Raising Chickens in West Oakland

Not far from the corner of 16th and Peralta streets in West Oakland, where houses lie quiet, the sounds of hammers pounding, power saws whirling and handsaws cutting through wood echo down the street.
Chatter and power tools fill the outdoor classroom located in a parking lot, but this is not your basic high school wood-shop class — residents are learning how to build chicken tractors, which are mobile chicken coops.

It may seem odd for urban Oakland residents to want to build chicken tractors and own chickens, but the point of the class not only is to learn how to build but also to instill self-sufficiency. The class is a means of providing a set of skills in West Oakland residents.
The group of seven students turned carpenters and designers have come together through City Slicker Farms in West Oakland.
The nonprofit organization came up with idea to teach residents how to design and construct chicken tractors early last year. By October, City Slicker Farms, with the help of Rock, Paper, Scissors Collective, had secured a design builder, an architect and funding to construct eight tractors.
"The class was designed to follow the mission of City Slicker, which is food security, sustainability, helping people grow their own food and becoming more self-sufficient," said Matt Wolpe, lead designer for the Chicken Project.

The eight-session class, which ran from October to December, taught a variety of skills from designing and reading a schematic to the use of hand and power tools and picking the correct materials for the specific structure.
"This project helps the community "...," said Fatimah Guienze, assistant lead designer, who has a background in architecture. "You're bringing components that are pretty high-level, either from landscaping or design build, to people who don't necessarily have the background."
Apart from learning construction and design skills, the participants eventually will have their own chickens to help control insects, aerate and fertilize gardens and lay fresh eggs.
There is no limit to how many chickens a resident may own. The city, however, only allows hens, no roosters, and the hens must be kept in an enclosure at least 20 feet away from the residence.
Tamika Anderson, a participant in the project, worked alongside her 12-year-old son, Ar'mon Marks, to construct a tractor. Anderson has a backyard garden and signed up for the class because she wants to have fresh eggs every day, but she knows the class also has helped her and her son gain valuable skills.
"My dad is a carpenter, so I have a little bit of experience "...," Anderson said. "I didn't know how to design or how to even put it together, so that was something that I learned that was new."
Anderson, who now has her tractor in her backyard, said even her neighbors are excited about the coming chickens. They pass by and ask, "When are your chickens coming?"
Anderson and the rest of the participants have to wait for spring, when the chicks hatch. Everyone wants to bond with their chickens, so it's best to raise them from chicks — not only will the hens lay eggs, they also will become pets.
Guienze believes Oakland residents are heading toward a new trend — a trend toward the past.
"People 50 years ago kept chickens, that's not a big deal "...," Guienze said. "A lot of people built with their hands or were able to feed themselves from their home."
Guienze said classes like the Chicken Project "engage the community in (skills) they can walk away with, which is something really powerful."

Link to slideshow of the interviews

Ray of Hope Shines in Oakland

     Footsteps race across the cement as teens chase a basketball toward a hoop. Girls gossip in groups of four over ice-cream sundaes and boys stand on an open soccer field ready to start a game. A large room bursts with the energy and sounds of a dozen teenagers eating popcorn, playing Xbox video games and shooting pool.

     For the past two years, the Points of Light program at the School of Urban Missions in East Oakland has been a Friday night hangout where young folks ages 12 to 20 go to have a safe, fun, and relaxing evening — along with a little bit of Jesus.

     As they continue to pound the basketball on the pavement, rap music blares from a 3-foot-tall speaker and a hard voice sings, "After it's over, after it ends, after the music stops what then? Will you understand that Christ is King?"

     The lyrics to Christian rapper Lecrae's music may baffle a first-timer to the campus because the clean, godly messages run counter to the songs most of these youths listen to away from the school of Urban Missions. Here, Christian hip-hop is the only music on the playlist, and it's a way for the program to attract youths with danceable beats that deliver a positive message.

     "We want to be able to put lights" in a city that is often dark, said Pastor Dave Wallace, director of Points of Light and the Bay Area Urban Network.

