Kumarr: a Story of Transformation
Standing on the corner of Seventh and Vine streets, a young man sporting a pair of dark colored, baggy pants, a baseball cap and an over-sized army jacket hunched his shoulders to protect himself from the brisk November wind.
It had been awhile since he had given his drifting lifestyle a passing thought — had it been right, the best path for his life? It didn’t matter. He just did what he had to do to survive. At 2:00pm each day he would meander about on his special corner and wait for his customers to show up.
But this particular day something bugged him. Three days earlier, in the waning light of a fall afternoon, an UrbanPromise staff worker, Andy Joshua, approached him. Kumarr awkwardly tried to hide as he walked closer, but he couldn’t. “Hey, friend,” called Andy, “when ‘ya gonna get back into the program?”
Kumarr had not thought about UrbanPromise since he was a kid in summer camp. He used to enjoy the trips and the singing. He even liked the Bible stories. That was long ago.
“Naa, this here corner is my destiny, I guess,” he replied. “My dad sold drugs. My cousins sell drugs. It’s hereditary.”
And that’s how Kumarr made his money--$500 to $600 a night, sometimes up to $1200 on the first of each month. He saved nothing. Had no bank account, no IRA. He’d just spend his money on stuff—clothes, food, movies, partying.
But something strange was happening.
Earlier that day, his old buddy Albert, asked him to come to the Afterschool Program and help tutor some kids. Kumarr admired Albert. He and Albert had grown up together at UrbanPromise. They both had battled the tough streets of North Camden. But then Albert chose another direction. Albert stayed involved at UrbanPromise, went to college, and returned to help his community as an UrbanPromise AfterSchool Director. “Why’d you want me at UrbanPromise, man,” blushed Kumarr. You know the stuff I do?”
Kumarr still remembers that first day when he walked back through the doors of the State Street United, that place he vaguely remembered. The carpets were still dirty, the lighting was poor, and the dank air smelled like his grandmother’s basement. Kumarr knew he needed to be there.
When he heard the laughter of children in the basement he felt like running. “The kids’ll think I’m a hypocrite.” But Kumarr didn’t run. Instead he started volunteering each day — helping children with math and spelling. He stopped dealing drugs. He re-enrolled in school and he reconnected with the UrbanPromise community.
This past summer Kumarr did a phenomenal job as an Assistant Camp Director. This fall he will continue to tutor children in our North Camden after school program while attending Camden County Community College. “I like working with the tough kids — kids with attitudes,” says Kumarr with a smile. “I relate.”
Kumarr had been on a path that was destined to lead to a tragic death or a demeaning, purposeless life of incarceration. (In New Jersey it costs tax payers more than $40,121 to house, feed and clothe each prisoner for a year.) Project that cost along with the lost productivity over a life-time and it adds up to a significant loss to us all—not to mention the loss of a young man brimming with potential.
“God saved me,” Kumarr says with a smile of brilliance creasing his face. “I’ve done a complete turn around and I am grateful.”
The story of Kumarr reminds me why UrbanPromise must have front-line workers, walking the streets of our community, finding children and teens that have slipped through the cracks. Young people, like Kumarr, do not just arrive at our ministry centers. We must go out into the “highways and byways” to find them. That takes dedicated people.
This year we will be placing 16 front-line Street Workers in our neighborhoods. They will be young men and women who have “tithed” a year of their lives to serve as missionaries here in our own New Jersey.