Where the Street Draws the Line

I’m in Washington, DC, and as I look out of my hotel window, I can see a road dividing my hotel from a nice apartment building with large windows. Adjacent to the hotel is another building that strongly resembles the one from the 1980s soap opera Good Times, featuring J.J. and Thelma. Janet Jackson later became a feature of the show.

As I walked past this building the previous day, I mentioned to my wife that it looked like the type you’d find in a diverse city neighborhood—what some might even call a “ghetto” building. I’ve seen similar buildings not only in the United States but also during my time in the United Kingdom, and they always remind me of the kind of places depicted in movies with gangster characters.

We didn’t think much of it at first, but I did notice something peculiar: a police car would be parked on the side of the road at random times, seemingly watching a particular street or location. The only thing separating the buildings is a major road—there are no walls to define which path crosses the other or which place belongs to whom. Still, you can probably tell where I’m going with this.

Fast forward to the next day: we were riding in an Uber back to our hotel and asked the driver about the area and the buildings, wondering if the neighborhood was sketchy. Much to our surprise, the driver laughed and said that, back in the ’80s, when he was growing up, this neighborhood was called the red-light district. That meant there were sketchy people around, and you couldn’t be found there if you didn’t belong.

That answered our curiosity about why two very different types of buildings, with different demographics, sit right across from each other.

Let me paint a picture for those who can’t visualize it. Looking out of my hotel window, to my right is the building that looks like it is from the late-’80s soap opera—let’s call it the “Good Times” building. It has small windows and is fully bricked from top to bottom, giving it a prison-like feel because the windows are much smaller than those on the building to the left.

It doesn’t have balconies like its neighbor, and the windows on the building to the left are brand new, allowing in lots of natural light. You don’t even need curtains—though, of course, we love our curtains.

I suppose the gentrification of this neighborhood has resulted in a mixture of high-rise buildings on both ends, each catering to different demographics. Some people have lived here for a long time, while others are newcomers. I’m pretty sure the taxes for the new apartments are higher, as is often the case when brand-new buildings move into a local neighborhood. This makes it harder for long-time residents to sustain themselves, and many are forced to move elsewhere because of rising land taxes or rates.

But it is not the commerce or the gentrification of the area that is quite significant. It is the fact that different demographics live within each other, and what separates them is just a road. What keeps them away from each other—or away from trouble, if I may say so—is the road that divides the two.

The police cars that come around to watch the neighborhood are what you might call, maybe or possibly, neighborhood watches. But they don’t look like neighborhood watches because they have the official police markings. This means that, at any given time, they may have been called or may simply have a presence in the area to let people know that they are around and that there should be no monkey business occurring between those two streets.

Now, I have been there for five days and have actually walked these streets, and I can tell you that you did not have a feeling of insecurity. But I’ll be honest with you: at some point during the day, there were a lot of people at the “Good Times” building entrance that made me feel uneasy.

It was not because of the color of their skin. If I may justify myself, it was because I am not used to this type of living. Since I live in the suburbs and do not live in the city, I am not accustomed to what I saw. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt that they were all just trying to hang out at the entrance of the building. However, when I turned my head, I noticed there was a police car about 50 meters away, waiting quietly on the corner and watching what went in and out of that particular entrance of the building.

The building across the street

It is quite remarkable and interesting because I am not going to go down the race route. Instead, I am going to look at it in terms of commerce and how cities can be divided, or how people can be divided, by just a street running between them. Each group keeps to their part, and there is an understanding that one cannot cross the other path without being aware that, the moment you cross to the other side of the street, you are actually entering another realm of space.

I can imagine that if I were in an African village back home, this would not be happening in the same way. There would be a huge wall dividing these two buildings, and they would make sure there was no way one part of the street interacted with the other. There would be no gentrification, or anything of that matter, tolerated in the same way.

Please don’t think that I am not aware that this happens within the Kenyan community back at home. Back in the day, there was a certain building—or what we would call an estate—that, once it was built, would not allow people to cross over from the other side. This caused a problem because most of the people who lived on the other side were coming from what was considered the sketchy side of town.

This is the difference between United States gentrification and African gentrification. One makes sure that you are aware of your surroundings mentally, without any physical objects or artifacts telling you to know your place. The other makes sure that you are aware and know your place through walls and barbed wire that make sure you do not cross over to the other side.

For this instance that I am talking about, this housing complex could not be crossed because it had security guards who closed the gates and made sure they would not allow the villagers to cross to the other side as they made their way home.

So, in my simple way of looking at things, I can imagine how people from different continents can adapt to their surroundings in different ways while being shown that there is a difference between their standard of living and that of the person right next to them.

In the case of the housing complex in Kenya, a wall, a gate, and security guards made sure everything was in order. However, in the United States, the difference was the street and the presence of police authority reminding everyone of their place.

That’s just the world as it is.

This narrative reflects on the visual and social starkness of urban gentrification as observed from a hotel window in Washington, D.C. The author contrasts a modern, sunlit apartment complex with a nearby brick building that resembles public housing, noting how a single road serves as a profound demographic boundary. While local history reveals the area was once a red-light district, the current environment relies on a constant police presence to maintain an unspoken social order between different classes. The text further compares this American experience to African urbanization, where physical barriers like walls and barbed wire are used to enforce segregation. The author concludes that the ways of separating out differ from one culture to another, from mental boundaries to physical gates, but they all work to remind citizens of their social standing and local limits.

Disclaimer: I like to think of myself as both smart and a bit lazy! With the help of AI tools, creating my posts has become much easier and more enjoyable. That said, I’ve still done my research and shared my thoughts in my own way. Technology has made it simple to present my ideas clearly, helping you to easily read and understand them without any tricky jargon or expressions.

Sambaza, a Kenyan immigrant, is deeply passionate about podcasting and public speaking. As he delves into the art of podcasting and explores its many facets, he draws on his experiences as a diasporan and Pan-Africanist to create unique content. His dedication has earned him three nominations for Diasporan Podcaster of the Year among others. Additionally, Sambaza actively collaborates with other podcasters and collectives, continuously enhancing his skills as a creator.