In Atlanta, housing is limited, expensive, and often far from campus. For students, that can mean long commutes, tight budgets, and tough choices.
Atlanta is a college town. It’s home to Clark Atlanta University, Spelman College, Morehouse College, Georgia Tech, Georgia State University. These schools market themselves to students with the promise of high-quality education and exclusive opportunities; however, once many students enroll, they struggle to focus on their academic careers and futures. Often, what stands between them and their education is housing.
Each year, students in the city—particularly upperclassmen, who aren’t always guaranteed on-campus housing—have no other option but to live in off-campus “student apartments” unaffiliated with their schools. These apartment complexes cater to students with study rooms, computer labs, and shuttles, and they are often easier to qualify for than regular apartments, which can have high security deposits and income requirements. But so-called student apartments can also be much more expensive: In some cases, each bedroom has its own lease, which can cost $1,200 a month, making a three-bedroom cost some $3,600.
According to Capital B, students living on campus at Clark Atlanta University pay around $4,500 a semester for a traditional single dorm room; rent for a one-bedroom student apartment off campus can be substantially higher, with many units near the campus starting at $1,400 a month—and some may not include utilities and other costs.
The high cost of housing, combined with costs for commuting, food, and tuition, is creating an affordability crisis for students in this city. I know because I experienced it firsthand. Here are the stories of three students struggling to live and learn in Atlanta—including, for the two last years, me.
Shannay’s Story
I sent the email at 3:18 p.m. on May 11, 2023. It was my white flag—one that I had worked tirelessly to never have to raise. Still, my rent was late, and I had no choice but to ask the building manager for an extension.
I lived in a student apartment that promised safety, affordability, and a comfortable lifestyle. What I received were broken entry doors, bills that exceeded my gross income, and suspicious activity nearby. For $1,200 each month, I shared a small space with two friends who paid around the same amount. Each month, we struggled to pay our rents; most months, we managed. This constant cycle of stress and hustling—coupled with the crippling pressure to maintain academic success and a social life—did a number on our mental health.
A few days following that email, with my aunt’s help, I managed to pay my rent. The relief I felt was fleeting; the next month was only a few days away.
Each month, we struggled to pay our rents; most months, we managed. This constant cycle of stress and hustling—coupled with the crippling pressure to maintain academic success and a social life—did a number on our mental health.
This cycle began in August 2022, during my junior year at Clark Atlanta University. Like many others, my HBCU is notorious for a lack of student housing. Living on campus cuts commuting costs, is cheaper, and is charged through tuition rather than being paid for separately. The system is lottery-based, and neither I nor my roommates were among the lucky few who got to live their lives a little less stressed on campus. So began my mission to find off-campus housing close to school and within my budget. For the next two years, as I finished my college education, I struggled to pay rent and stay ahead of all my other responsibilities. I took overpriced Lyfts and Ubers from my apartment in Midtown twice a day, five days a week, which often sent my bank account balance into the negatives. Living more than a 15-minute drive away meant questioning whether attending class that day was worth the financial setback.
I grappled with the timely completion of homework, household chores, and the daily tasks that come with being alive. Not only am I a first-generation Jamaican immigrant, but I am also the eldest daughter—and the first to have ventured this far from home. I constantly worried my dreams were too big, because I found it difficult to carry them. My finances remained a worry and a prayer point. I had come so far, and I didn’t want it to be all for nothing. Thankfully, it wasn’t: In May, I walked across the stage as a first-generation college graduate—and as valedictorian of my class.
Immediately following this incredible milestone in my life, I snapped back into reality. It was again time to find a new home but this time for myself and my two younger sisters, who both attend my alma mater: Latanya, who recently lived on campus, and Orianna, who was in her freshman year. After weeks of stressful days and hopeless nights, we found a place that met our needs. Our new home fits our budget—under $2,000—and is close to school, work, and shopping centers. And it is close enough for my sisters to use the university’s shuttle to commute, which allows us to save money each month.
Atlanta is the land of opportunity for Black people, known for fostering our excellence and making space for us, but I can’t ignore the poverty and displacement caused by the high cost of living in this city. I am reminded of it every time I meet someone my age who is on their own and struggling to make ends meet.
Fatima’s Story
Fatima is a 24-year-old studying film and media at Georgia State University. At the time of this interview, she lived in a student housing complex on Atlanta’s west side. She has since moved to another student housing apartment that is more affordable and closer to her university.
