Category: All

My sweet abuela, she raised 20 plus kids in our home.

Maribel Marmolejo (She/Her)

Borinquen Public Housing, 2000-Present

I love being from Borinquen 🇵🇷..so much music, joy, and shared culture. I grew up here with my grandmother that just recently passed. A tribute to my grandmother Maria and all the children she has raised in her control. The strongest women I have ever come across and I will continue making her proud. So many laughs, fiestas, tears, and food were shared in this apartment. Project mamas are the best mamas. 🤎

Darlyn, Daniel, and Daphany Sanchez

Daphany Sanchez (she/ella)

Cooper Park Houses, 1992-Present

My family has lived in the projects for generations, and when I was raised here, originally, I didn’t see anything of it. My parents, young, beautiful Puerto Rican and Costa Rican kids, did the best that they can to make sure I felt comfortable at home. They met on the L train, and got married within a year.

My father was raised in Marcy houses and he then raised me in Cooper Park. I loved our family get together. My great grandmother used to cook a huge pot of rice and pernil, my cousins and I would be running around in a small apartment, my dad would blast music. It was the beauty of our culture mixed in the walls we all grew up in. But I remember, in middle school, it was the first time I heard someone tell me my life didn’t matter because I’m from the projects. I was furious, angry, annoyed; why were the four walls that brought me so much joy something I should be ashamed about? Why are people defining who I am by where I lived?

I went down the rabbit hole of learning about what the projects were and why did people have a negative view of a place I grew to love. I started going down the route of learning more and more about housing and sustainability. I started to realize, public housing, in NY was created by Robert Moses, a man of privilege, utilized eminent domain to take land from Black and brown communities and placed public housing in redlined areas. Then, funding was neglected for operation and maintenance. It was infuriating to see how my community was neglected and shunned based off something that came from structural racist practices. The injustice presented to us before we are born made me so mad.

As I grew up, I decided to fight to support the projects, these buildings, the families, the culture that was woven into each development. For me, its important for each person that lives and grows in NYCHA can have a safe, healthy, home to live in. Living in NYCHA has made me feel so happy with all the memories of my family get together, seeing the stability of having my cousins being able to stay in NY with an affordable place to live; it has given me so many opportunities to learn and work in the city, that I wouldn’t have overwise.

Clarisa Alayeto (She/Her/Ella)

Patterson Houses , 1982-2009

I dont know where my family would be without Public Housing. My parents were Cuban Immigrants and when they arrived in the Country in 1980 my paternal grandparents were living in Patterson Houses. Here I am with my paternal step-grandmother, but I never called her step anything. No one ever knew that she wasn’t my biological grandmother. She was always ma mom or mami.  People would always tell us how much we looked alike and we’d always look at each other and smile. She was a strong Puerto Rican woman. She raised me. She was from the Barrio, East Harlem, 111st to be exact. But when they started building the projects and knocking down the tenement buildings, my great grandmother moved into Taft Houses but my grandmother asked to go to the Bronx. The rest was history. She resided in Patterson Houses for 50 years. Raised a lot of us in that apartment. A two-bedroom apartment that felt like a mansion growing up and I bet this sink felt like a full-size pool to me.  My grandmother passed in 2019. But public housing is still an important part of my life as my mother continues to live on 111st in Jefferson Houses where she is now raising her grandchildren.

My first best friend and baby bro Jarid, and first champion, Dad.

Jerald Braddock, Jr. (He/Him/His)

Patterson Projects, 1997-2015

I’d be lying if I said my father’s name alone wasn’t enough to protect my brother and I back in the day. I knew him as Daddy, Dad, or Pops. Patterson knew him as G-Bone, or even Monstruo to a lot Hispanic folks in the community. As a former NYCHA worker, the neighborhood grill master chef , and one of the most known dealers in the hood, there was a balance of supplying people with the best essential home maintenance, food, and Loud. Because he was such a helping hand and served the people, he got so much love back from the block, which trickled down to my brother and I. There were days I couldn’t escape doing anything mischievous as a kid without a neighbor in the community saying, “You better behave before I tell your father Lil G.” Sometimes it annoyed me, but in hindsight I see how important it was to have a community to protect me from the evils of the street, especially out of respect for my father. potential

