Almost ten years ago, Rosanna and I jumped into our fire red rented Dodge Neon and headed across the country for a 21 day adventure. Toward the end of our trip, we made a stop in good ol' N'Awlins. We pulled in late at night and stayed in one of the seediest hostels in which I've ever laid my head. We got up the next day, and fought through the exhaustion and the humidity to make our way into the French Quarter. After finding a new hotel, we walked through the streets of the Quarter and through the vendors of the French Market. We had a jambalaya dinner on a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street and treated ourself to a breakfast of beignets at the famous Cafe du Monde before heading out to our next location. Until three days ago, this was the only time I'd ever spent in New Orleans.
Now, here I write to you from The Village, a non-profit community center in the Lower Ninth Ward, whose mission it is to assist the people of this neighborhood to come home and become self-sufficient in this post-Hurricane Katrina world. Though still a work in progress, this place provides a little hope to a neighborhood whose devastation has barely begun to be healed.
Just driving from the airport to Camp Hope (our Habitat for Humanity home for the week), it was already clear to see how Katrina has left her mark in this area. We passed by neighborhoods where all of the houses that were see from the street were still boarded up. There are shopping centers where Sears, Blockbuster and Wal-Mart formerly mingled with mom & pop Po Boy shops, all of which are now ghostly versions of their former selves...barely-standing reminders of what one force of nature can do. I had an eery feeling the entire way down Judge Perez Highway. I knew I was in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, but it felt more like I was in an abandoned village post a major war. Can I really be in America? Can it truly have been 3 1/2 years since this storm? Can our government really have done so little to help its citizens?
Before doing our part to make a difference in this community, my group and I headed down to the French Quarter to take in some sights. Most of the students had never been to NOLA before, so we wanted to fit in as much as we could. We jumped on the street car and rode down St. Charles St. to catch our walking tour of the Garden District. In my previous visit, my knowledge of New Orleans was limited to not much past the Quarter, so I was glad to see a new part of the city. And as we strolled to the front of the Ponchatrain Hotel and met Katie, the firey red-head of approximately 70 years, who was to serve as our tour guide, I knew this would be an enjoyable excursion. Katie relied on her animated features to brief us on the history of the area, including stories of some of the mansions and their previous and current inhabitants. People in the neighborhood waved their hellos because clearly Katie is a regular. But when the former state representative (and neighbor to John Goodman) stopped us to thank us profusely for coming to town to volunteer, I realized that this was no small deed we were doing. The people of New Orleans are so overwhelmingly thankful to all of the volunteers for every little bit that they do. The words and expressions are so genuine that it can't be denied that every little bit is truly making a different. And as we continued on the tour, I saw everything through new eyes. Every thank you we heard the rest of the day seemed to weigh more than any other words.
So, with my increased appreciation for the work we were doing, we set out for our first day of service. We drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit areas and one of the least assisted since the storm. We gathered at a small house to meet our service coordinators and were given our assignments. While four of our group went off to a woman's house to do sheetrock, the rest of us went down the street to meet Mack and learn about his dream for The Village. We arrived to the large metal building with little idea of what exactly we would be doing, and quickly were asked to help move some cabinets into a storage shed to protect them from some flooding that had occurred overnight from a major rain storm. Once the items were moved, we were on to trying to sweep the water out of the main room in the center. Before long, we were laying carpet in the future library area. As our hands were covered in glue and our eyes were strained from trying to match the seams of the tiles up, you could already feel how this place would one day be seen by the community. A place for the kids to come and sit instead of getting into trouble. A place for children to learn how to cook instead of learn how to be criminals. And all of this because of one man's vision and dedication: Amazing!
In the afternoon, after a brainstorming session with Mack, Heather (his donation's coordinator) took us on a tour of the neighborhood. She explained to us the meaning behind the markings on the fronts of the houses. During the storm, folks in boats sailed up to each house to search for survivors. An X indicated that the house had been search. The markings on top of the X indicated which agency had assessed the house. The markings to the left of the X indicated on what date the house was searched. And the markings to the right and below the X indicated how many people/bodies and pets were found in each house. Every house has one of these markings. Every house branded with the memory of this storm. And so few that have been erased of this tattoo.
Heather explained to us how many people who have been sent to live elsewhere after the storm are fighting to have the money to move home. Many barely received enough money from insurance companies to make any livable repairs to their houses, and since they are still paying their mortgage, they can't afford to make costly renovations. And if their grounds aren't maintained, the government places a notice on their front door giving them a court date to appear before their home is considered a blighted property. Well, if you're living in Austin, how are you supposed to know that there is a posting on your front door on El Dorado Street in New Orleans? How are you supposed to fight for your home if you aren't given a fair swing?
As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but be reminded of the townships in South Africa. These are communities that we learn about where justice is not being served and people are relying on the heart of the community to find renewal. The feeling is so similar here, except these are our neighbors. These are fellow Americans who many are turning a blind eye to because the media says everything is okay and because Mardi Gras can take place as usual.
And then Heather took us into a house that has not been touched at all since the day the storm hit. The front door wide open, we climbed the steps and were immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of mold. Couches, the living room table, curtains, a flat screen television, dishes, the fridge, chairs...all of it thrown together like a stew of furnishings. Someone's entire life left to rot under their fallen roof, damaged from the storm. The bedroom covered in books, shampoos, contents of the dresser...clothes still hanging in the closet. Picture frames and photo albums laying around the house. All of this proof that the family picked up to leave for what they hoped would be a couple of days, not forever. I stood among their belongings feeling helpless. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to gut the property; remove the belongings from their home. And I felt heart broken at the idea that these items have been left possibly forever. And as I considered what I was feeling, I imagined what it must feel like if I were the homeowners. What if this were my home? Would I have the strength to fight for it? I don't know.
What I do know is that right now I'm doing my part to fight for this community. Mack believes in the importance of the physical labor involved in creating the community center, but he also believes in the power of the networking and community outreach. He's helped me remember that it's just as important to get the word out about what little has been done in the Lower Ninth Ward and other areas since the storm. And 80% of what has been done has been accomplished by volunteers. When you see these houses firsthand and listen to these statistics, it makes sense why the thank yous are so heartfelt and genuine. Because even after 3 1/2 years, the volunteers are needed just as much now as they were on the first day.
