The Motor City: Detroit,MI
When I originally thought of Detroit, Michigan I thought of "abandoned". After all, the news only portrayed it as a deserted area with troubled neighborhoods. However, serving in that city for a week really put things in perspective. Our tale begins at the steps of Detroit World Outreach. This church had been nice enough to house our group in their auditorium. As we rolled our luggage in, I picked a spot on the gray carpeted stage platform and retired for the night, knowing that we would have a busy week ahead.
Our main initiative was to combat illiteracy and promote education in inner city schools. Cody high school with its colorful murals and inspirational quotes painted on the lockers, was unique. For one, the kids there were not your typical "troubled" kids. In spite of their challenges, they were still motivated to break away from the mold. Most students wanted to attend college outside of Detroit. The school was divided into three sections based on field of study. At each school we were greeted by the cool, hip, adviser who deeply cared about the students.
One of the advisers was a sweet lady who looked like she was in her thirties. She was slim and short, had a short curly fro and skin the color of a praline. She'd always referred to the students as kings and queens. As she explained, some of them had been emotionally abused; constantly told that they would never amount to anything. She aimed to be that voice of reason. That soft still voice in the wind stirring up their resolve, challenging them to strive for more--reminding them that they could be something, if they only tried.
The other adviser for the engineering school greeted us with a warm smile and iced cappuccinos. She wore this tomato red blazer with a diamond cut-out in the back. Though this school definitely had it strengths: the track above the gym, and the robotics team, there was still a gray cloud that hung over it. The semblance of academia had been thrown against a back drop of deteriorating windows, school fights, missing teachers, a lack of funding, among other issues. Yet, the students refused to be deterred. Granted, some were seen as "the bad apples": arguing with teachers, turning the classroom into a hair salon, sleeping. Who could blame them when the Detroit Public School System was threatening to close in a few months?
Aside from going to the high school, we decided to check out a treatment center for boys.The treatment center had the trappings of a foster home, except the kids stayed temporarily. Many of them had been abused, neglected, some had autism. You could tell by their sheer excitement to see a group of college students play board games with them, that they were lacking in the love department. Yes, their care takers--the house coordinators-- did their best to ensure that the boys did not tear each other apart, gave them their allotted medication as needed, but there was no real bond.
Two boys crowded around me, eager to get my attention.
"do you got games on your phone?"
"can we play angry birds?"
"can we watch YouTube videos?"
The coordinators gathered around for a "family" meeting. The home operated on a point system based on the boys' behavior. After meeting a certain quota they were given privileges like candy, TV time, etc. One boy was tasked with explaining his bad behavior at school.
The 10 year old boy discussed what had happened with his 5th grade teacher. "She said that I was hard headed. So I said "here's hard-headed for you" and I busted my head through the window". The image of his near circular head shattering glass, shards flying everywhere, was cringe-worthy.
Another boy, I'll call him Andy...was very reserved. He was quiet and often stayed to himself. Though he did not speak much, the scars on his arm spoke volumes. Perhaps years and years of frustration. The whole situation was much more visceral--seeing the stinging tomato red marks up close was different from reading about a "cutter" in a book or watching a film. Andy wasn't the only one who cut himself.
One boy explained it quite precisely. "It's the only way to release the pain". How much pain could a 12-year old possibly have accumulated in his short young life, as for the bulging gates to overflow in thin waves of blood?
Even as we left the group home with tears pooling in our eyes, we knew we had much to be grateful for back home 10 hours away. We would never again take loving arms for granted.
Our last day at Cody High School felt like we had ripped a page out of the movie Freedom Writers. As an icebreaker for a student-led workshop called "should the hood be abolished?" we decided to engage the students in a little game of "stepping forward".
We had all of the students line up with eyes closed. We started with questions like..
"step forward if you are planning to go to college"
majority of the students came forward
Then we began to ask more cutting questions like..
"step forward if you've ever lost someone to gang violence
A good handful of kids moved
"step forward if you know someone who was a victim of domestic violence"
Again, many kids stepped out
"Step forward if you have ever hugged your father"
Many were left behind in that line.
The point was to promote unity among these students. They had more in common than they thought. They were all bound by one "hood" and one desire to rise above where they had come from and pay homage to those they had lost..those who had suffered.
One man had managed to take his "ghetto" childhood neighborhood and transform it into a work of art. With an open-air art museum that showcased themes of innocence and spirituality with mountains of what would look like junk to the naked eye. Baby dolls, toy cars, even a jazz man--reminiscent of my own childhood, could be seen all over the grass.
We spent that evening exploring the city of Greek town---sprawling evidence that Detroit was indeed getting back on its feet.
Our last morning in Detroit was spent cleaning up the compound of the Detroit World Outreach center as a thank you for all of their hospitality.
