Tribute to College Park

I was born in Riverdale, Georgia. About 20 minutes south of Atlanta. I don't really remember Riverdale much because, by the time I started pre-k, my mom and I had moved to Morrow, right by Southlake Mall (back when it was poppin'). Eventually, right before I turned 13, we moved to Hampton. Once I left my mom's house at 19 I ended up couch surfing at my Auntie & Granny's house back in Morrow. Turns out they lived in the same neighborhood that I lived in when I was in elementary school and half of middle school.

How I got to couch surfing at my Auntie's place is a long story. Maybe I'll get around to telling it in another blog post. Remind me. Anyway, when I was living with my Auntie the lease was up in October; right around my birthday (Oct 17). The city that I ended up moving to once it was time to leave that nostalgic Morrow apartment, was College Park.

Now, I'm not here to lie. When I first moved to the city I was freshly 21 and hella anxious all the time. My dad's side of my family is from the city, so because of them, I was somewhat aware of what living close to the city was like. My mama's side on the other hand lived mostly on the outskirts or in the suburbs and I always lived with her. Basically, I'd be in the hood occasionally, but I was raised more suburban. Then again, I say that loosely because Clayton County aka Clayco is not sweet, but it's still not as rough as the city. Anyway, child, I was nervous. My mama didn't help by acting like Nene Leakes whenever she came over to my apartment, constantly reminding me how I lived in the ghetto.

I moved in the fall of 2020, so very much during the pandemic. I had been furloughed from my job and had an online business that I was running from home. On top of me having a negative perception of my new environment, I also wasn't working with other people or going out. I was getting bored and lonely. Long story short, those feelings overpowered my fear, so I started going outside. I transferred to a closer location at my job, returned to work and I was finally open to exploring this new city.

Over the 3 years that I lived in College Park, I had 4 jobs in or around the area. I didn't have a car, so eventually I mustered up the courage to start taking MARTA (which people had also convinced me to be afraid of). By the time I'd fully opened up to this intricate city, I had come to realize that this place wasn't scary or inherently more dangerous than Clayton County. The reason why it was deemed "ghetto" is because it's home to a large community of poor working-class Black people and the area is catered to us. Lots of Black-owned businesses operate here and there are apartment complexes everywhere full of Black people of all ages, some from Atlanta and some from other places. Between the airport, Old Nat (Old National Highway), Main Street, and Camp Creek Marketplace there were lots of places for us to work and socialize. It's truly an oasis of Southside culture.

The people that I met there impacted my life positively and were typically warm and friendly to me. From Mrs. Pam, a lady around my Granny's age who I met working at Juicy Crab, who was always kind to me and spoke life into me, to the guy with the glasses who owns the corner store. He always greeted me with a smile and asked how my day was going. I can't forget the married couple that owns the liquor store at the end of the plaza who never tripped if I didn't have my ID. Or the people who worked at Arize cafe that would reward my recurrent visits with free French toast bites. I can't even get into all of the hard-working, storytelling, big dream-having, rough around the edges but genuinely good people that I met through my various jobs and community events. People who may appear "ghetto" or poor have been talented, highly intelligent, wise, kind, and creative. These couldn't possibly be the same people that I was taught to fear.

Living there caused me to come face to face with the classism and antiblackness I had internalized throughout my life. As I said, one side of my family is from the hood. One side of my family is from the suburbs. It was normal for my suburban family to turn their nose up at things and label things as "ghetto", "hood", and "ratchet". Often times when I tell people that I'm from Riverdale or lived in College Park, they tell me that they're surprised because I don't have the stereotypical Atlanta accent. Then, they proceed to feel comfortable talking down on the "ghetto" people of Atlanta to me, assuming that I'll agree with them. The thing is that I don't agree.

There's something sinister to me about looking down on Black people for speaking AAVE or not having access to the luxuries of life, while completely ignoring the intentional economic oppression that has impacted Black Americans since the dawn of colonization in the West. Anyone from Atlanta or a surrounding area will agree that you're more likely to get your car broken into in Buckhead than in College Park, but the color of the people that create the majority of the population of these cities is different. Also, the median household income of these cities is different. Both are technically dangerous, yet one is viewed as a great and safe city to live in or travel to, while the other is viewed as a scary place to avoid unless you're going to be ready to shoot. Where classism and antiblackness see "the hood", I see a community of people who are not only surviving but thriving with the shitty cards they have been dealt.

This series of photos is my tribute to College Park; intended to express the beauty of the hood. Where most people saw a run-down laundromat, I saw a gorgeous set full of life and stories. Some people might have seen a ghetto corner store, but I saw the heart of the community where people may not have known each other's names or stories, but there was always mutual respect and kind exchanges. My intention in sharing my art and story with you is that you to come face to face with the way that you view poor Black American communities. If you view them negatively, unpack your classism and antiblackness. If you come from these communities and you are often stereotyped, walk with your head held high and take pride in where you come from. The hood is Black culture and a huge part of our community. I'm just paying my respects.