Housing is more of an issue than my academics because the classes I take are not hard. But I don’t want to have to worry about where my next meal is going to come from or where I’m going to stay in the next 12 months, and then how I’m going to keep that place to stay. I have been in situations where I have to pick and choose what I wanted. I do want to finish school, so I had to get jobs that are convenient and will work with my academic schedule. I don’t want to have to retake some classes or withdraw from some classes based off the fact that [housing] was affecting everything.
My housing is currently $915. But when the lease term renews, it’s going to be $945. My mom sends me $400 a month because that’s all she can send me, but I work on campus as an event planner and I work at Forever 21, so that’s how I pay my rent. I have to do without some stuff—I have to penny-pinch on what I eat. Even with school clothes, I have to penny-pinch ’cause you know I need clothes. I also have to think about tuition.
It wasn’t my choice to live off-campus. I wanted [to live on campus], but the waiting list was so long, and the semester was starting in like three weeks, so I decided to just stay off-campus ’cause it was easy apply and acceptance.
There was times when I basically just ate cans of tuna. We have a food pantry at school, so I’m stuck with what they provide, which is not really much. And you can’t go every day, you have to go once a week. I’ve been stuck eating hamburgers for a whole week because that’s all I had. We have a lot of on-campus events, and they provide Chick-fil-A at these events, so I’m just stuck eating one meal a day. But at least I’m eating something.
I walk to work. Although I’m saving up for a car, I had to backtrack because there’s other expenses that I’m currently trying to figure out. Commuting is a 48-minute walk. It wakes me up and gets me outside. Walking isn’t that bad. It’s like two hours [round-trip] and that’s a lot of thinking to do, but it saves me money because I can’t afford to Uber back and forth every day—but I also need a job, so quitting is not an option. It’s hot, but I stay hydrated.
Commuting is a 48-minute walk. It wakes me up and gets me outside. It’s like two hours [round-trip] and that’s a lot of thinking to do, but it saves me money because I can’t afford to Uber back and forth every day—but I also need a job, so quitting is not an option.
[My apartment complex] provides a shuttle bus and it does take you to Clark, it takes you to Spelman, it takes you to Georgia State, Georgia Tech, and all the other campuses—that’s why most people choose to stay [there]. But sometimes [the bus] breaks down, so you have to use Uber. A lot of people, they use their little scooter, and then with traffic, it’s hard to get to classes on time. You depend on that bus to take you but sometimes it doesn’t.
Jade’s Story
Jade is a 23-year-old who studied biology at Clark Atlanta University before she took a break from school. Jade lived in a Westside student housing development and used Uber and Lyft to get to and from classes. She recently moved back in with her mom in McDonough and transferred to a university closer to home.
My school did not have enough housing for upperclassmen. Freshmen and sophomores were given priority, so I had to live off-campus, unfortunately. The hardest thing was the commute. Some off-campus housing has transportation that gets them to and from campus every hour—I wish [we] had something like that, but we didn’t, unfortunately. I had class every day, Monday through Friday. I would leave around 8 a.m., come back around 4 p.m., which would be probably a $10 to $15 [Uber or Lyft ride] each way. So the monthly cost was [between $400 and $600] to get to and from campus.
Rent was about $1,200 a month. With everyone having to pay their own rent, they were making about $3,600 off just our apartment alone, which is a lot for three college students who don’t have much time to work. I definitely experienced late fees. After the third day, if your rent isn’t paid, you get charged a $35 late fee on the first day and then $10 each day after that. My parents were not in the financial standing to help me. My extended family helped as much as they could, but they also have their own bills and their own lives.
I did have to take a semester off due to not having housing; it was just too expensive for me as a college student. I’m not able to work as much as someone [who has a full-time job], so it was very difficult to try to manage that. [The time off from school] helped my finances because, living at home, I didn’t have the burden of having to come up with $1,200 every month and having to pay for transportation. But it hindered me in other ways, such as not having the same academic drive that I did have. I was more worried about making sure I had a place to lay my head for the next month than worried about courses or trying to get my degree, which is what I’m here for.
I was more worried about making sure I had a place to lay my head for the next month than worried about courses or trying to get my degree, which is what I’m here for.
I thought my academics was going to be the biggest burden that I had to face, but I was quickly taken from that after my sophomore year when I just didn’t have any housing at all, and my school was not offering to help.
[Taking last semester off] brought down my academic progress. It’s hindered me in many ways, such as having to explain why I have a gap in my transcript to different schools and having to explain that to different internships and job opportunities. •
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