Pride

by Ibi Zoboi

IT’S A TRUTH universally acknowledged that when rich people move into the hood, where it’s a little bit broken and a little bit forgotten, the first thing they want to do is clean it up. But it’s not just the junky stuff they’ll get rid of. People can be thrown away too, like last night’s trash left out on sidewalks or pushed to the edge of wherever all broken things go. What those rich people don’t always know is that broken and forgotten neighborhoods were first built out of love.

“My baby,” Mama says, smiling and cocking her head to the side. “She spends one year at college and she thinks she knows everything.” Janae’s face drops, and I can tell that stung her a bit. My big sister is carrying the whole intellectual weight of the family now that she’s the first one to go to a four-year college.

Reading is how I visit places and people and ideas. And when something rings true or if I still have a question, I outline it with a bright yellow highlighter so that it’s lit up in my mind, like a lightbulb or a torch leading the way to somewhere new.

“I keep hearing Janae’s name. Why you so worried about your big sister? It’s her life.”

“Just because I like somebody doesn’t mean I forget everything else in my life.

Money can’t buy manners.

I have always thought of Bushwick as home, but in that moment, I realize that home is where the people I love are, wherever that is.

Sometimes love is not enough to keep a community together. There needs to be something more tangible, like fair housing, opportunities, and access to resources. Lifeboats and lifelines are not supposed to just be a way for us to get out. They should be ways to let us stay in and survive. And thrive.

All of me, everything I’ve ever known and loved, was once behind that door.