Feeling Flint: Day 3

It’s raining off and on today. My pants get soaked while unloading water at Guiding Light Baptist Church. We joke that we’ll never think the same way about 40’s again because instead of malt liquor, we think of cases of water with 40 bottles in them that, after moving dozens, are quite heavy.

We head back to First Trinity for lunch then out to the projects to deliver water. Atherton East is located on Flint’s southside. It’s too frequently the home of shootings, drug deals, prostitution and even child kidnappings.

“Children in Atherton East learn the difference between the sounds of gunshots and firecrackers at a very early age.”

— Atherton East Resident, September 2015

Last January, a double-homicide in broad daylight left a mother and son dead. Two years prior, it was a mother and her 12-year-old daughter. The days, weeks, months and years in between are too filled with death.

Theo has a list of which apartments are vacant and which are occupied. As we drive past, a woman waves her hands above her head, trying to flag us down.

“You need water?” I call out the window. She nods. “We’ll be right back!”

We turn the vehicles around and park. The team starts unloading and going door to door with water.

A large, shirtless man sits on his front steps. He doesn’t say much but the look in his eyes says he wants and needs water too. As we bring some over, two naked little boys come flying to the glass screen door. They’re twins. They squeal and slap their little hands up against the door. Their father seems unphased but he must’ve noticed the perplexed look on my face.

“They like to take off their pants when they’re potty training,” he says.

I nod. My laugh matches the awkward smile on my face. I wanted to hug them and play with them. When I went back to grab another case, they’d returned but this time with little shorts on.

Going door to door was like emotional roulette. When one woman opened her door, I couldn’t help but look past her to see no less than five kids crowded around a small carton of McDonald’s chicken nuggets on the floor. There were barely any lights on. Other times, a mother would open the door and I’d see children peering out of the shadows.

To whom do they owe such desolation?

A group of young girls ran around outside playing. We pulled up.

“Mommy! Water!” A little girl ran to her doorstep. Another walked up to me.

“Can I help?” she said, wrapping her arms around a case of water.

“It’s heavy,” I said, but smiled and helped her carry it to her door. Her mother thanked us.

I wondered about one little girl. Her name is Destiny. She was young but had a slick mouth.

“Can you show me where your mommy is?” I asked. Moments earlier, she’d dashed off with the letter I gave her. She lead me down the sidewalk to her apartment.

It seemed as if something was a little off.

Had the effects of lead poisoning already begun to affect her?

Would she grow up with learning disabilities?

Would she even get a chance to grow up at all?

We spent hours going door to door, making sure everyone had water. If they weren’t home but the list provided said the unit was occupied, we left cases on their doorstep.

As we reached the last row of apartments, it began pouring down rain. I knocked on the door, told the women who we are and handed her a letter.

“Y’all came all the way from Virginia?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, then knelt down to say hello to her children. They all smiled and told me their names.

“My name is Jay’Sean,” said the little boy. His brother and sister followed suit. The littlest one couldn’t say her name yet but teetered around near the door, smiling. I wanted to hug each of them.

Their father moved the cases of water into the kitchen. We came back with more.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said as we passed him seven more cases.

Afterwards, only loose bottles that escaped from cases remained. We drove to another area in the complex and started knocking on doors to pass out the singles.

The truck is now empty.

I see tears flow down one of my team member’s face. I think it is because this is our last day of serving the community but I later learn that it is because a man who opened the door body is already stricken by lead poisoning. His leg is covered by a scaly rash and there are bald spots on his head where there should be hair.

I do not know what I would have done if I’d seen him. I do not know if that image would’ve ever left my mind.

There is a face of suffering.

Thousands of them.

They are black.

They are white.

They are poor.

Sometimes, they smile.

Other times, they stare.

There is a sound of suffering.

It’s the laughter of children that eventually is drowned out by the deafening silence of blight and poverty.

It’s the cracking, uncertain voices that can barely be heard above a whisper stammering to ask for water.

It’s the rushing flow of toxic water that still flows through a fading city.

There is place suffering now calls home.

It is Flint, Michigan.