2101

After the first year in Scotts things started to mellow out. Our initiation period was finally over and we were treated like everyone else. “Babalu’s kids”, as everyone affectionately called us, were a part of the Scott Project family. Well at least most of us were. For some reason, I couldn’t get used to the community nor the people. I felt like a stranger. I was surrounded by people who didn’t understand me neither I, them. There were generations of families living in Scotts. You could find grand mothers, mothers, sisters and aunts, all living within walking distance of one another. And the fact that they all lived in the projects wasn’t a coincidence nor accident. No one ever left. No one ever sought out a better life. They functioned in dysfunction. And then there were the drug holes. There was one close to us, on our row called “P.E. (Public Enemy). I’d sit on our bedroom window seal and watch people walk in and out of the P.E. hole, buying weed and whatever else was being sold. The “watch out” person would sit on the sidewalk on a crate, alerting P.E. employees to the police when they were near by. He or she would usually shout “Nine in the hole” or “Nine on 7522″, reflecting the street and avenue the police were on. And when the police did come, you had better lock your doors because there was a possibility that either a dope boy or watch out boy would run into your house, trying to hide from the police.

Dance and Braddock got me through my time in the projects. I would stay after school and wait for the activity bus which didn’t come for about 3 hours after school ended. My friends and I would hang out on the campus, talking for hours. In between conversations, we would either go to Subway or Dominoes Pizza to eat. Robyne and I would usually get Subway, sharing a foot long meatball sub. Those times gave me normalcy. They provided a getaway from what I had waiting for me at home….the drug holes, the dope boys, responsibility, and Babalu. The activity bus would drop me off to the dance studio or wherever we were practicing that day. I wouldn’t get home until 8 or 9 o’clock at night. I was away from home, on purpose, for at least 15 hours a day, Monday through Friday.

We lived on the corner of N.W. 21st avenue and 74th street in a 5 bedroom, 1 bathroom, two story unit. Babalu’s room was downstairs and our rooms were on the upper level. The mis-matched furniture and old kitchen table that was surrounded by chairs Babalu had gotten from the Banana Boat were proof that we weren’t living lavishly. The living room and kitchen were separated by long strand of beads, the same beads that parts of the Banana Boat were decorated with. That was Babalu putting his touch on things. The living room floor was covered with carpet Babalu would get from the near by trash pile. Everytime someone would get rid of their old carpet, it would become our new carpet. Even worse, Babalu never removed the old pieces. He would just pile one piece on top of the other creating a mountain of carpet that was so high we would have step up as if you were climbing stairs when going from the kitchen to the living room. I guess removing the old carpet was so laborious that he didn’t bother.

Sitting in our kitchen was a huge wood china closet. There, Babalu kept ceramic bows, tea cups, glasses forks and spoons. Because we didn’t have a lot of dishes, we would often go into the china closet when we needed extra eating utensils. I would guess that didn’t make sense to Babalu because the moment he discovered we were using his “good dishes” he re-inforced the china closet doors with wire and and placed a lock on it. I mean we thought that was the craziest shit in the world. There were 8 children living in the house and we may have had 4-5 bowls and even less silverware and this man saw it fit to have special dishes designated for God know what because the conditions of our house precluded any visitors. So, at times, we had to wait for dishes to be freed up before you could eat. And if you had a bowl, you may not have had a spoon and had to use a fork to eat your cereal.

Babalu was and still is a very role oriented man. He believed everyone had a job and reinforced that on a continuous basis. The girls were responsible for making sure the house was clean while the boys were responsible for the out doors. So that translated to the girls did everything and the boys did nothing……and boy did they enjoy that. Although we did our best, there was only so much cleaning we were interested in doing. I was gone all day during the week and my other sisters were in school as well. They also had other interests. Inturn, our house was not maintained. We had more roaches than you can count, mainly in the kitchen. They were in the cabinets, drawers, and refrigerator. You’d eve find a couple frozen roaches in the freezer from time to time. And the roaches were accompanied by rats. They were huge with thick long tails. Coming home at night, I would see them scrambling on the stove after I’d turn on the kitchen light. I could hear them squeeking also. When going to bed at night, we would have to tuck our flat sheets underneath the mattress for fear of a rat climbing on the sheet and getting in bed with you.

Not too long ago, my sister India and I were discussing the way children are being raised. With disappointment in her voice, she made a statement that I want to share……”Babalu did nothing for us, but he did a lot”.

I concur……