Oaklandish Living

Oakland grows on me a bit more each day.  It is just a short hop, skip, and a jump across the bay to San Francisco, but it might as well as be a different world.  San Francisco is cultured, but still pretty white and yuppy, while Oakland is also incredibly diverse, but primarily African-American, Hispanic, and poor.  San Francisco is twice as expensive as Oakland and twice as safe.  It is probably twice as crowded too.  San Francisco is known as "the city," while Oakland is just Oakland, and most people who work here don't live here.  San Francisco is about twice as well off as Oakland with some pretty swanky areas.  It is probably as twice as clean as Oakland too.

But despite being known as San Francisco's cast-off step-child, Oaklanders have immense pride in their city, and rightly so.  Does that include me now too?  I am registered to vote here, registered my car here, and have a California driver's license.  For better or worse, Oakland is now my city and home. 

Each morning I stumble out my door in my quiet, sleepy neighborhood and climb into my car for the relatively short drive into downtown for work.  I am surrounded by windy, narrow roads, and trees--gorgeous pines, oaks, and eucalyptus that you can smell even through the closed car windows.  It is nearly 10 degrees cooler up in the hills in comparison to the flatlands below.  After about half a mile, I crest a hill where there is a view of the entire Bay Area that still nearly takes my breath away.  Spread out before you, you can see Oakland in all its grit and grandeur, while San Francisco with its skyscrapers and misty hills stands in close proximity.

I wend my way down out of the hills which takes a good two miles.  Then I squeeze my little car into a nonexistent empty space in all the traffic on the highway and cruise right on into town.  As I drive, the scenery grows increasingly urban and congested.  I bounce along over all the potholes, under several freeway bridges, and onto the edge of downtown.  Oakland is already in full swing by this point.  You see fresh piles of rubbish and amazingly artistic graffiti "tags" in some very creative places.  Homeless individuals are already perched alongside the traffic lights with their signs.  Signs for Korean groceries, African-American wigs, and cash advances all compete for attention in a variety of languages.  I cautiously drive toward my usual parking garage, making sure to stay alert as people wander out into the middle of traffic carrying an assortment of canes, scooters, grocery carts, children, bags of clothing, etc.  Having to be super vigilant so early in the morning really wakes you up fast!

Then I cruise into the parking garage with my monthly pass and wave to the attendant.  After parking, I hurry out of my car, since I'm always on the verge of not being on time.  I walk past a center for the blind, empty storefronts, the gorgeous art-deco Paramount Theater that is still in use, and to the busy corner next to our office building that has a light rail station.  That street corner is a blur of color and activity.  About twice a month, you can see dozens of people of every color and nationality clutching little American flags on their way to citizenship ceremonies at the theater.  Cars speed by, buses rumble past, and bicycles speed along.  Everyone is going somewhere.

After waiting at the corner for the walk signal, I join a small crowd of people surging through the crosswalk.  I walk past construction workers, businessmen, fashionable girls in trendy clothes, the poorest of the poor, and everyone talking on their smartphones.  Then I reach the boxy black building from1968 that is home to my office.  I walk through the door, grab a free newspaper from the lobby of the Oakland Tribune, say good morning to the security guard, glide up the elevator, and rattle around my purse trying to find the key to get me into the office.  And I'm at work!  Just like that.  I'm exhausted just writing this!

Oakland was once a grand city, especially in the 1920s and 1930s.  Most of the buildings and apartments are art-deco.  Some have been restored, some look like they might give up any day.  The landscape of the city is so unique, but so are the people. Some folks will chat all day with you, but others can be downright mean.  Each day and conversation is different.

