Men Of The West Side Speak: Only A Few Listen by ConTextos Chicago

MEN OF THE WEST SIDE SPEAK:

ONLY A FEW LISTEN A ConTextos Magazine

North Lawndale Edition Volume 1, Issue 1 February 2022

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people experiencing, navigating, surviving complex traumas in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising, and publishing memoirs, participants strengthen self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive self-projection to author new life narratives. Men of the West Side Speak: Only a Few Listen grows out of the micro-community built by the participants of CRED’s North Lawndale program. The men present in this compilation undertook this journey of self-reflection and subsequent creation through ConTextos’ Authors Circle. All stories matter. And every human being has stories to tell. The pages of this compilation are full of some of them. The writing in this compilation reveals the complex truths of powerful and beautiful Black men from Chicago’s West Side. There are existing narratives about who these men are and about the places they call home. The pages that follow complicate those narratives as only those who reside here can. Read on and listen. The times, the writing, the men, require that of you.

To learn more about our work, and to read memoirs and other compilations written by our Authors visit: www.contextos.org Find us on social media: @contextoschi

Table Of Contents 2 Carlial 8 Branden 14 TD 18 KEMONTE J 26 DIONDRE COX-KELLY, SR. 34 KL 40 LaShawn 42 Marcus 46 LeeAndrew 48 Sirjah 60 Kelvin (Life Coach) 62 dr.moore, Facilitator 63 Dimitri, Facilitator

INTRODUCTION

dr. moore The previous twenty three months have been unprecedented across the globe as we navigate what seems unnavigable: Coronavirus/COVID19 and all its invasive variants. As we move in and out of various stages of lock down and opening up, as we wear masks and keep our distance, the realities of everyday existence remain. This is true globally. This is true locally. This is true on Chicago’s West Side. With this as a backdrop, Dimitri and I first met with the men who make up this cohort during a classic Chicago summer, one full of music and good food, one full of friendship and sunshine, but also a summer of too much violence, too much loss and grief and trauma, and perhaps not enough of tangible solutions to what ails us. This North Lawndale Author’s Circle was no cure all; hell, perhaps it wasn’t even the stickiest of band-aids. However, something valuable transpired here. A collection of Black men, friends and acquaintances already, shared the truths of their individual experiences with themselves and with one another. They mined their past and in so doing allowed themselves to be bravely vulnerable. There is power in that. There is beauty too. I am humbled to have been a part of their journey. Dimitri Hepburn Every Authors Circle experience is, by its nature, unique. Our conversations take place in the context of our Authors Circle values. Values such as “Be candid,” “Expand your comfort zone,” and “Embrace your truth,” help everyone in the room to do the heavy lifting of digging into our own lives to share our experiences and perspectives with one another. Over the months that we spent together in Authors Circle with the men of Chicago’s West Side, we had the privilege of bearing witness as these young men embraced the opportunity to tell their own stories; stories of friendship, hardship, fatherhood, and love. There is a wealth of culture, style, candor, and humor unique to Chicago’s West Side, that manifested itself in every conversation we had during this Circle. This group of men has thoroughly impressed me with their insights, commitment, strength, and the depth of their friendships with one another. I am grateful for their willingness to let dr. moore and I partake in this part of life’s journey with them. It brings me joy to know that their words will be preserved here to be shared with a world that desperately needs to hear them. I look forward to seeing the future that lays ahead of each of these young men.

Watch all, trust none, love no-one. Alone you learn you would learn.

-Carlial

I Am From Carlial

I am from the West Side. From pops and the corner store. I am from the black house Big safe, secure. I am from the trees With no leaves. I’m from family road trips and reunions every Fourth of July. From Tete and my mom’s sisters. I’m from talking about each other and drinking. From “You’re an old man” and “Always make it make sense.” I’m from the Christians, going to church every Sunday. I’m from the South Side, dressing, and cake. From taking care of my kids and my household. From my grandma and how sweet she is, A hard worker who I appreciate.

Make it Make Sense Carlial

When I was a youngin I was swanging and jangalangin. Then I started swerving in my own lane. I never been a lame, I just stay in my lane. Long as I live I will definitely learn. As I go, I will motivate myself on every level. As I was growing up in the streets, I was learning to motivate myself to be the man I am now, to have everything as a man, like I should. I was living and I was learning. It made me improve myself to be a better person. What I didn’t learn in the streets, I learned from my granny and others who I love. My granny taught me how to stay clean, treat a motherfucker with respect to get it. You gotta give to get. She inspired me to do a lot of the things I do today. Today, I am doing positive things to provide a comfortable life for me and my family. I’m focused on getting money and everything else I need to survive. I have morals and respect for myself and others. Right now, I’m thinking about what’s going on right now. Taking care of what I need to do right now will prepare

me to have a better life in the future–to live good, to provide a successful future for my children. A very special, intelligent, gorgeous, athletic woman I know told me “Every move you make, make it make sense.” That’s what I’ve been doing, making my moves make sense. I’m learning as I go.

