Let me tell you a bit about where i live. The return address on the mail i might send you one day will say,
820 19th St.
Oakland, CA
and what would that inform? "Oakland," you might say, "well that doesn't have a very good reputation." While i have indeed seen more directly threatening places, allow me to explain some of the details of life in West Oaktown, as it is locally known.
A) I do not, under any circumstances go out after dark. For a long time this rule was only marginally enforced, and while some may have had only vaguely sketchy encounters along the 1 1/2 block walk between here and the other house it was not until last year while two of ours were taking an evening stroll home whereupon they were approached by a group of teenagers and subsequently cursed and kicked in the back. This would be known as a lucky encounter. Any neighborhood travel after sundown is done strictly via car. At night i do not count gunshots to fall asleep as i thought i might, although we have heard at one point what we later suspected was an automatic weapon in the distance. This might have originated from East Oakland, known for its gangs. West Oakland, (my side) on the other hand, is known for its thriving drug trade. Around the corner from me is a crack house outside of which i have been spat on by a fiend. Caddy-corner from me is a house that i'm quite sure is peddling something/things, although i can't be too sure which and daren't ask. Outside of the house usually sit three to four gentlement blasting hardcore rap, often accompanied by small children and middle-aged women who at times appear gaunt and unhappy. I don't get much attention from this group, though the perky little blonde who lives with me apparently is no stranger to such comments as, "Damn i'd love some o' that cream in my coffee."
B) The hood is a network more intricate than the world-wide-web, more thorough than the CIA, more volatile than the KGB. When we speak of any of the families within the house, as during program meetings to inform the interns, we must close the windows. Any perceived shade of disrespect, (which would have to be perceived as there is a strict code of unyielding respect for both the individuals with whom we work and those whose neighborhood in which we live,) could mean serious consequences for us. The social network is so efficient that information spreads like blackberry jam in the sahara. Word of mouth is rife as people are almost always outside of their sweltering houses and *always* talking. While this can be venomous at times, it has also proven helpful to our cause. Over the years the Sophia Project has garnered recognition as a benificent organization in place strictly to help out children in the neighborhood. As Carol, our founder, used to be the director of a homeless shelter in San Francisco and many of the residents in this neighborhood are quite familiar with the shelter or most probably have siblings or exes or cousins or family/friends who have lived/are living there, we have something of a social safeguard around us during the daylight hours when people can be held accountable for their actions. This is the time when drugs are sold and you can simply avoid it if you choose not to look. Meanwhile, after the sun sets the effects of the drugs are more visible and accountability is nil. The police won't respond to calls in neighborhoods where tax evasion and unemployment are common. While the neighbors were pained to hear of the attack on our interns last year, their general response was, "Well, you did go out after midnight...I really live here and I don't even do that."
So, you may be wondering just what we do around here once it starts to get dusky. After all, we're not usually done with our day til 7:15 PM at its earliest, after the 6 O'clock workday and 6:30 community supper has commenced. And yes, attendance at the supper five nights a week is pretty much mandatory. We're trying to foster a sense of community here.
To answer the question we sit around on soft couches and play guitar, read, write, watch digital cable, check our mail or myspace or netflix movies. We try to process our experiences with eachother, which is a professional way of saying we sit around and share poop stories and believe you me, everybody has one after three weeks on the job. We bake cookies at 10 PM. We fall asleep to the sound of people yelling in the street, to car engines and the smell of joints burning in the night. We say prayers and give thankgs.
And for what, you may ask? For that effulgent warmth you get when a toddler squeezes your legs and happily screams your name. For the pure magic of witnessing a child do what you ask of them. To help them recover the innocence that has been scared out of them by unspeakable horrors. To remember clearly that we are all just children here. Children in the eyes of God.
820 19th St.
Oakland, CA
and what would that inform? "Oakland," you might say, "well that doesn't have a very good reputation." While i have indeed seen more directly threatening places, allow me to explain some of the details of life in West Oaktown, as it is locally known.
A) I do not, under any circumstances go out after dark. For a long time this rule was only marginally enforced, and while some may have had only vaguely sketchy encounters along the 1 1/2 block walk between here and the other house it was not until last year while two of ours were taking an evening stroll home whereupon they were approached by a group of teenagers and subsequently cursed and kicked in the back. This would be known as a lucky encounter. Any neighborhood travel after sundown is done strictly via car. At night i do not count gunshots to fall asleep as i thought i might, although we have heard at one point what we later suspected was an automatic weapon in the distance. This might have originated from East Oakland, known for its gangs. West Oakland, (my side) on the other hand, is known for its thriving drug trade. Around the corner from me is a crack house outside of which i have been spat on by a fiend. Caddy-corner from me is a house that i'm quite sure is peddling something/things, although i can't be too sure which and daren't ask. Outside of the house usually sit three to four gentlement blasting hardcore rap, often accompanied by small children and middle-aged women who at times appear gaunt and unhappy. I don't get much attention from this group, though the perky little blonde who lives with me apparently is no stranger to such comments as, "Damn i'd love some o' that cream in my coffee."
B) The hood is a network more intricate than the world-wide-web, more thorough than the CIA, more volatile than the KGB. When we speak of any of the families within the house, as during program meetings to inform the interns, we must close the windows. Any perceived shade of disrespect, (which would have to be perceived as there is a strict code of unyielding respect for both the individuals with whom we work and those whose neighborhood in which we live,) could mean serious consequences for us. The social network is so efficient that information spreads like blackberry jam in the sahara. Word of mouth is rife as people are almost always outside of their sweltering houses and *always* talking. While this can be venomous at times, it has also proven helpful to our cause. Over the years the Sophia Project has garnered recognition as a benificent organization in place strictly to help out children in the neighborhood. As Carol, our founder, used to be the director of a homeless shelter in San Francisco and many of the residents in this neighborhood are quite familiar with the shelter or most probably have siblings or exes or cousins or family/friends who have lived/are living there, we have something of a social safeguard around us during the daylight hours when people can be held accountable for their actions. This is the time when drugs are sold and you can simply avoid it if you choose not to look. Meanwhile, after the sun sets the effects of the drugs are more visible and accountability is nil. The police won't respond to calls in neighborhoods where tax evasion and unemployment are common. While the neighbors were pained to hear of the attack on our interns last year, their general response was, "Well, you did go out after midnight...I really live here and I don't even do that."
So, you may be wondering just what we do around here once it starts to get dusky. After all, we're not usually done with our day til 7:15 PM at its earliest, after the 6 O'clock workday and 6:30 community supper has commenced. And yes, attendance at the supper five nights a week is pretty much mandatory. We're trying to foster a sense of community here.
To answer the question we sit around on soft couches and play guitar, read, write, watch digital cable, check our mail or myspace or netflix movies. We try to process our experiences with eachother, which is a professional way of saying we sit around and share poop stories and believe you me, everybody has one after three weeks on the job. We bake cookies at 10 PM. We fall asleep to the sound of people yelling in the street, to car engines and the smell of joints burning in the night. We say prayers and give thankgs.
And for what, you may ask? For that effulgent warmth you get when a toddler squeezes your legs and happily screams your name. For the pure magic of witnessing a child do what you ask of them. To help them recover the innocence that has been scared out of them by unspeakable horrors. To remember clearly that we are all just children here. Children in the eyes of God.
posted by derek | 9:26 PM
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