"The women in the Nia Project have all had very sad and traumatic lives. . . . Their stories are poignant and touching. But what inspires me about them is their strength and courage. It is their resilience that we must help them to capitalize on."

THE WORK OF NADINE KASLOW

Professor of Medicine, Emory University School of Medicine, and Chief Psychologist, Grady Memorial Hospital

Since 1993 the Grady Nia Suicide Prevention Project has existed as a resource for African American women who have attempted suicide. Nadine Kaslow is the principal investigator and founder of the program, which is funded by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Nia—the Kwanzaa word meaning purpose—offers weekly support groups and a resource room that makes available housing, jobs, education, counseling, and child care to women who have been victims of domestic violence and have demonstrated suicidal behavior.

A camera crew, made up of students from Georgia State University, arrives on the thirteenth floor of Grady Memorial Hospital to meet with three women from the Nia Suicide Prevention Project. To protect their privacy, the women use their initials only when interacting with members of the media. The crew asks the women for permission to film a documentary about their lives and experiences with the Nia Project. “The idea,” the director says, “is not just for us to get in, take a picture, and get out . . .  but for your voice to be heard.” VJ and SE already have signed the consent form. But CR, with her head down and her eyes locked on a book of word puzzles resting in front of her, is hesitant.

Nia offers a ten-session intervention program for suicidal African American women, but when asked, CR says she joined the group “a hundred years ago.” She slices through the blocks of letters with her pen, discovering hidden words. Her pen stops moving as she says, “I’ve learned quite a bit here.” The Nia group has helped her to recognize “red flags” and establish “boundaries with people.” She continues her puzzle. The problem, she says, is that “other people aren’t accepting my boundaries.”

CR is asked about her life outside Nia. “Now you are getting personal,” she smirks. “You’re overstepping your boundaries.”

SE, seated next to CR, came to Nia more than a year ago and says she has “always gone through abuse, as a child on up to an adult.” She gently squeezes CR’s shoulder and tells her that the camera crew are “sweet people.”

“Why do you keep pointing out how sweet they are?” CR snaps.

“Because they are sweet!”

“So?”

“So you be sweet to them!”

SE and CR often come to group together, and each has participated in both divisions of the Nia Project. When asked what they discuss in the Domestic Violence and Suicide Prevention Program, CR cuts her thumb toward SE. “Talking about her momma,” she smiles.

SE slaps CR’s shoulder and gasps, “CR, how could you?!” SE lives with her mother in an efficiency apartment nearby, and a large part of her counseling helps her avoid sparking conflict with her mother. “Nia is my family, my hope, and my tomorrow,” she says.  

CR soon admits that they were “both talking about mommas.” CR’s mother’s birthday recently passed. “She’s eighty-one years old,” she says. “I started to call her”—she shakes her head—“but I didn’t want to go through that bull. I know she wasn’t going to be nice to me. And I’ve learned to accept that; she really isn’t responsible. And there’s no way I’m going to keep trying to turn her into something she’s not.”

VJ, who hasn’t said a word, sits still, her mesh backpack resting in front of her. A momentary pause in the discussion of mothers offers her an entrance to the conversation. “Did I tell you I used to sleep outside?” VJ announces. The members of the camera crew shake their heads. “You know where the bus stop is?” She points out the window. “Across from the McDonalds.”

“That was you?” CR interjects. VJ nods.  

For five months VJ rode Marta until it stopped, went over to McDonalds and drank coffee until Marta started back up the next day. “I had a routine,” she says. “I’d try to be around people, you know?” During this period of her life, she found support at Nia. “I finally got a place to live a year and a half ago,” she says.

VJ still carries the same backpack everywhere she goes. “Yep,” she nods. “And I still sleep on the floor. I haven’t got accustomed to sleeping on a bed.” VJ is asked how long she was homeless. “Years,” she replies.

“Years,” CR repeats. “But it’s how you handle it. Just because you are homeless doesn’t mean you look homeless.” She leans in and nods her head toward VJ. “We didn’t look homeless.” CR describes a home she made in a strip of woods next to a side street off Metropolitan Parkway. “Nobody even knew we were back there,” she says and explains in detail the construction of the wooden hut insulated by carpet. CR now lives in Midtown but says she wishes she had her own planet for her and her son, who will be eleven in August. SE asks if she can come too. CR lost custody of her son. “It’s a sore subject,” she says and turns her attention back to her puzzles.

The room goes quiet again, and VJ says she is originally from New York but came to Atlanta with hopes that her marriage would stay together. “But I got a divorce,” she says, which triggered her depression. The mounting pressure of raising two children alone led her to alcohol abuse. “And that led to other problems.” She became homeless and was “in and out” of abusive relationships. She explains that coming to the Nia group offered her inspiration, support, and referred her to other resources.

Nadine Kaslow

Says Nadine Kaslow, "The women in the Nia Project have all had very sad and traumatic lives. . . . Their stories are poignant and touching. But what inspires me about them is their strength and courage. It is their resilience that we must help them to capitalize on."

VJ lauds the Nia Resource Room, which offered her hygiene items and canned goods to help her get back on her feet. The Nia Project provided each of the women in group with deactivated cell phones that still can be used to call 911. “Nia keeps you going,” VJ says. “It’s hope for the next day.”

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