He out. I had to stay. I’m a leader not a follower. I will prosper–will not fail.

-Branden

I Am From Branden

I am from the Neighborhood. From the scariest and the smartest. I am from where legends are made. Holy City, Baby. I am from the flow that grows In the field with other legends. I’m from leaders and bosses. From Tea and Grandmother. I’m from the hood and healers. From “Be righteous” and “Tell the truth.” I’m from 18th and Hamlin, AKA Ham Gang. I’m from Holy City, North Lawndale. Chicken, beans, flatbread. Fish and beef stew. From the neck of field of leaders. The humor of my Grandfather. Mercy Center in 2001. Blood is thicker than water.

I Remember Branden

I remember as a child we used to have parties every weekend. It was bussing. I would start on Hamlin with Jasmine and Miesher then head to K-town because that’s where I ended up. I used to be lit, having fun and not worried about nothing and never had to try to fit in. Just be myself. I loved going to the basement. I remember it used to be hot down there. Everyone would go outside to get air. It’s classic. I used to burn everyone in the party. There was a song by Sean Garret, it was a slow dancing song, everyone would literally stop what they were doing and start dancing. The girls would grind and the men would hop roll. Man, the times! When we get that out of the system, it’s back to footwork. See I was the type to battle people, but if you called me out, I swear it was close to certain to be on. I’ve had some battles in town, and holy sh**, but I never lost a battle because all my moves come off my head. I miss that. It’s one thing I remember, and I miss it really bad. I been thinking about going back into that field that comes out of me naturally. Like doing 3 minute videos that’s gonna change the world because I feel I dance off emotion and what I’ve been through. So I take it very seriously when it’s time to get down. In the future I think I’ll be back on market one more time for the dancing spirits that dance with me.

I used to be breaking everyone’s moves down then wait for them to come to me and take off on anyone. That’s how we gain respect in dancing. I worked my way to the 187 Dance Team. I thought I had it too. I saw them and they taught me alot: slow dance, footwork and choreography. The dance class use to be electric and very hard to mimic. It was run by a legend of dancing. I use to come to class excited to see him dance, no homo. I was a kid that was polished from block parties, from the 90s with hotdogs and loud music. I used to dance against everyone and kill the whole block. When I was outside I always met any challenges to my dancing. So in dance class, I thought I was ready. They tore me apart, and I thought, “I got to practice and start developing that inner beast that I’ve always had.” So I practiced and came back. They told me to do it. I was nervous, but when class was over I told my mom I didn’t do it. Then said, “Sike! I passed it!” My mom was happy and I continued to go.

Even though dancing kept me moving, I went to the streets because I didn’t want to ask my mother for money. My needs were too big to be asking my family to cover. So I started doing what I needed to do. Next I know, I got shot

in my back and my shoulder. And that pulled me away from dancing. Waking up in the hospital wondering, “Am I gonna be able to move like I used to move” was a trip. Would I feel the same about music? Would I be able to move like I used to move on the back porch? It’s been about a year and I am at 90%. But since COVID hit, there aren’t as many opportunities for me to dance. But I do it at home where it’s safe. I don’t do any one move; I do what I feel. Dancing is what made me continue through the pain and anger I feel and it’s what drives me to keep on through the loss of people, family, friends. It’s like the spirit be moving thru me. So now I just move on, hoping to start a dance class for children in the future.

I Am From TD

I am from Chicago, where people don’t make it out. From Kanye West and Common. I am from 13th and Lawndale, Love, hate, Kill, take. I am from lots of dirty lots, Dandelions. I’m from cookouts And “Come get this food.” From Davis and Jamison. I’m from the card players and dice shooters.

You Give What You Receive TD

It’s crazy how I grew up kickin’ it with these guys and now they on the opposite side. If they see me, or I see them, it’s on. There were probably ten of us or so. We had been knowing each other since our shorty days. We all went to Dvorak Elementary in North Lawndale. It was good. We would all hoop together at Hoops Stars after school. Talking shit and shooting baskets. After hours of hooping, we would just be outside doing whatever. Riding one another like: “Yo ass scary. We always doing shit. Now it’s yo turn to do something.” This would end with us throwing rocks at cars off the overpass or shooting dice with fake Monopoly money. You could hear someone yellin’ “yo ass cheatin’” or “that ain’t your point. Bitch ass Nigga, yo ass tweak’n. What you want to bump, my Nigga? On my homie, I get down. Yo ass tweeking.” That’s how we spent most of our time back then. So, now, fast forward the story. One day we on our way back from the shoe store and I get a call. They say, “buddy back with his whole family.” So, I say, “Shid. Here we come.” So I get right there. Me and him get to fighting. He drop me. I fell. My big brother drop him. Next thing, we chase them. This is the kind of thing I used to get into. Then, everything changed. At 15, I started as a freshman at North Lawndale High School.

