There's one thing to hear of violence on the street, and another to live it.

I've seen South-A-Lago through bad times, none were at the level of those five days.

The sham trial had caused the people to understandably rise in outrage, and stepping out into

the dark alley behind our apartment with my baby brother after our own mother had nearly

killed us.

It was like going from inferno into a living hell.

It was just past noon on that second day of the riots.

There were tons of people, raiding storefronts, stopping cars to loot passers by, and even

some fighting one another.

They were marching and going against the riot police, a force of white uniform soldiers

that were excessively violent and trying to quench the crowd.

These tactics that were uncalled for and only ignited it even more.

But with each pushback, the crowd screamed louder.

I squeezed, keeled and close to me, and kept my head down, trying to move amid the bolsterous

neighbors.

I knew at any moment someone could pull a gun, a knife, or even worse, the police could

begin to use force to take us down.

It was madness.

People were stepping on one another, getting trampled, pushing, and shoving.

The noise was so loud.

I heard helicopters overhead.

I knew it was the media trying to catch a glimpse of everything.

...