I have been sleeping in a tent for years. Nobody deserves that life. You can get raped in Tent City, abused in Tent City. Sometimes, people freeze to death or commit suicide in Tent City. And rat bites are all too common.
In this country and this era, housing should be a human right. Safety should be a human right, no matter what your mental state is.
But I love my family at Tent City, and we gonna be alright. From the artist whose magnificent drawings were thrown out during a city clean-up to the younger ones in the camp who know me as “ma,” we do our best to look out for each other. Especially the kids. One girl passed through, running from a foster home where she was being abused. She couldn’t have been older than 14. I try to share what I know, so they won’t repeat the same cycle as me.
My journey all started when my aunt said I was born behind a $15 dollar trick. I didn’t know what she was talking about until I became rebellious and ran away. Through the streets, I experienced different life stories from all different angles. I never knew how many ways a person could be taken advantage of — when you are at your lowest point, no less.
I was young when I first went to prison. I witnessed more abuses and rape inside the walls than out. That’s right, perpetrated by the people with the keys. Guards did things they weren’t supposed to do. So did my parole officer! But they don’t hesitate to lock you up and strip you of your humanity. Strip you of your mental stability.
It seems to me that government officials misuse the money meant for helping people. I recognize many of them, riding around lookin’ like new money, while I try to block out the noise and the fears, from inside my tent.