It was decent. Switching classes, getting to see homies in the hallways, watchin’ females fightin, losin’ wigs, all kinds of stuff. I always had the mindset that I am somebody cause I AM somebody. I wasn’t tryin to walk around like I was the hardest person, but I was ready for what came. I just hate that I fucked it up though, tryin to be the class clown, tryin to impress the females. I got to take a big L for that, no lie. I was at North Lawndale with family, you know, and those guys I had been runnin with my whole life, went to some other place. I don’t even know which school or the name. Those guys that I used to kick it with were now hanging with guys that I didn’t fuck with AT ALL. They would come up to the school, outside, and we would get to fightin. Fightin turned into shootin, and shootin’ turned into losing homies. They take one of ours. We take four of theirs. Since then I’ve found a better route. I’ve been grinding real hard. This so called life is very hard sometimes for me because some times I be doing dumb shit like getting into it with people over dumb shit. But there is more to life, than just to be out here doing dumb shit. I’m elevating. There’s bigger fish to fry. You gotta solve the big problems, not the little ones.

Went from diamonds to cold winters. They lying on me. Defend me. Life like a volt, never seen. Ain’t know her name like veins.

-Kemonte J.

I Am From Kemonte J.

I am from the waterfall of Remy. From The Mouth and The System. I am from the other Universe where zombies walk freely. Homeless, deals, more motivation. I am from brick walls, heavy weight, Only the strong can make it out. I’m from lost times and more healing. From the rain and sunshine. I’m from Devonte and mental illness. From “Out the blue things go bad one day” And “Today he’s better.” I’m from lack of respect, lack of leaders. I’m from the beautiful playground across the street. Fruits of the roots, The seed that grows. From the Village of Greatness, the streets of sorrow. The PTSD that’s born in our DNA, Lonely nights, cold showers. Somewhere far away, living in anxiousness

Different Seasons Kemonte J.

Some good moments I remember from when I was 5 or 6 years of age was going on my graduation for kindergarten and my mom and step dad bought me a cream jogging suit. I forgot the brand, but it was my favorite. I remember riding with my step dad after my graduation just hitting blocks, then we went out to eat. I watched my uncles play ball up there, but we really play on my grandma’s block most of the time. It was called D George Park and my brothers used to play it where you tag a person, they gotta chase you till they tag the next or the same person. Then sometimes we were running across the Uhauls right off Cicero and Bloomingdale or would play “catch a girl freak a girl.” Young just doing stuff. I remember my uncle’s friend caught me and my brother freaking on his lil cousin and her friend. He made us stay in his backyard for like a hour before my uncle came looking for us cause my granny was looking for me and my brother cause the street lights was finna come on. That was the goodest feeling ever other than my first graduation because I tried everything to get us from back there. I fake cried, tried to run, tried to pick up a brick, lol. So when my uncle came I was happy as I can be and he asked why was we back there. I felt so good that we wasn’t still back there. I told him he was talking to us and monitoring us while we was back there with the girls.

At 10, all I remember doing was playing. You know, just being a kid. Doing little fun things. Doing all kinds of things at LaFally (La Follette) Park district out West in Austin. Playing in the gym, hooping. Playing on the fields, running around. Kid stuff, you know. When I moved from around Austin to West Garfield Park, I started going to Off the Street Club. It had a gym, a music room, a game room, art room and upstairs there was a skate area and tap dance. But I didn’t dance. I was mostly in the gym. The first person I met after we moved to West Garfield was Damon. He stayed across the way from my house on Gladys. We would hang out, smoke up and stuff up under his back porch. That’s when I started going to Melody Elementary. I had a nice little crowd. There was like 15 of us running around, doing stuff. Now there are only 5, with me included. Guys moved around, moved from the neighborhood and never returned, you know. If I wasn’t playing, there wasn’t much to do. I was into football, but that was seasonal too. So I started hustling. Got addicted to hustling. My mentor, may he Rest in Peace, taught me how to play football. He played football himself. He got a scholarship to Ohio State. He ended up getting killed there by his roommate after a fight broke up between them. Right there in the hallway of where he stayed. He was from the neighborhood. He knew me from around the way. We grew up in the same environment. He was the smartest about it. He taught the whole hood how to play football. Sometimes it would be a bunch of us or sometimes just me doing one on one drills. He saw I had it, you know. At one point, I was rated the #1 running back in the country for my age in Pop Warner. My team was the

