NEW HOPE

Words and Images by Akintola Hanif

I remember driving past New Hope Village for years and thinking to myself, “I ain't going in there.” It seemed like the kind of place you could get robbed or shot on a humble. There were always wild-looking dudes outside the buildings, just lurking. I’d forgotten my childhood friend Bre' grew up in New Hope Towers (a taller version of New Hope Village right next door), so I was there often through my high school years. It was the same way back then, but this was before I became a photographer and started to venture out into different hoods to shoot and connect with strangers.

I wound up back out there this summer after I met Slim, a tall, thin, pretty, young self-described “femme/agress” (feminine, aggressive lesbian), and asked if I could photograph her. When I got to New Hope, she was waiting for me with about ten of her homies—Crips, young G’s, and a few of her homegirls. She’d already told them I was coming (to take her picture.) They didn’t say anything to me but I could tell they wanted to be in the pics. I wanted to shoot them, too. They were just the type of subjects I look for: hood cats with gang tatts on their faces, wild color Nikes I’d never seen before, and that authentic hood swag that the hipsters half ass try to emulate but can't quite get right.

As Slim started to walk me through the projects, I noticed that almost every other cat was wearing a Gucci or Fendi belt and was dipped up from head to toe. It was like a high end hood fashion show. True Religion this, Prada, Northface that. Classic hood shit, colorful and vibrant but not all extra tight and clown like.

Another thing I couldn’t overlook was the armed security guards with bulletproof vests. I tried my best to pay them no mind, snuck a few pics and started to survey the land a little more. When I began to look closer, I saw beautiful African features everywhere: high cheekbones, chinky eyes, extra melanin—and natural charisma. I knew I had to shoot as many of them as I could. As we continued, Slim introduced me to Tank, Rambo, Puerto-Rok and her homegirl Shannon. Once I started shooting them, a few of the other homies gathered around for group shots too.

Now I was on a mission to develop my relationship with the rest of the hood. But when cats in the hood see a stranger with a camera taking too many random pics they usually assume you’re police, or an informant. You can’t just run through there without a “pass.’’ So I needed someone besides Slim, who no longer lived there, to co-sign my presence. Slim introduced me to Rob, who would later become my lil’ man.' Robb was the type of cat you can tell ain’t having it because of where and how he grew up, but he also had a laid back peaceful vibe to him. Had he been raised in Brooklyn Heights, he would have been just a regular cool dude: sipping Chardonnay on some merry shit. He was the most cooperative of everybody I met there—always down to shoot. When he told me to be safe, I knew he meant it.

After I shot Robb, I bumped into my man Bo from BT (Baxter Terrace Projects) and now I felt at ease. Later, I ran into my homegirl, Amirah “Piggy Loc,’’ who I knew from my non-profit work with gangs, and it was on. They trusted me so now I felt 150 percent safe and secure, and more people were willing to let me shoot them. From then on, I just started going out there by myself like I was supposed to be there.

On my third day shooting in New Hope I met the homies: G5, Capo, Shotty, Tweak and Frenchy. New Hope is a Crip hood, and for the most part Crips are about getting their money. But they keep the blunts in rotation and stay on that lean (promethazine) too. They use a baby bottle to measure it out and mix it with soda by the ounce. I’ve been seeing my dudes on that syrup for the last four or five years but never saw it measured in a baby bottle. Go figure.

From what I saw, no matter what the homies were doing, they showed consideration for their people. During the day, kids ruled the playground. The hustlers did their thing, but it was always with respect for each other and nowhere near the kids.

I was pretty much a fly on the wall in New Hope, shooting everybody that was willing---kids, elders, parents, whoever. I remember one night Shannon took me to a tattoo party, where a local artist comes to somebody’s apartment and tatts up as many people as he or she can. The tatts usually take about thirty minutes a piece and cost about $30-$100. Everybody out there has tatts. I stayed and flicked it up for about two hours but the air was so thick from blunt smoke I left woozy. That was my last night out there.

What I love and appreciate most about New Hope—and all the other projects that I’ve been to—is that because everybody lives so close together and is always out and around, they’re a big part of each other's lives, be it for positive or negative reasons. In this country, getting ahead means moving to the suburbs, having more space, buying privacy, and disconnecting. But in the projects, whether people are hustling or poor, or whatever their social standing may be, they show genuine love and respect for one another. They have a real community with its own rituals, codes of etiquette, and rhythm. Like it's really a village.