The city of Detroit was recovering but still had a long way to go. In a neighborhood with boarded up houses, and "murder McDonald's", 5 miles away was an estate brimming with mansions and paved drive ways. The two worlds did not bleed into each other. Yet, it was uncanny that they existed side-by-side.
Our main initiative was to combat illiteracy and promote education in inner city schools. Cody high school with its colorful murals and inspirational quotes painted on the lockers, was unique. For one, the kids there were not your typical "troubled" kids. In spite of their challenges, they were still motivated to break away from the mold. Most students wanted to attend college outside of Detroit. The school was divided into three sections based on field of study. At each school we were greeted by the cool, hip, adviser who deeply cared about the students.
One of the advisers was a sweet lady who looked like she was in her thirties. She was slim and short, had a short curly fro and skin the color of a praline. She'd always referred to the students as kings and queens. As she explained, some of them had been emotionally abused; constantly told that they would never amount to anything. She aimed to be that voice of reason. That soft still voice in the wind stirring up their resolve, challenging them to strive for more--reminding them that they could be something, if they only tried.
The other adviser for the engineering school greeted us with a warm smile and iced cappuccinos. She wore this tomato red blazer with a diamond cut-out in the back. Though this school definitely had it strengths: the track above the gym, and the robotics team, there was still a gray cloud that hung over it. The semblance of academia had been thrown against a back drop of deteriorating windows, school fights, missing teachers, a lack of funding, among other issues. Yet, the students refused to be deterred. Granted, some were seen as "the bad apples": arguing with teachers, turning the classroom into a hair salon, sleeping. Who could blame them when the Detroit Public School System was threatening to close in a few months?
Aside from going to the high school, we decided to check out a treatment center for boys.The treatment center had the trappings of a foster home, except the kids stayed temporarily. Many of them had been abused, neglected, some had autism. You could tell by their sheer excitement to see a group of college students play board games with them, that they were lacking in the love department. Yes, their care takers--the house coordinators-- did their best to ensure that the boys did not tear each other apart, gave them their allotted medication as needed, but there was no real bond.
Two boys crowded around me, eager to get my attention.
"do you got games on your phone?"
"can we play angry birds?"
"can we watch YouTube videos?"
The coordinators gathered around for a "family" meeting. The home operated on a point system based on the boys' behavior. After meeting a certain quota they were given privileges like candy, TV time, etc. One boy was tasked with explaining his bad behavior at school.
The 10 year old boy discussed what had happened with his 5th grade teacher. "She said that I was hard headed. So I said "here's hard-headed for you" and I busted my head through the window". The image of his near circular head shattering glass, shards flying everywhere, was cringe-worthy.
Another boy, I'll call him Andy...was very reserved. He was quiet and often stayed to himself. Though he did not speak much, the scars on his arm spoke volumes. Perhaps years and years of frustration. The whole situation was much more visceral--seeing the stinging tomato red marks up close was different from reading about a "cutter" in a book or watching a film. Andy wasn't the only one who cut himself.
One boy explained it quite precisely. "It's the only way to release the pain". How much pain could a 12-year old possibly have accumulated in his short young life, as for the bulging gates to overflow in thin waves of blood?
Even as we left the group home with tears pooling in our eyes, we knew we had much to be grateful for back home 10 hours away. We would never again take loving arms for granted.
Our last day at Cody High School felt like we had ripped a page out of the movie Freedom Writers. As an icebreaker for a student-led workshop called "should the hood be abolished?" we decided to engage the students in a little game of "stepping forward".
We had all of the students line up with eyes closed. We started with questions like..
"step forward if you are planning to go to college"
majority of the students came forward
Then we began to ask more cutting questions like..
"step forward if you've ever lost someone to gang violence
A good handful of kids moved
"step forward if you know someone who was a victim of domestic violence"
Again, many kids stepped out
"Step forward if you have ever hugged your father"
Many were left behind in that line.
The point was to promote unity among these students. They had more in common than they thought. They were all bound by one "hood" and one desire to rise above where they had come from and pay homage to those they had lost..those who had suffered.
One man had managed to take his "ghetto" childhood neighborhood and transform it into a work of art. With an open-air art museum that showcased themes of innocence and spirituality with mountains of what would look like junk to the naked eye. Baby dolls, toy cars, even a jazz man--reminiscent of my own childhood, could be seen all over the grass.
We spent that evening exploring the city of Greek town---sprawling evidence that Detroit was indeed getting back on its feet.
Our last morning in Detroit was spent cleaning up the compound of the Detroit World Outreach center as a thank you for all of their hospitality.
The city of Detroit was recovering but still had a long way to go. In a neighborhood with boarded up houses, and "murder McDonald's", 5 miles away was an estate brimming with mansions and paved drive ways. The two worlds did not bleed into each other. Yet, it was uncanny that they existed side-by-side.
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