I was able to go and pray with their family at her house while she was in the

6 min readDec 5, 2020

CHICAGO — More than 50 friends and family members have gathered, forming a prayer circle in a parking lot on the corner of 93rd and South Halsted streets, in Washington Heights. In front of a convenience store, a lone balloon blows in the wind — a memorial to a man who was shot to death inside on Aug. 18 at 2:30 p.m., when two gunmen entered the convenience store and began firing. Oyedele Olupitan was 42.

A group of drummers play traditional African music on djembes and the chatter of people greeting and catching up fills the air. Some are dressed in traditional African attire and a man waves the Ghanaian flag on the outskirts. The music quiets and Pastor Donavon Price walks into the center and begins to pray.

“We pray also today that we can remain holding on to the Oye in all of us, to the Oye in the community, the Oye in our neighborhood, the Oye at the dinner table, the Oye taking their children from the laundromat safely. The Oye that knows that all the glitters ain’t gold out there. So we better dig for some gold on our own.”

A lone balloon is tied to a guardrail in front of the convenience store where Oyedele Olupitan was shot and killed the afternoon of Aug. 18, 2020. (Photo by Anthony Vazquez/Chicago Sun-Times)

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Price has presided over such grief before. In service with Operation Wake Up, which brings together local police departments, various activists and community leaders to rally against violence in the streets of Chicago, Price began to lead prayers on behalf of victims like Olupitan. Through this work, he was exposed to stories of gun violence and became dedicated to help families cope with their loss.

“Some of the parents that I’ve worked with still talk about the fact that I was there before they were, you know; in some cases, I was there and they never were, you know, they’d never got to the scene,” said Price. “One mom found out the next morning that her daughter had been killed but I was there and saw her daughter dead in the car, you know, prayed for her daughter at that level and then of course there’s a feeling of comfort to know that. Yeah, my daughter died and I wasn’t there to take care of my baby but there’s this guy. He prayed for her.”

Chicago experienced a surge in violence this past summer. As of Nov. 23, there have been 700 homicides in the city, compared to the 503 homicides in 2019 — a confluence of various factors such as COVID-19 and its impact on communities, and the raised tensions between police and residents in response to George Floyd’s May death in Minneapolis.

City and state initiatives are attempting to approach the problem from different directions. Newly appointed Police Superintendent David Brown announced the creation of two new units to combat violence and build community relationships. The office of the mayor allocated 7.5 millions dollars in funding to various anti-violence organizations in April 2020. But residents are dissatisfied with the lack of progress, spurring various community activists to pursue creative ways to help curb gun violence in Chicago.

Still, perceived inaction on the part of local leaders created a gap in what residents are expecting and what is actually happening on the ground. Well-known organizations such as My Block My Hood My City, GoodKids MadCity and a multitude of others are taking action against the violence by lobbying for better opportunities, especially educational opportunities.

The ripple effect of gun violence is perhaps its most pervasive quality. Price was never a stranger to the violence in his communities, but visiting a family at their home in Englewood, in 2016, challenged him to ask how he could better serve his neighbors.

In July of 2016, 6-year-old Tacarra Morgan survived a shot to the stomach. She was sitting on her porch when her house was riddled with bullets. Eye witness reports indicate that two passing vehicles unleashed gunfire at one another. A bullet hit Tacarra and several more rounds hit her house and the neighboring homes. Price met with the family to offer his support but the remnants of the violence nagged at him.

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“I was able to go and pray with their family at her house while she was in the hospital, and notice the holes in the windows and walls of their house,” said Price. “Afterwards I felt God saying to me, ‘You know what, the event was really kind of cute but that’s not gonna help.’”

Price now dedicates many sleepless nights to the streets after receiving phone calls or text messages notifying him that someone has been shot. He goes to the scene of the crime and prays, sometimes finding the victim’s family there, sometimes alone. He helps the family in any capacity he can, whether it be with funeral arrangements or burial rites, anything that comforts the family. The work takes a toll; engaging with grief and violence regularly takes a mental and physical toll on Price.

“My life is this and so 24 hours a day it is constantly affecting me,” explains Price. “You’re on your way finally home and you think, ‘Okay now I’m home,’ and you start thinking about how bad off the pillow is going to be. But for me that stops at a certain level, even in coming home because it’s like, ‘Well I hope I can stay in bed all night.’”

I was able to go and pray with their family at her house while she was in the

Written by Vinokag