My personal history with Harlem dates to my high school years in the mid to late 1990s. My family lived in Brooklyn at the time (they still do) and I commuted each day via subway to attend school in Harlem. Four of my formative years were spent in this New York City neighborhood.
Now, a visit to Harlem often begins at Ginjan Café. This spot is located at the intersection of Park Ave and 125th Street, right below the Harlem stop of the Hudson Valley train line. When at this café, I usually grab a coffee or their signature ginger drink and do some reading or writing. They have a table of donated books from the nearby branch of the New York Public Library. I like to browse through these, curious to discover new titles.
Then I walk west and south to Mount Morris Park West and 120th Street. This is one of my favorite blocks in Harlem. It is bordered by Marcus Garvey Park and Malcolm X Blvd. There is a Little Free Library on the block, and I like to leave used books in it. The block has a strong and active Block Association run by its residents and that sponsors activities for the community, including fashion shows, sports watch parties, and literary events.
If I don’t drink coffee at Ginjan, I will stop and do so at Settepani. They, in my opinion, serve the best cup of vanilla cappuccino in New York City.
I continue walking south-west to Frederick Douglass Blvd. I eventually encounter the Harriet Tubman statue and further down, at the entrance to Central Park at 110th Street, there’s a statue of Frederick Douglass. There is an enclave of West African immigrants along the distance between these two statues. A few were able to establish restaurants and cafes that sell food and treats native to their homes.
Gentrification, with its testaments of high-rise buildings, sprawling and shiny supermarkets, and too many cafes and restaurants, is also visible in this stretch of distance, as is the case in most parts of Harlem.
My walk often ends by returning to 125th Street. However, sometimes I find myself further north and west at the Harlem Breakfast Club on Adam Clayton Powell Blvd. This is a black-owned restaurant that serves southern-styled breakfast throughout the day. (There is no pork on the menu here.)
If I decide to walk more north and west, I stop at Red Kup Café on St. Nicholas Ave and 145th Street. In addition to drinks and food, this café has a radio that stays on a jazz station, and its walls are plastered with pictures of jazz musicians and a hanging saxophone. It also has books for patrons to browse. If I am lucky, there will be a live jazz concert at the Jackie Robinson Park next to the café. This is usually the case on the weekends in the summer.
I once wrote a poem after eating dinner at a restaurant in this section of Harlem. I was walking on Edgecomb Ave late in the evening on the way to the subway station when I noticed a lady eating crab on the stoop of one of the brownstone buildings. Truth be told, I was paying more attention to her than she was paying to me. The encounter inspired me to write a poem titled “Black Woman Eats Crab on Edgecomb Ave.” Part of the poem reads:
I watch as she pulls legs and claws and crack
backs of crabs with ease, with knowledge
that she has done this before—pull at the joints,
what to keep and discard of the crustaceans.
When I think of this incident, I think about the colleague who I had dinner with at the restaurant. Sadly, she died a few weeks later, unexpectedly. Her death is proof of the fragility of life.
Harlem inspired me to write one of my earliest poems when I decided to take writing poetry seriously. This was in the early 2000s. The poem is called “A Morning in Harlem” and I wrote it after a visit to Harlem on a cold winter morning. In this poem, I write:
Ethiopia’s out-stretched hands have found
a home in your bosom as a spark
awaits to catch fire against injustice.
As a black artist, I know that people who look like me made Harlem what it is today, and that I can return to this neighborhood whenever I want to visit it, regardless of some of the changes that attempt to say otherwise.
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