Vikings. We used to go out to the fields and pick up the trash and rocks and glass and stuff so we could play. We called it “Dead Man, Pick ‘Em Up.” I also was a top-20 cornerback among 13 year olds. We traveled three different times to Wisconsin for a tournament against teams from all over the country. We won the tournament twice but lost the third time by a field goal. My first year up at the tournament, one game put out, my team was already on the field but I had to pee so stayed behind in the locker room. I ran out to the field through the double doors carrying my shoulder pads and helmet. I remember hearing “there go number 15, there he go.” I’m like, these people know me. I’m comin from Chicago and somehow they know me. That felt good. But I had to stay humble cause the job wasn’t finished. Growing up Mama was working two jobs. One at Solo Cups and then she was a supervisor at M & M Mars. She’d bring some of that home. My mom always worked so we only saw her when she wasn’t working or after she got off, but I always been a momma’s boy, so can’t nobody really watch me unless I was comfortable with them, and as a kid, I didn’t like a lot of adults, so my mom got her section 8 in the early 2000s. We moved on Menard and Thomas. New area, brand new start. Only time we went back toward my granny’s house is for holidays and haircut appointments cause my uncle cut hair. So we at a new school called Bruson. Probably like a year or two. We moved around the corner on Massasoit. Over there was regular like anywhere else, but by this time, I was old enough to realize my father wasn’t there. I was really angry. My father wasn’t there because of street reasons. My mom was always at work, so how could she teach a boy how to be a man? She did damn good though. By her being at work all the time, she didn’t know what my

brothers and me got into. Stuff would be left in the ashtray and I would light it up. Later I found out that my sister Ciara, and my brothers (Devonta and Leonta) wasn’t doing what I was doing. I went from Bronson Elementary to Melody Elementary to Mason Elementary. I’m in the 4th grade doing 8th grade shit, ya feel me. Hustling, smoking, doing all kinds of stuff. I was kid curious. Stuff would be left in the ashtray. I was 11 and jumped it. It was at Melody Elementary that I thought I found out what I was. I was wrong. My pops came around a few times. His wife used to drop gifts off when she heard I was doing good in school. Around this time we wasn’t playing with guns, but was fighting. One night I was walking this girl home I used to go with. I was with two friends and my brother. They stayed down the street from me. When we dropped her off, I heard her saying “Leave them alone!” As we walked, we heard footsteps and turned around. We got to fighting. My brother told me to go get the rest of the guys from around the corner. Someone got my momma and when she came out, someone punched her in the eye. Her whole left side was swollen for about a month. That was the first time I had seen my momma hurt. That’s also when I realized how strong she was. If she did cry, she must have done it behind closed doors.

This is how it went. When I was a kid, I didn’t move like one. Though I was doing kids stuff, I wasn’t really focused in school. I failed both 1st and 3rd grade. It wasn’t cause I couldn’t do the work or nothing. Things were going on and I grew up, you know. My dad was in and out of jail. When he was home, he was steady moving. At one point he was mad at mama. We cool now, but at the time he wasn’t trying to see me cause he was into it with mama. He was young then, living off emotions. So I wasn’t focused. Nowadays I’m locked in with my parents for sure. We cool. I learned a lot from that situation. That’s why I try not to put my daughter’s mom through that situation now.

Where I’m from don’t mean shit. Talk less, Do more, Just think. I love who I love Ghost. I am what the K made. -DIONDRE COX-KELLY, SR.

I Am From

DIONDRE COX-KELLY, SR. I am from Hard Times. From love and hate. I am from 18th. Manor, Mason, the candy store. I am from the field. I’m from where D-Lo made a basketball rim on a tree. I’m from where you can’t walk door to door And where “one fight, we all fight.” From Peggy and Tang. I’m from DD and Fatso. From where “You just like yo daddy.” I’m from where Jesus is everything And God is love. I’m from Chicago, K-Town. Pot roast and peach cobbler. From where my great grandpops watches Ninja Turtles. The heart of the family is my Granny. Short in stature but her heart makes her ten feet tall. She is the collector of our memories, My Queen, the one I love the most.

I Remember DIONDRE COX-KELLY, SR.

I remember as a kid I ain’t really have shit, but I really never knew. Every Saturday I would watch X-Men and the Power Rangers. They were my best friends. After I watch them, my day was finna start. Granny cooking in the kitchen. I eat then leave out, now my real day start. Jessica asking me “What you finna do, D Man?” tell her “Slide to Domo house. She right there laughing and smoking with her friends. I walk to the Block without a worry in the world. I get to the Block, first person I see is Mac. He say, “Diondre, what you on?” More I think, the more I get mad thoughts that turn into nightmares. Real dreams turn to sorrows. They say Death is easy, but living without yall is the hardest. Losing Will hurt me so much, then I lost Mac. That shit killed me. Them two was people I thought I was gone grow old with. I was with both of them the day they died. Me and Will was together talkin’ about wat we was wearing for the weekend. I stole my homie’s bike, and I tell my lil cuzin “don’t go on 16th.” They gone take it. I’m shooting dice and all I hear is 6 loud shots that sound like it come from Block. My cousin ride up. I take the bike ride back and see my homie dead on the ground. That shit killed me. Then I was right there with Mac when he punched buddy. Shots go off. Everybody got out of the alley. I run to the alley thinking, damn, I hope everybody good. I look up to see