Here are some of the most memorable characters I have interacted with over the past week:

-Smog check man. He probably wins the award for colorful.  I took my car into a tiny neighborhood smog check place to get the required testing and certification the state requires.  It was in the middle of a neighborhood that doubles as both Chinese retirement community and urban jungle for not very well off residents.  One man who was there getting a smog check also happens to own his own car repair place.  He was about 40, wore a mechanics uniform, very nice shoes, a gold chain necklace, and gold sunglasses.  He had brought in his 1994 gold Lexus, which he assured me was only one of five cars he owns.  Of course he wanted to chat with me for a good half hour about everything under the sun.  As the Middle Eastern man conducted the eternally long smog test on my car in the concrete, cobwebby garage, my new gold chain necklace friend was very chatty.  As we nearly choked on car exhaustion, elderly Chinese people hobbled by the open garage door in an endless stream, and my friend told me all about his life, how he loves to eat lobster, wants to take me to lunch and dinner that day, wants to also show me the San Jose flea market, and how he cleans up really nicely.  He was also so impressed that I drove a manual.  Somehow I managed to escape without committing to a date or getting the hug he offered.  And I passed the smog check!

-Bhutanese refugees. A couple of my friends have been very active in the Bhutanese/Nepalese refugee community, which is still quite small in the U.S.  They knit with some of the women, sell their handiwork online, and work with the church plant among their community.  These joyful people come from some of the most closed and isolated countries in the world.  They have fled political and/or religious persecution.  Last night I tagged along with my friends to the Bhutanese music night, which was a social gathering in Oakland of the Bhutanese community.  I have never been around anyone from this remote mountain nation.  Elderly men and women were dressed warmly in colorful hats and scarves.  Young women were dressed in gorgeous, traditional hand-made dresses of reds, yellows, and greens.  Young men who have probably only recently entered Western culture, wore jeans, plaid shirts, and gelled up hair.  Little children in a mish-mash of traditional and American clothes ran wild around the Elks lodge that had been built by old white men in the 1800s.  The entertainment for the evening included a ceremony honoring the elderly people, which was very touching, and series of performances of Bhutanese dances, rock music, and singing.  We ate rice and some really great Bhutanese food consisting of meat still on the bone and super spicy potatoes.  I sat at a table of petite women and girls who thrust their squirming baby toward me, and I was able to prevent him from falling off the table head first.  I definitely think I found some friends.  Although my own country can frustrate me so often, it was a delight to be among people who had found freedom for the first time in their lives.            

-Eager Chinese college students. On Tuesday my coworker and I jumped on the light rail and headed deeper into Oakland.  We found our way to a college classroom filled with accounting students, most of them straight from China.  We made a presentation about volunteering with our free tax preparation program for low-income individuals and families across the Bay Area.  My heart swelled as I stood near the chalkboard in the sweltering classroom looking out over the sea of Asian faces.  Their enthusiasm, level of English, and clothing reminded me of my sweet students in China.  Practically all of them waved their hands eagerly in the air when I asked if any of them were interested in volunteering as tax preparers or interpreters.  Student after student peppered us with questions.  It reminded me of my love for Asia and also how much I enjoy my job here.

Last Sunday I was talking to the pastor of the church I've been going to.  He and his wife left their comfortable lives in an Atlanta mega church about a decade ago to plant churches in Oakland.  They had started praying about where to go when they were sitting on the couch of their nice suburban house in Georgia one evening.  He said, "Do you hear that sound?  That sound is my soul slowly dying."  So they prayed, met with other church leaders and even Tim Keller in New York City, and believed they were called to the Bay Area, which is probably the greatest unchurched area in the U.S.  Their obvious love for these people encouraged me in my own love, which I know is only possible because of Christ.      

Oh, and I experienced my first newsworthy earthquake--a 3.1!  Guess that is my real initiation into the Oakland culture...    
          

Shiny San Francisco from my perch at a community fair.

I didn't take this picture, but this is pretty much the view of Oakland I have when driving to work.

So... the Bhutanese party was supposed to start at 5, which is when we arrived.  All 300 other people showed up at 7 p.m.  At least the Elk statue kept us company...

Partying Bhutanese style.

Wishing the Bhutanese elders long life and good health.