I have been in and out of Allison Hill for the last many months--years, even, if you include church during college. Nothing, though, has been as up close and personal as now, living on the very street I have driven time and again to pick up, drop off, and visit my friends. I am strategically in the middle of everyone’s houses, just down the street from church and a handful of blocks away from the farm.
I’ve realized, when I tell some people about my recent move to the hill, that they readily show their concern or kindly criticize my choice to live here. I don’t know other ways of saying that I chose this on purpose. I never asked for an easy place to live. I know my tendency to grow complacent when I live in suburban places and I share my fear of that sickness with others who recognize both the danger and hope nestled in inner cities. It is with this mindset that I came here, to be in a place where I am challenged and can thrive. The music is loud. Some faces are stoney. But I’m seeking to see hope everywhere, too: my neighbor from Burkino Faso is quite the conversationalist, my other neighbor from Niger, who sits on his stoop adjacent to mine, is a great greeter, my landlord’s kids are hilarious. Myint Mu comes daily, with the boys in tow, to chat, sit, and walk with me. I am surprised by how many people I recognize and know on the streets; the many refugee families I have interacted with over the months are no longer a twenty-five minute drive into the city--I am part of the very neighborhood in which they live. Upon occasion, I wonder what some of my neighbors think of me, new kid on the block who stops Burmese people on the sidewalks to speak nonsensical sounds (Thai), link arms with women, and pick up dark-haired babies. Crazy? Maybe. I really love it here.