12 right there lookin and they ain’t do shit. Just another day in Chicago. I am from Hard Times. From love and hate. I am from 18th. Manor, Mason, the candy store. I am from the field. I’m from where D-Lo made a basketball rim on a tree. I’m from where you can’t walk door to door And where “one fight, we all fight.” From Peggy and Tang. I’m from DD and Fatso. From where “you just like yo daddy.” I’m from where Jesus is everything And God is love. I’m from Chicago, K-Town. Pot roast and peach cobbler. From where my great grandpops watches Ninja Turtles. The heart of the family is my Granny. Short in stature but her heart makes her ten feet tall. She is the collector of our memories, My Queen, the one I love the most. My life was never easy. Not never. I came from nothing and its so hard to make it to something. But I can’t never stop. I have three people that need me the most. So when I think about doing dumb shit, I think about them to keep me sane. I know if something happen to me I would be doing them like me and my father. And I will never do that to them. Because people, places and things is shit I don’t worry about. I worry about my kids. That’s what matters. Now I know what people mean

when they say they have *agape love. That’s how my kids make me feel.

I never knew how to be a man. Just a street nigga. I thought that was a man. I blamed my mother and father, police, teachers at school. But it was me and myself. I’m my biggest problem. Growing up I loved to fight. I guess that came from me wanting love. But I had my Auntie Tammy. She showed me real love. My Auntie and my sister when she had my nephew, that change me a little bit for the better. I never thought that I would feel the way I feel. I hated you. My dad was a gangsta, a get money ass nigga when I was a kid. I wanted to be just like him. I always heard stories then when I got older with my own family, we met each other again. I’m in Hills (the joint). I walk past this man 2 times. In my head I say, “Man,

buddy look like my pops.” So I tell my homie I’m finna see if that’s my pap. I walk up to him, grab his ID. I see that’s my pops. I walk off so many different feelings I don’t know what to do. He walks up, gives me a hug. I don’t know whether to punch him or hug him back. I begged you for love you chose not to give. You picked the streets over us. I never will accept that my father didn’t have time for us. Is that why my anger is so messed up? But you taught me one thing: never be like you. I guess I thank you. I guess I thank you for that but it’s all love. I’m just glad you made me. * Agape–unconditional love, the highest of form of love, charity

It’s going on thirty different ways. Back against the wall. Why me? Standing in the need of prayer. Standing firm for my son’s life.

-KL

Paul KL

I remember being a kid in first grade, always having fun with my friends, not a worry in the world at the time. Until one day, I met my first problem. His name was Paul (may he rest in peace). He was about 3’8 and weighed about 80-90 pounds, all muscle. His aura just gave a mean demeanor off soons he entered the room. The whole time he was there it was as if he was scoping the class looking for his prey. Somehow it just happened to be me. The moment I seen him I just felt the problem in the air. I knew something was gone be a problem so I told my friend (who actually has the same name as me), “Kyle, if he ever get tough with me, I’m beating his ass.” Sure enough, he tried to get tough one day and I treated his ass. I told him to “get the fuck out my face before I pop the trunk on yo bitch ass.” I’m sure he took it not only as a threat but also an embarrassment because the whole class started laughing. He shook his head and pointed at me while saying, “I got some for yo ass.” From that moment on, I just felt an angry stare gazing on me with rage and f - - d. I just felt an ass whooping coming along soon. So as the day went on our class had a bathroom break and me as well as Paul ended up in the restroom at the same time. He approached me and said, “So wassup with all that tough funny shit from earlier?” Me knowing what was gone happen next just by watching his actions from bullying other kids that it was gone to be a fight. So I stuck his ass twice and ran out the bathroom. We both didn’t want to

get in trouble, so we didn’t fight in school but he did tell me “that’s my ass” after school. That happened about 10:30 in the morning. I promise to God, it took about one hour for it to be 2:30pm. That’s how fast time flew. I was scared. My hands was sweating, I couldn’t stay focused and I kept my eyes on the clock that for some reason was flying that day. Dismissal came and I left out a different door than everyone else. I did that for the next 3 days until he caught on. I tried to go out another door and he was standing there. I tried to turn around and run back in the building so fast, but he grabbed my bookbag and pulled me out the door. He beat my ass. But, we became friends. He told me he never had to fight no one as tough as me. Even though his words gave me a sense of encouragement to not be scared to fight, I still had to explain to my big brother why my lip was swole and bleeding. From that day on, me and Paul always had a connection because he knew I wasn’t someone to be messed with. He even tried to involve me in a couple fights on his side. The friendship just started from there. Now even though me and Paul met in an aggressive manner, meeting my other friend Kyle, (who has been my friend for 20 years now), was much more of an embarrassment. Kindergarten will always be the best time of a child’s life if you ask me: ABC’s, 123’s, snacks, recess, it’s all a ball, not to mention the cooties from the girls. I miss those days, but anyways (Now mind you I’m Lactose intolerant) the class was at gym and the boys were on one side, females on the other. As I was approaching, the crowd of boys had already started introducing themselves and something they like. So it got around to being my turn. One shorty was like “My name Mike and I like sports.” Another one said, “Jade and I like donuts,” and Kyle was before me so he said, “My name

