How could the right place be in the deepest,darkest, dirtiest alley in New Orleans?
I felt as though I had driven into a warp zone and had been spit out in the ghetto. “Surely I’m not going to be spending the next forty-eight hours in this place,” I thought. I was wrong. The St. Thomas Housing Project was to be my home for the next two days. I could not comprehend having to live there when my whole life. I had been told not even to go around places like that. I had read about housing projects and about the things that go on in them, but nothing could truly prepare me for what lay ahead. I spent the first full day of my plunge learning about the Hope House and the programs that they offered. Upon speaking with the employees, I learned that the majority of the staff either presently lives in St. Thomas or did at one time. They told me not only of the program that they conducted but also of their own personal trials and tribulations. This was the point at which I recognized that the people who live these rundown buildings are actually human beings, not just gang bangers
