouting "Goaaaaal!" through the loudspeakers. He's been here since the start. His voice has become a familiar beacon, the sound that tells you you're in the right place. Two years later, Boa Vista without him is simply unimaginable.

Five days a week, the pitch fills. Football, volleyball, futsal, running. Then there's pelotica de goma, a game many here grew up with, now played again far from home. Come to the clubhouse on any given afternoon: a table tennis match mid-rally, chairs pulled into a circle, a football match flickering on the screen. Groans. Cheers. These aren't just activities on a schedule. For a community that navigates asylum, distance, and an uncertain kind of waiting, these activities make this place feel like somewhere you belong.

Here, there’s never a fixed group. People arrive at the shelter in the middle of their asylum process. Some stay weeks, others months. In practice, many people have moved through KLABU’s doors - not just as participants but contributors. The team is always shifting, learning how to manage the library system and respond to the wishes and needs of their community. Community members, who take care of each other. At the end, they receive a certificate, proof of their dedication and learnings.

About 25 women and LGBTQIA+ members show up, form teams, and play until just before sunset.

Mauricela, an indigenous leader from the shelter, smiles: "We play in the late afternoon because the sun is softer - and it's when women finally have time, after everything else, to come and enjoy."

Moraleda Rivero, mother of three, didn't play at first. She watched. Then she saw other mothers like Mauricela on the court, and they called her in. Now she's calling for the ball.

For many, the scene itself was new. "An event with only women playing. The first time I saw only women playing volleyball and football too."

When a group of young men asked for a safe space to talk, the neo-masculinity workshops were born. Led by KLABU's own Thiago, the sessions gave young men room to share what it actually feels like to be a man, pushing back against the weight of macho culture, connecting with each other somewhere other than the pitch.

Rafael, a leader from the Jivi indigenous community, put it simply: "I didn't know this topic existed for men. In Venezuela, men's health isn't really talked about. Being a man isn't about being harsh - it's about showing care."

Community member Paola Abache organised something different: beauty workshops for the LGBTQ community,. Spaces to self-express and represent themselves. An opportunity, to be seen for who you are.

Whether Children's Day, Christmas or Carnival, the community made each holiday its own. Venezuelan and Indigenous traditions met Brazilian customs. The result was something new. An ongoing negotiation: honoring where you're from while building something in the place you are. KLABU Boa Vista holds space for both.