Kyle and I like to fart,” then he farted and everybody started laughing. So you know me, I want to make MFers laugh too, plus I had been playing this farting game at home with my brothers where I’d fart then run off. So I said, “My name Kyle, too, and I like to fart” and I farted. Everybody laughed again. Now it had become a game, the girls laughing, all the boys passing gas, just laughing and playing. Lunch time comes around and I decide to drink some milk, 2 cartons of it. So we go back to the class, and I decided to start the game back up, and a bad idea it was. I shitted all over myself and it wasn’t pretty. I was embarrassed, but what made me and Kyle close was that he had a change of draws and pants in his bag that his mom always sent him to school with. Although I still smelt like shit, I no longer felt like it. I’ve been loyal to him ever since and still laugh about it today. This is the story of my two best friends Kyle and Paul, who passed away in 2019 on Christmas Eve. I miss you my guy forever. R.I.P. PAUL.

I Am From LaShawn

I am from Chicago From Love and Hope I am from the North Lawndale area Where it’s pain and addiction. I am from where things get tense And things get wild. I’m from the Best City and the Best Food From West Side and South Side

Confident and Flashy. Trustworthy and Independent. Failure will never be an option. Cool, calm, collected. Gamehead and bread. Standing tall for my kids (Period.)

-Marcus

I Am From Marcus

I am from out West, From chicken and tacos. I am from the 500 block of Jackson Street, Fun, joyful, interesting. I am from dandelions, yellow and short. I’m from reunions and The Taste of Austin. From Irons and Baylock. I’m from the crazy and the drunks, From “Sit yo ass down” and “Go to sleep.” I’m from knowledge, wisdom. I’m from Jackson & Central, Uncle Remus, Popeye’s. From spending nights at my cousin’s house. From Uncle Mook and Irons’ family reunion at Maywood Park.

LEEANDREW

I Am From LEEANDREW

I am from Da Hood From love, being real From playful and always joking I am from North Lawndale, Independence Square Fountain, blue skies and the spirit of God The whole area filled with green, Trees, grass, plants, bushes. I’m from no family gatherings. We see each other when we do. From Grandad, Gene I’m from the “You got to crawl before you walk” And “A dream not written down is just a thought”

I was put here to lead the lost souls Do not underestimate my introvert (Period).

-Sirjah

I Am From Sirjah

I am from a City of Sorrow, From heartache and heartbreaks. I am from 1861 S. Central Park Avenue, Apt 1, The Holy City, the best on the west, Where you keep your eyes to yourself, Nigga watch your step. I am from the roots, not the vines, Being shot at with nines. I’m from Sir Chicken and Great Lakes From no mom, no dad. I’m from Big Brother and Grandmother. From given enough rope to hang myself, And, “Without me your life will be shit.” I’m from 26th and Cali, Rush University. I’m from Rush Children’s Hospital, Baked beans and hotdogs, chocolate cake. From crack addict parents, bad health issues, Family hating one another. I’m from Granny’s crib. Family is Everything!

The Holy City Kid

Sirjah

Sirjah was born May 1, 1999 at Rush Children’s Hospital. At the age of 5 years old, Sirjah lost his mother to AIDS. Sirjah was sitting in his mom’s room while she’s on the bedrest not knowing she was literally taking her last breath. Sirjah climbed on top of his mother, trying to play, touching her face, trying to wake her up. Sirjah being a kid not knowing she literally is laying dead with just him and her in the house. Luckily he had an older cousin who lived across the street from them. Sirjah ran across the street, knocked on the door to alert his aunt and cousin that something was wrong with his mother. As they entered their home, his auntie yelled at the top of her lungs, “Rhonda!” That was his mother’s name. Both cried. Sirjah standing there not knowing what’s going on. Hours go by, Sirjah’s father Vincent had finally come home early that morning, along with his big brother Tony and his friends & other immediate family members. Sirjah sat in the car with his father a block away as he watched the funeral directors carry his mom out of their apartment.

