Walking Through The Mist

Tyrone H.

Walking Through The Mist

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people who are at risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high-quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017, ConTextos has collaborated with the Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Division X of Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection.

These powerful memoirs complicate the narrative about violence and peace-building, and help author a hopeful future for these men, their families, and our collective communities.

While each memoir's text is solely the work of the Author, the images used to create this book's illustrations have been sourced from various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering, and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into fully illustrated books.

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Walking Through The Mist Tyrone H.

DCFS made a major print in my life. Like starting my life from scratch, being born again. It’s shameful how the law works, while they can come snatch you from the only family you knew to reside around complete strangers. It felt like being dropped off in the middle of a deserted location, hitchhiking to an unknown destination.

Family showed me “much love,” to the point things went in a wrong turn, where I was forced to live with people who were no kin of mine.

From the projects to numerous foster homes. Strangers I’ve had to cope with, sensing the evil vibes. As I toured the house, canine dogs growling and showing their teeth, like they were about to attack.

Three other male genders I could tell was a little older than me assembled.

Gang signs thrown like they knew I was affiliated, but the opposition made my heart pound faster.

My clothes being burned, and my navy blue Timberlands just grew legs and disappeared. The people were from Nigeria, a part somewh ere in Africa. They cooked their trad itional food called foofoo. The smell was like the aroma of chitter lings being boiled. That gave me stomach aches.

They showed me the real meaning of a stepchild, and what it meant not to have anyone to care for you.

From locked in a basement like an untamed animal to clothes that didn’t fit, ashamed and embarrassed to tell anyone.

Being a young black man with the potential of making money, my fingernails stayed filled with white residue. Weighing, cutting, and bagging up drugs was the hustle that brought in money, knowing a newborn is on the way.

Puzzled, with no knowledge of being a father, was an everyday thought. Not knowing how to raise a child, being a child and not growing up with a father, was like learning to swim without a lifeguard. No guidance nor understanding.

Arguing, fussing, and miscommunication gave me headaches, not to mention false accusation of cheating and staying out late.

Get a job or finish school was a positive vibe I’ve heard on a daily basis. But after no response and no patience, giving up was all. Not to mention learning the mother-tobe was selfish and unsatisfied, unappreciative of anything.

Turning to the streets, on the verge of being misguided, living sinfully. Many nights I stood under the street lights, hanging in front of stores, flagging down cars: “Park, park!” “Diane up the one way” was the heads up as I ran through the alley to my stash to hand-to-hand-transaction serve a friend, nervous, thinking, Is this an undercover snitch setting me up for the kill?

Not knowing who to trust, believe, and love makes me not care at all.

Thoughts flash through the back of my mind, as I walked blindly through the streets of No Love with the fiends. From fierce stares and stray animals to the Dic boys jumping out searching me every chance they get.

Thinking life’s meant for failure, with no passion or meaning, as I’ve challenged the battle to believe in a God I’ve never seen. Confused and full of questions. Am I forced to lose, or is this just a lesson? Thou shalt not steal but what if he stole from me? Thou shalt not kill but what if he's trying to kill me?

Days go by, seeing everyday crimes; I wonder when I’ll be next, drawn in chalk lines. Knowing she had a loaded round in the chamber ready to end my life. Was it a test to unload mine and end with justification? Thinking there is no wrong or right way to live life, which I didn’t see as eternal.

Friends was like snakes, striking at me, just missing. Knowing they were around to gain what I had.

Couldn't trust ’em. Smile in my face but praying for my downfall. It drew me to not wanting to be bothered with anyone, dealing with their personalities and wicked intentions.

Checking in and out of hotels became like my second home, because it was so much going on where I roamed, that was the only way I could find some peace.

Sipped on a liquid substance that helped me relax but made me more angry, as my mind wandered and thought, Why? Spinning a chrome piece of metal, with five golden close friends that stayed by my side, made me think of the day I was staring down the barrel. Flashed in the blink of an eye, coming to focus. Realizing my life has a meaning.

