Just got off the street.
Sirens were blaring from all directions. Police cars with officers in every seat wrapped around corners without even a tap of the breaks. I didn’t know what happened, but I knew it was something big.
On the sidewalk I was instructed by an officer with a machine gun to turn around and walk in the other direction. I don’t speak French, but those statements that mean- get out of here- translate fast in any language.
I was trying to retrace my steps home, but the streets I had walked less than an hour earlier are now the same scene of a mass murder. The crazy thing is that most of the people out there had no idea what was going on, me included. Teenagers ran around teasing each other. One mom giggled at the officer with the machine gun as she turned her baby carriage in the opposite direction.
And now my aunt is texting me from the U.S. saying 60 people are being held hostage. The news says there are 28 bodies in the streets and I can still hear sirens screaming in the distance.
Crazy thing is, I’m staying in Goutte d’ Ore what used to be one of the toughest neighborhoods in Paris. In times like these, I feel blessed to be well and alive in the hood. Prayers to the people of Paris.