Years go by, now Sirjah is staying with his father Vincent, but his father suffers from his weaknesses, also being an drug addict. His father would be so strung out that he’d forget Sirjah’s whereabouts, to the point we lost our home. Now they’re on the streets, day and night, night and day. One night it was storming so bad and they had no place to go. They were walking through an alley. His father noticed an abandoned car behind his friend’s place, he didn’t want his son to be in the rain, so he broke into his friend’s abandoned car and they both slept there until the storm had passed. Months past and now Sirjah’s dad has passed away. He had no more fluids in his body the doctors said. Sirjah was woken in the middle of the night as he was told the news. He sat there with a stupid ass freight. He rushed to the hospital for this uncausable death. He sat there with tears in his eyes as his father took his last breath. Weeks go by and it’s funeral day, the last day Sirjah gets to see his dad go away. White silk suit with Stacey Adams shoes, he arrived in style in his brother’s Bentley. It was baby powdered blue. As they stepped out all eyes on him, his aunt on his dad’s side approached them both and asked who will he be staying with? And his big brother responded “He’s coming with me.” Both left, leaving the aunt in misery.

“Granny’s Crib” 1861 S Central Park Ave Apt 1. A big red building with a black gate. “MP” labeled on top. Never forget it… After the burial Sirjah and his big brother arrive at their grandmother’s, where Sirjah who didn’t think in a million years that’s where he would spend the rest of his life, literally his childhood up until adulthood. Sirjah’s grandmother was the best to him from clothing, bathing, waking up for school every morning, everything you can think a grandmother could do! Sirjah loved his grandmother so much. She would give him money to run little errands for household supplies around the house. As he got older she sent him to the mall for the first time at the age of 13 years old. Around that time your average kid had parents with cars, etc. but not Sirjah. He would go all over the City of Chicago by himself and wasn’t afraid. As years go by and Sirjah is getting taller and older of age, his grandmother starts to get sick, like really really sick to the point she was almost helpless, but one thing about Sirjah’s family, they are tough! They fight and fight until they just can’t fight no more… April 24, 2016, Sirjah never once thought his granny would leave. He and his uncle both were headed out of their

building to take his grandmother to the hospital, which was like her third visit within that month. As they both sat on the patio, Sirjah and his grandmother had a small altercation. Sirjah said something to this day he wish he could take back. After the words were shared his grandmother came tumbling down to her knees. Sirjah, not knowing his grandmother was so heavy because all of her weight was “dead.” His uncle rushed out, him and his wife, all of them trying to help get her in the car. Everyone is crying and panicking. Sirjah and his uncle both rushed to the hospital, cutting traffic, red lights, stop signs, etc. He even remembers seeing a police car tailing them with their siren and lights flashing. As they arrive, his uncle rush inside for immediate help. Sirjah still in the car holding his grandmother’s head tilted in a forward motion as if she’s alive. He whispered in her ear how much he loves her and for her not to leave him, at least not this way. Nurses rush out giving immediate attention to his grandmother. He and his uncle are placed in a room for immediate family only. As family members start to rush in all in disbelief, all Sirjah can think about his how his grandmother will not be here for any more birthdays, no more breakfast together, and all the other special moments they shared with one another. As hours go past, the doctors pronounced the death of his grandmother. “My Brother’s Keeper” “My brother’s keeper” means to be responsible for the actions, behavior, or whereabouts of one’s close relative or friend. My big brother, not gonna lie, this nigga was my God. My mentor, the one who taught me the game, how to walk, how to talk, how to put clothes on it. Now my brother wasn’t “no saint,” let’s make that clear.

At the age of I believe 17-18 he was the first young nigga in the hood with a baby blue Bentley 2 door coupe sport and Frank Lucas chinchilla trench coat with matching hat. Haha. I know you prolly thinking, “Yeah. This lil nigga was moving weight” and you’re absolutely correct. Shid, prolly the best to do it at the age of 17. I would say the passing of our mother is what turnt my big bro up, cause the man had him locked down on the inside and him not knowing what’s going on on the outside. So when he got out, I guess he felt like he had something to prove. But we gone fast forward to 2016 after losing our grandmother, me and my big bro stayed together. I mean stuck like glue, from shootouts together, jail visits, fights like two niggas on the streets. But that was my dog and I loved him. My big bro kept me in finest whips, the flyest fits, and around the baddest chicks. I mean at the age of 16 this shit was like a movie and I didn’t want it to end. But in the city of Chicago, hate and jealousy was like a disease in my city. This shit got out of hand man. Niggas robbing other niggas, hoes backdooring niggas, niggas backdooring their own mans, crossing em out of licks, all types of wild shit. But my big bro on the other hand could never keep a low profile, but hey, that was him, and that don’t give the next man the okay to come and take yo shit now do it? My brother was a real nigga for real for real. Anyone in my hood could vouch, giving the lil homies in the hood money, bikes, food, clothes, whatever. But that don’t mean shit where I’m from. You’ll get killed for doing Lord’s work.