Conversations about the cage with people and how they did bids in jail didn’t change my lifestyle.

Dodging the red and blue lights didn’t seem to change me. Knowing I may end up in the backseat down the highway to hell.

Every day was a constant fight between wrong and right, as I went through obstacles in life at a young age. Like I’ve learned to stand before I crawled. No help, just picking myself up and moving forward in life.

Going through foster care was like moving mountains. Different changes and obstacles. Many homes came along the way. It was hell adapting to the situation. Until the right family came along that truly showed attention. Granny was an excellent caregiver. She treated us like we were born from her own womb. Made holidays and birthdays astonishing.

I wasn’t into church much. Sensing the vibe, she was a churchgoing woman.

Rules was laid down, and church was one she didn’t take for granted. Every Sunday I had to be up and ready. That morning I played possum for a while, showing I had no intention of going.

But I really had no choice, so I just made up my mind and forced myself to go.

The Apostolic Church of God was huge. I’ve met a couple famous people, like Yolanda Adams that sat a row behind me with her newborn child. Bishop Brazier gave a remarkable service, along with the talented choir. It seemed like everyone was so happy and joyful, and I’ve definitely wanted to be a part of it.

My first day in, I felt a whole different feeling in my body. Everyone clapping, singing, worshipping God as if he was standing there with us.

Goosebumps chilled through my body, and I actually gained a smile as the lady next to me touched my arm.

Thinking I would be present here more often.

Ending up going to Bible study with people from the church I’ve met, and I noticed things shifted in a better direction as I chose to change my circle of people.

They brought out a better picture of life that I’ve never experienced.

Giving me job leads and uplifting my way of thinking. Finally, I’ve gained courage to go on job interviews, willing to quit the street life and punch a clock to earn pay the legal way.

It was a hard pill to swallow, changing the life I thought would never end. I managed to stay focused. It took a lot of patience and work, but in time it worked out. Jobs called, interviews were attended and brought more rules to my life.

Dealing with lousy pay, low hours, and pay cuts gave me the impression that the hourglass would be empty. On the verge of a new start, but it was worth the try. Loading boxes on trucks where there was really no way of enjoying it, so I just thought of it as a way to keep me humble and stay positive, getting paid to work out. Lifting heavy packages and loading at a constant pace worked up a sweat.

Most important thing is the job kept me busy and off the streets, so I stuck to it.

Leaving foster care, I could admit I was on a successful challenge in life. Keep going to church was one thing I felt would end. Knowing I had a choice now to attend service on my own without Granny, but I managed to make the best of it. Keeping in touch with the ones that motivated me. Going back to old friends, turning back to my old ways was going to be a battle I have to defeat on my own. On the ride back home, I thought of my mother, how much of a strong woman she was. She gave me unconditional love all my life. Accomplishing many obstacles most women couldn’t bear to defeat, putting back together what she has built. Reclining in my seat, I zoned in deep thought.

I learned things are not just going to fall in your lap. You have to put forth effort, because life’s a dice game.

Sometimes you crap, making mistakes, but you always can pick them up and roll again. You can’t predict what’s going to happen all the time, but you do have control over what you do in life. Only thing to remember is you will always be trapped in the storm.

Even though there’s no good advice and nothing’s going right for you, at the end of the tunnel there will be light for you.

Tyrone H. I am from No Love, the boondocks deep in the ghetto, From violence and dope fiends.

I am from hand-to-hand transactions, Cash, Visa, for the love of money.

I am from government assistance, Where you had to rob Peter to pay Paul.

I’m from hustling and working, From Haynes and Jones.

I’m from the knowledge and wisdom, From “think before you speak” and “hard head makes a soft ass.”

I’m from Christians, believers of Jesus.

I’m from Harold’s Chicken and J-Bees, Half white and fries, Girbauds, and Timberlands.

From the grandfather that supported all his grandchildren through hard times and a mother Who accomplished many goals and kept together a blessed family.

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