Now my father wasn’t perfect. As tough as he looked and behaved to others, oftentimes he was just the same towards Jarid and I. He could be verbally abusive and had quite the temper for stuff that could’ve been talked out, but welcome to hood parenting 101. If we came back with bad news from our teachers or it was our ass. On top of my chores, as the eldest I had to keep my eyes and ears open for people who knocked on the door and needed to cop from my pops. Lord knows we had to avoid creasing our Jordans and Air Force 1s, which is tough for a student-athlete that I aspired to be. Most of all, we couldn’t pussy out of a challenge, and had to protect each other at any cost.

As I look back on what a lot of parents endured and how it affected their kids’  future, I’m grateful to have never wanted for almost nothing I couldn’t survive without. I’m grateful to have a father who was determined to see his boys take a road most never travel. I’m sure my grandfather’s early death forced him to be a man so early. But he insisted we never had to make that our reality so early. He risked and suffered a lot to ensure we had everything we wanted and make sure we were straight. My brother and I plan to return the favor one day and make sure the investment in us wasn’t for nothing…for both of our namesake. 

@girlkell MArcy Nolstagic love

kelly snider (she/her)

marcy houses brooklyn nyc, 1960-2021

L-R: Arabia(me), Grandma Jackie, Sharena, Kaleena(Punta), Mommy, Amil(Nooshie), Uncle Prince, Auntie Eddie, Science, Shelia, Nubia, Niyea, and Kendell

Arabia Simeon (She/they)

Tompkins houses , NYCHA, 1997-2021

It seemed like every Sunday was a celebration in my family. We were super close, everyone would come over to my house because my grandma was living with us. My grandma was the nucleus of my family in NYC. She was hilarious and everyone loved her. She was honest. Before my grandma was bed bound she was huge in her community in Far Rockaway. I remember looking up to her and how much impact she made in her hood, while being a mother, having a job, etc. My mother took after her. She is loving, resilient and tells it how it is. I admire that.
My mother and sisters would spend Saturday night and Sunday morning prepping all the food. I can still remember the soul food aroma traveling through our 3 bedroom NYCHA apartment. My mom would open the door whenever she cooked big meals so we could get air circulating. My little sisters, cousin and I always used this as an opportunity to run up and down the hall with our neighbors. We would bring out our scooters, play tag, and climb the walls pretending to be Black spy kids. One of the beauties of growing up in the projects is that your neighbors become more like family.

On Sundays, my grandma’s 13 grandkids, kids, nephew, sisters and neighbors would all come together. The kids would be running around and the adults gathered around a friendly game of putty pat. We would blast all the cookout jams, eat great food, dance, and laugh until the sun went down.

Sundays were always filled with love. Especially on my floor.

Look at her, claiming her block in all its glory.

Clarissa Vargas (She / Her)

Drew Hamilton houses, 1965-2013

My mom always looked forward to community events like the Old Timers reunion which was held annually. She loved when the block would come together like this – it gave her a reason to do what she loved to do best, feed the hood. She’d whip up her best plates for the community. My mom’s cooking was very well known on 143rd & 8th. You’would’ve thought she was a world renown chef the way people would chase her down for plates!

"Sunshine Plays a Major A Major Part In The Daytime"- A Bronx Sunset.

Mike Byrd (HE)

James Monroe Houses, 40+

Very rarely painted, are the pictures of Fathers in our community and if so, not with the best of paint and brush stroke.  However, they were there; on set, on call & on board with THEIR families in THEIR homes.

Mike, lovingly known as Mike Byrd was a Husband and proud Dad to his 3 children, Pawpaw to 9 grandkids, 6 great grandkids and Uncle Mike to an infinite amount of community family. Part of one of the largest & most legendary families in the Monroe houses, his character always transcended his environment. Patriarch, Pillar and Pop. Forever Rest in Peace.
#StoriesOnStory