I was born into a perfect family. My father, the late Raphael, was a wise teacher. My mother, the late Philomene, was wonderful too. With my family and siblings, we were doing well until I decided to come and experience the American dream, as everyone does. I came to the United States. I made more than $45 million dollars through five gas stations within five years. Still, I fell into homelessness. But I refused to be called homeless. I demanded to be called houseless, because of two factors:
One side: I had a home, and America is home. I rested all day on G Street in front of Martin Luther King Jr. Library where I lived and had my belongings. I always go to 1313 New York Avenue where I have my bathroom. My kitchen is located at Miriam’s Kitchen. My closet store is at So Others May Eat. My shack is located right there at Pathways. My dining room is at Shepherd‘s Table. My job and office is at Street Sense Media.
Another side: I had houses I constructed myself in Africa. My family had many acres of land that I called earth home. I know that as long as I’m living on this earth, on this planet, I am home. Earth home. When my time is over down here, I have a service to head to heaven home.
In conclusion, I will say no one is and should not be called homeless, but houseless. It is time to thank all those who are actively involved in working to end homelessness.
Homelessness is not a joke. Every human being is free to choose where to live on this planet.
We don’t need to be born there to belong to here. For those who are discriminating, please stop! As long as we all follow the rules and laws and contribute to the country, we all belong here.
