“But envy, greed, lust, and hate, separate
Though the devil mind state blood kin cannot relate
No longer, brothers, we unstable
Like Cain when he slew Abel, killing each other”

– Wu-Tang Clan lyrics

It’s just before sunset and we’re standing in the parking lot behind building 225 in the Park Hill housing projects, where 8,000 Liberian refugees are reported to live. The hip hop group, Wu-Tang Clan, grew up in the neighborhood and referred to it as “Killer Hill” or “Crack Hill” because of the violence and crack found on the streets. Refrigerators with doors unhinged, broken couches, and slabs of wood lay in a haphazard pile nearby. The air is filled with the stench of urine. The cockroaches are the lucky ones, able to crawl into a dark hole where it is quiet, far away from the buzz of the streets.

The Park Hill projects are the hub of Liberian life on the island. Most of the Liberians I encounter in Park Hill escaped Liberia during the 14-year civil war. Many never got an education as schools were closed. Some were forced to fight in Charles Taylor’s army. Others for the rebels. And still others in self-defense, just to survive. America was considered the ultimate escape — the place where money was found on the streets and life was easy.

Clusters of young people while away the hours, standing in the same parking lot, smoking the same marijuana, and drinking the same brandy — counting shots,instead of sheep, to fall asleep. The group of young men I’m spending the day with all hang out in Apartment 4 O, owned by an older Liberian woman who allows the boys to hang out and keep her company. A conveyer belt of young men roll through the apartment, constantly bringing new recruits and taking the tired and drunk with them when they leave.