     Wallace said many of the youths who attend the program use drugs, and come from gangs, broken homes or abusive family situations. Some do not have access to positive activities or a place to go where they feel safe.

     Transportation, food and all activities are free. The only requirement is youths must attend a 45-minute sermon and participants must have a signed consent form from parents to ride the bus.

     The program costs about $300,000 a year and is supported with donations from businesses, churches, foundations and individuals. The money is used to rent the buses, feed the youths and provide a $400 stipend to each youth director. The eight-member board that oversees the Points of Light program includes Wallace, a representative from the Alameda County Medical Center, and ministers.

     On Friday afternoons, three 15-passenger vans and a yellow school bus head out from the campus, driving to Oakland locations.

     The school bus snakes its way through International Boulevard, up Seminary Avenue, through Foothill Boulevard and down Fruitvale Avenue, traveling more than 60 blocks north of the campus picking up teens and young adults along the way.

     The spacious campus sits in the 700 block of 105th Street. Its green lawn and two buildings clean of graffiti stand out in the East Oakland neighborhood. Outside the fence, the neighborhood is blighted with tag marks, rundown homes and train tracks lining the north side of the campus.

     As the teens pour out of the school bus, the campus parking lot fills with activity and chatter. Wallace greets the youths as they arrive.

     Although he directs Points of Light, the majority of the work is done by 10 youth directors, both current and former students of the mission.

     Youth directors like Zenaida Alfaro, a recent graduate, spend their free time evangelizing — preaching the word of God to anyone who will listen — young and old.

     However, Alfaro says her work with Oakland youths is her true calling: "I don't believe the need in Oakland is any different from any other city, but I believe that I have been called to be here "... there's youth everywhere that need to know who Jesus is." Alfaro, a native of Texas, came specifically to Oakland because of the school's reputation in missionary work.

     Throughout the first hour of the teens' arrival, Wallace can be seen leaning against the building observing the activity. He keeps in contact with his team of youth directors via cell phone; unless an emergency arises he does not intervene. "I believe it is a sin to bore people," says Wallace, referring to his opinion that many ministers bore patrons with incessant religious talk.

     Wallace points out that indoctrination is not the goal of Points of Light. "We are a Christian program with a Christian message" but the program accepts youths from all religious or nonreligious backgrounds.

     Youth directors deliver the sermons and cover a monthly topic such as the power of prayer, temptations and peer pressures. It's difficult for some of the young attendants to sit still throughout chapel, but all respect the altar if they want to be welcomed back.

     For the teens, Points of Light chapel is not like the mundane services of other churches where all is silent except for the echo of the preacher's words bouncing off the walls. Chapel is interactive.

     One Friday evening, youth director LeRhonda Lofton, took the stage. The lights were dim and the spotlight shined on her face. She grabbed the microphone and almost like a professional performer at a concert began to enliven the crowd. She asked the teens, "How y'all doing?" Unimpressed with their weak response she shouts, "How y'all doing?" The crowd responds with loud a "Woo!" and clapping. "You know what we are about to do when I say, Jesus, you say, Christ, you ready?" The crowd of teens catches on and responds to Lofton's "Jesus!" with a roaring "Christ!" A keyboardist kicks in with soulful chords from the bass clef playing in between the phrases.

     The teens are now awakened and the sermon begins.

     Alfaro monitors the room throughout the service. "Many of our youth that come don't have a Christian background — they're not churched," she said. So Alfaro will quietly warn a disruptive teen. "I'll stay in the crowds making sure, 'cause sometimes the kids will want to get out of hand "... you honor when God is here, you honor the chapel service."

     The end of chapel is a definitive moment for Points of Light. All members of the crowd are invited to pray in front of the altar. No one is obligated, a lot of the teens hold back from public prayer but some take advantage. One youth, Wright Tevita, 19, had been going to the school's program since he was 12 when it was called Once a Warriors Dream. But he never was fully engaged until it became Points of Light. Tevita had been a Boarder Brother gang member since he was 11 and struggled with the life he was leading: stealing cars, robbing homes and abusing alcohol.

