Block 15: “Chi-Love”

Block 15: “Chi-Love”

I feel like a broken record because I say this after every block walk, but it’s true: every block walk feels like the best day of my life. It’s always an adventure. I’m truly walking in my purpose—in a pair of Air Force Ones.

Pulling up to this block brought back some terrifying memories. Less than two years ago, I was grazed by a bullet on the side of my head near 71st and... I can never remember the street name. You’d think a person would remember the block where they almost lost their life, but part of me doesn’t want to remember. Every time I pass by, the memory surfaces, only to quickly fade away. PTSD works like that.

That day was one of the worst of my life. I had just given a speech at a school and was heading to my car, which I had parked on the backside of the school. I had to walk around the block to get to it, passing right by the school’s playground. When the shots rang out, I didn’t even realize what was happening at first. Everything slowed down.

Once I understood that I was being shot at and the tick, tick, tick sounds were bullets whizzing by, I felt a wetness on my head. It wasn’t sweat—it was blood. I hadn’t even felt the bullet graze me. It’s a terrifying reality to face.

I could’ve died that day. I think I lost a part of my innocence, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back. I saw another realm of the universe that day—brighter colors, time slowing down. It felt like I wasn’t in my own body but watching myself from above.

Today’s block walk was literally one block over from where I was shot, and even driving around the block felt eerie. It was like hesitating before jumping into a double Dutch rope session. I drove around three or four times before finally parking. Even then, the fear lingered—bullets don’t care about car doors.

When I finally stepped out, the first thing I noticed was a boat parked in front of a boarded-up house. A boat! I’ve seen luxury cars like Range Rovers and BMWs on blocks, but never a boat. It felt so out of place. But in a way, it was cool. Kids on the block get to see something aspirational. For many children in Chicago, leaving their neighborhood—or even seeing Lake Michigan—is a rarity.

As I prepped for the block club captain to arrive, a red Toyota with two teenagers pulled up. One was rolling a blunt, and my PTSD flared up. When I was shot, it was a white Toyota with two teens—one pretending to sleep in the back, hiding a long rifle. The memory came back vividly, like I was outside my body again, seeing it all unfold from above.

While waiting at the south end of the block, a woman in a car asked what kind of work I do. I told her, “Neighborhood beautification.” That title works for me. A lot of what we do focuses on prevention rather than reaction. Beautification feels like a small act of resistance against the chaos.

When the block club captain arrived, she brought cookies and milk for me. Cookies and milk! It was one of the kindest gestures I’ve received all year—simple, sweet, and heartfelt.

We walked to the middle of the block, where she showed me how she had transformed a small forest into a community park. Many of the trees had white paint or Xs on them. At first, I thought they were marked for removal, like how Chicago homes with weak foundations are marked with red Xs for firefighters. But I was wrong—the captain had painted them herself. The white paint protects the bark from the sun, and she explained that our ancestors also marked trees as a symbol of resilience.

“I even hug the trees,” she told me. I’ve heard this before from my loctician, who says trees have energy. Now, whenever I see a beautiful tree, I place my hand on it and say a quick prayer. I don’t feel anything, but I do it anyway, grateful that I’m not rooted in one place like a tree—I can move.

The captain has spent years leveling out the lot with mulch, covering divots to make it usable for the community. She’s even asked the alderman if she could take ownership of the lot, since she’s been maintaining it for six years. “It’s just me out here,” she said, adding, “and I’ve got my daddy’s knife—no lacking.”

The captain said she needs support from our organization when the community takes a stand against gun violence. “We need you and your tribe to stand with us,” she said. It was the first time I’d heard a request like that.

She’s not a fan of the police, noting that they target young men just for existing. She also mentioned that some teens make elderly residents too scared to leave their homes. She’s so attuned to her block that she can tell the difference between warning shots and targeted ones.

As we stood in front of an abandoned three-flat, something startled us both. I flinched hard, ready to run. It might have been a branch falling or someone moving in the alley, but my awareness was on high alert.

Despite it all, the captain isn’t afraid. She knows everyone on the block, and they’ve told her, “Ma, you got us?” She replied, “Yeah,” and they said, “Then we got you.” They protect her now.

She ended by telling me, “Those boys on 65th could really use a basketball court.”