After my brother’s last prison visit, he locked in with some guys who he trusted with his life. I mean got real comfortable, would do whatever for these niggas. All of them. Lean had hit the streets harder than crack back in the days and my brother became like this big “Drank God.” I mean we had boat loads of this shit. We was our own plug. Of course niggas don’t want to see the next man doing better. These niggas my brother thought he can trust tried to cut em out. I guess owed my big bro some money. Weeks go by. Me not knowing he had bumped heads with these dudes like something serious. The stories say guns got involved, but til this day I’ll never really know what happened for real. What I do remember is me and my brother getting into a real heated argument. Went a week without talking. Remember I told you this a nigga I’m with everyday right or wrong, but this last time was different. I remember the evening he came and picked up some paper I was holding for him and when he pulled up on me, I’ll never forget his words “You good?” I told him yeah and I asked was he good and he said he was cool, but I could see the look in his eye. He said “I love you” and I told him I love him too. April 25, 2017, which was the following day after seeing my brother. I had been calling him all evening cause it was strange he hadn’t texted or called all day. I was still in high school in my senior year, so I was helping out with a little painting job my school had provided. When I got off, I left

and went home. Once I got there still no calls or text, so I said shid that nigga prolly still busy or some you know. I ain’t think nun much of it, now hours goes by. 11:35ish, if I’m not mistaken, I received a call from one of bro’s lil chicks telling me my big brother had been killed. I froze in shock like my skeleton had come out of my body… I got out of my bed and ran down to my uncle’s apartment. I knocked loud as I could and when he opened up I said “They just killed Fonzie.” My uncle gasped “They killed him?” Tears fell. I said yeah as we sat at his kitchen table. He asked where did the shooting go down at so we took a lil drive to the scene. As we passed through, no cars or people in sight, but it was expected. Man, driving past that scene killed me seeing them tire marks and how damaged the tree was from the car crashing into it. When we got back to the crib, my uncle had to do some no man ever in his life would want to do and that was let my brother’s daughter know the news. When she was given the phone and my uncle had told her her father had died, she asked “Why?” My uncle started to cry and he said “I don’t know.” Morning had come, me and my uncle drove to the morgue. More relatives had already been there waiting. One of my oldest sisters grabbed me tight as fuck and just cried so hard and yelled “My big brother!” All I could do was just hold her back and not let go. When we got inside these motherfuckers wouldn’t even let me see my own brother. The feeling I had at that moment I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies. My big brother had been killed from a gunshot wound to the back of his head at the age of 31. And still to this day his murder has gone unsolved.

Present Day, November 29, 2021. I’m alive and doing well. Nah, I’m not rich yet, but I’m not living in my past anymore. I’m taking care of my responsibilities, my family, and my friends (brothers). After reading this I’ll just let you tell me “Who I am.” My name is Sirjah Jones and I appreciate you reading my story. Love!

I Am From KELVIN, Life Coach

I am from God. From Rose and Governor Hampton. I am from 19th and Pulaski. Quiet, introvert, welcoming. I am from Prairie grass, Tall and blows in the wind. I’m from Mississippi and soul food. From Ruth and Governor Senior. I’m from the good times and deep conversations. From love and expectations. I’m from Spirituals, Prayer Warriors. I’m from The South. Collard greens, hog head cheese. From Steel Mills, Warehouses, and Papermills. The Hamptons, chairs, Taylor, Douglas, Scrapbooks, History, keepsakes, tradition.

I Am From dr. moore

I am from the candy lady, purple Now and Laters, stuck to the roof of my mouth. From big pickles and Funyuns I am from 16630 S. Hermitage, Too small, overfull, Sounds, not of silence, but of frustration. I am from window boxes of mama’s flowers, Pink, white and purples cared for my hands Raised deep in red clay soil. I’m from fish fried hard on Fridays and anger flashing hot in a minute. From Nathaniel and Dorothy Mae I’m from keeping secrets and telling no lies. From “children should be seen, not heard” And “don’t let the school be calling here” I’m from Christ Temple Baptist Church, Ladies in white using the Sunday program to fan. I’m from Ingalls Hospital and sharecroppers dreams in the deep, deep South. Potato salad, dad’s burnt offerings of BBQ. From parents working jobs they never like and that never paid. The out of key piano covered in photos, Capturing moments long since past.

I Am From Dimitri

I am from rubber handballs for a dollar at the bodega. From the warmth of the Bahamas and the cold of the Bronx. I am from the many apartments we lived in and the ones where my father stayed. Too small, too expensive, dead mouse in the closet. I am from hibiscus flowers in the yard, The kind you see in Biology textbooks. I’m from church on Sundays and “don’t put shame in my eye.” From Valrie and Kenneth I’m from the hard-working and studious. From “Disobedient children shall not see half their days!” And “he who can’t hear will feel!” I’m from white Jesus, who I never understood. I’m from my mother’s Johnny cakes, Quick, easy meals, but something more on Sundays. From my grandfather Prince, who I’ve only known by name. Not even from faded old photos In the big brown album I’ve known my whole life The one with photos of my parents happy, together And my brother and me as happy babies.

Men of Chicago’s West Side Speak: Only a Few Listen

A ConTextos Magazine North Lawndale Edition