     Tevita said when the program became Points of Light and changed to street evangelizing it changed him in the process.

    "The youth leaders pour out to their youth day-by-day, they go out to our houses even when it's dark; out there it's dangerous," he said. He felt that the evangelizing was like a family showing love; so he left his gang to become saved by God. Tevita credits his youth director, Daniel Espinosa, who prayed and encouraged him to leave his gang. One Friday when Tevita was leaving chapel, Espinosa encouraged him to stay and go to the altar to pray.

     Initially, Tevita thought, "I wanted to do what I wanted to do, but then I was like, nah, maybe God is trying to show me something today." Tevita stayed and later found out his best friend had been shot at the party he was supposed to attend. Since that chapel service Tevita has devoted his life to God. He now attends the School of Urban Missions and is in his second trimester. He also serves as a Points of Light volunteer each Friday and helps to supervise the youths.

     Some of the other teens have not experienced divine interventions like Tevita's, but the simple act of praying out loud to the youth directors who are not their parents or fellow peers is a relief. "Our kids will either act up or act out because there is a lot of pain inside," Wallace said.

     As Chapel ends, most of the tensions are released and the doors to the sanctuary are opened — everyone spills out of the building and heads for the snack stand. Dozens anxiously wait in line for pizza.

     It's almost 8 p.m. and dark outside, a youth director on a megaphone bellows out, "Everybody head for the bus!" With that announcement another Friday night of fun is over and the teens and young adults head for the bus or the vans and the parking lot of the School of Urban Missions clears out.

     The bus heads back toward International Boulevard snaking its way up and down the 60 blocks, dropping off its riders along the way. Some youths chat in the dark about what will be discussed in chapel the next Friday and others just look forward to having a chance to play Xbox video games and eat more pizza. Either way, at least for a little while, these young people had a chance to be safe and an opportunity to see another path.

A slide show of SUM  

Interfaith - Welcome the Stranger

     Mejin Leechor draws her bow across the strings of her violin - a solemn but crisp melody flows out and echoes off the walls of the First Congregational Church in Oakland. Attendees sit in silence and listen to Leechor play for five minutes, awaiting the discussion to follow.
     On a gray and wet Tuesday evening, faith leaders from different congregations and churches join the East Bay Interfaith Committee for Worker Justice to promote awareness of the recent negativity surrounding the subject of health care reform and immigration.
     Leechor’s violin sets a somber but hopeful mood as Rev. Debra Lee takes center stage. “I’d like to welcome and invite you tonight into a space of prayer … we share a common commitment to compassion and justice for the migrant within us and among us.”
     The chairs are laid out in three rows of half circles; a group of young children not fully grasping the seriousness of the evening swing their legs back and forth under their chairs. Their ears perk up as a strong voice silences the room. “Tired – I hear all men are created equal, but being treated like criminals.”
     Muteado Silencio reads a bilingual poem questioning the true idea of the American dream. Someone turns off the lights, the room almost completely darkens, eyes dart to Silencio holding a burning candle in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. He continues ask what kind of dream makes people leave their families behind or makes them risk their lives crossing rivers and deserts. Silencio cries out in the dark “Mother Earth I miss my family on the other side of the border!” The lights turn on and listeners blink their adjusting eyes and Silencio takes his seat.
     As the evening moves on different community members share their opinions of the unjust treatment of immigrants either verbally or artistically. Drummers, singers and folk dancers bring out the unifying message that all people living in this country want to be treated humanly.
     Volunteers hand strips of tissue paper to the attendants and ask all to write a negative thought or lamentation about immigrant intolerance. Again the room darkens, small tea candles light the bottom of a round pit and Rev. Lee asks everyone to come forward to add their strip to the fire. One at a time people walk forward and light their tissue strips on fire. Little flames of orange flare up and each person’s lamentation is burned away.

Link to
Interfaith Slide Show