by Phette Ogburn

Created on: November 30, 2008

I was five years old when I moved to Newark, New Jersey from the small town of Inkster, Michigan. I don't remember much of my childhood before I moved, but I remember plenty between the years of 1980-1985, my time spent in an unfamiliar place.

Like most teens, my mom and my grandmother were not very close. Tired of abiding by my grandmother's rules, my mom decided to pack our things and move, without notice. It wasn't until a few weeks later that my grandmother learned what my mom had done. My mom's stepsister thought it would be a great idea for us to move to New Jersey with her biological mother. Young, in her early 20s, my mom was not prepared for what was in store.

Even at the ripe young age of five I was wise beyond my years, precocious. I knew my new surroundings were daunting, at best. I went from living in a beautiful house in the suburbs to a cramped apartment in the projects. The women my mom and I went to live with had several children of her own 13 to be exact. All but four of her offspring lived in the apartment, along with their kids. Because my "adopted" grandmother had so many children, a wall adjoining two apartment units was removed to accommodate the special living arrangement. I was an only child so I enjoyed being around so many people. In hindsight, there was always someone home, making it quite easy for my mom to come and go as she pleased, and inviting unwanted attention to me by a predatory "relative."

It's amazing how children are so innocent, oblivious even. Each and every day I would either go outside to play or downstairs to one of my friend's house. I lived on the 10th floor and was not allowed to travel to the top two floors. I learned how to Double Dutch jump rope, which was a huge accomplishment considering it was very popular in the Black culture. I often skated through the halls because my mom had very little money and could not afford for me to go to a rink. Not to mention, no adult in my household could drive, had a car, nor had a license.

The early 80s was the onset of the crack-cocaine epidemic. Family members, friends, loved ones were finding themselves hooked on this pervading drug. One of my uncles started coming home less frequently. He became a slave to the streets. In 1991, his body was found floating in a nearby river, unrecognizable due to severe bloating. I discovered much later that the sleeping bodies I walked over in the hallway and stairwell almost everyday were not sleeping bodies at all; they were dead bodies.

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