Visit to the Ninth Ward

Feb 27

Where do I begin...?

Let me start by saying that I'm typing this from a bunk bed with very, very little lighting. As Whitney writes in her journal she has graciously allowed me to sit on her bed with her so I can reach the plug with this laptop and share the flashlight. Plugs and lights in our "classroom" are at a premium. I should also warn you that what follows is quite lengthy and probably has spelling errors -yes, me the editing Queen with typos! I'm roughing it here folks. I really can't leave any of these details out of it and I could certainly have gone on even longer.

Today was a day I won't soon forget. The people I met, the things I saw, amazing yes.

The 5:40 am wake up call was not a difficult one for me because I had woken up around 3:30 and just spent the time thinking in peace. By 5:00, I could smell the bacon wafting into our "classroom dorm".

Let's start with last night first.

Our group headed out to Bourbon Street. What an absolutely wild place. Drinking in the streets, people throwing beads down from the many balconies, bourlesque shows, jazz bands, voodoo shops, psychics and a million others sights and sounds. I managed to catch a half dozen or so beads and no I never "flashed" anything more than my bellybutton! One guy even threw a t-shirt at me and at first, seeing a flash of white fabric made me think that perhaps they were his shorts - never know in The Big Easy! Turned out to be a t-shirt with very large red lettering on the back that read, "RELAX, it's just sex!" The students got a kick out of me wearing this as we walked down the street. I didn't think the folks in Camp Hope would appreciate me coming back wearing that since this is a Christian based camp.

Sandy, Sandra, Brooke and I enjoyed a New Orlean's daquarie followed by a "Huge Ass Beer" and some great jazz music. Yup, that's right folks, we broke the rule but remained respectable.
Not exactly the kind of place that you want to go to when you have to observe a curfew. But we were back on the bus before 10:00 an back to the camp by 11:00 like good little volunteers.

So, onto today...

We met at the site and got our instructions for the day. When the Habitat workers announced that they had a surprise for us, we all waited in anticipation. The students were elated to learn that we were each given a ticket to the Justine Timberlake concert for Thursday night. You should have heard the shreiking. I had to be reminded that JT was a former member of NSYNC and NOT the BackStreet boys as I had thought. Duhh!!! What can I say, I'm 41! At least I knew that he was a popular singer.

Although Kelly, my 15 year old daughter has yet to send me any emails, when I told her and Lauren the news about JT, it didn't take them long to reply back to me and tell me how jealous they were that I was going to see him! Kelly suddenly has a renewed interest in my trip. Or at least she will until Friday morning.

So, onto the build site. Today I spent the day with several other women in our group and a new friend from Vermont named Beth (Why are all my friends named Beth???) We managed to insulate one full house plus half of another and move stuff and help here and there. After we do the insulating, the contractors come in and drywall and mud (are you proud of my terminology Jim??) the entire home in 3 hours. So, I assume that tomorrow we will be painting.

It's amazing the number of people we have met who just jumped in their cars or on a plane all alone or with a friend to come and pitch in. They are all so impressed with our group of 34 and everyone continually comments on our spirit and enthusiasm. It's true, Windsor students are truly the BEST! We are meeting some fantastic volunteers and Habitat staff and I am immensely proud of our students!

At lunch time, a group of us wandered through the neighbourhood and took photos and chatted with the few remaining in the neighbourhood of the Upper Ninth Ward. Many are living in FEMA trailers and attempting to get their homes. Many are still waiting for insurance.

We met a family today who live next door to one of the three homes we are building. The granddaughter is in her 30's, and she was joined by her father and her 76 year old grandmother- the actual home owner. Grandma has been living with daughter in Texas since Katrina hit. Grandma is an amazing positive woman who got out only with the clothes on her back and is just so grateful to be alive that she shows no sadness and only has praise for her creator. She has lived in this modest "shotgun" style home (picture a long narrow home with one room into the next into the next and the next with no hallway to separate it. She described having lived at this home through Hurricane Betsy in 1965 and how at that time the water came to the level of the porch.

This time however, the water rose to the top of the gutters (or eavestrough or eavesdrop as I like to say to drive Jim nuts -hey Jim!). The water remained at that level and then slowly drained to about 6 feet after 5 full months.

This woman (and many, many others we spoke to) won't even entertain the idea of packing up and moving out.

Back home I know what you are all thinking. WHY would they stay? WHY wouldn't they just pack it up and move somewhere new? Why? Because this woman's roots are so deeply rooted in the culture and history of New Orleans, the neighbourhood and above all her home, that it would be simply incomprehensible to her to leave. It's not as if her granddaughter hasn't pleaded with her to come and live with her in Dallas, but she simply won't even speak of it.

So, the family will help her to tear down and rebuild despite having to make all of these arrangements while living in another state. But, with no insurance settlement, no reliable contractors available, they remain at an indefinite standstill. They wait, and wait and watch the small amounto of rebuilding happening around them through programs that this particular old woman will never qualify for. Habitat requires the home owner to be making a certain amount of money (but not too much money), and in several hundred hours of "sweat equity" and in exchange they get a $75,000.00 house interest free for 20 years (approximate cost to them is $500.00 per month).

The scene just over in Musician's Village by stark contrast almost looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss movie with the rows of crayola coloured houses. It gives hope for new beginnings, new music and new spirit in the city.

At the end of our long work day, we stopped in the lower Ninth Ward -the area most devastated by Katrina and bordering on the famous levee that broke. What was one a vibrant community is now completely vacated save for just one single FEMA trailer and many empty lots where houses simply washed away and only porches and cement blocks remain. Some houses have clearly been pushed into thers and one remains sitting right on top of another -a year and a half after the hurricane!

The most stunning sight was a simple one. A 30 something black man worked diligently to mow his grandmother's lawn. He had his many tools out trimming and cutting and you know the yard didn't look much unlike a well groomed area of Tecumseh or Windsor Ontario. It was as if he was just mowing and caring for his home in any neighbourhood in good ole US of A. And when he finished, he might just go into his home, pour himself a glass of lemonade and sit on his porch and drink it. Only, there was nothing inside to go into. This house wasn't in living condition and no one was coming home to it today. Yet, this man has so much pride and intestinal fortitude that he continues to take are of the usual everyday business of life to try an maintain some sort of normalcy.

My first thought upon seeing him was to think, what an absolute exercise in futility. Then I realized, that the routines of everyday life are what is so critical to our existence and sense of self worth. Even through the destruction, this man realizes that his grandmother is depending on him and he still has tremendous pride in his community.

We chatted with him for a bit, but it was plain to see that he was intent on getting the job done. He was a busy guy -probably fitting this in beteween many other comittments that day.

As we moved along, intent on staying in groups, we all soon wandered separately. For me, it was about having some quiet time to take in everything I was seeing. We all commented that we felt a bit guilty and intrusive as we snapped photos. However, we are told that we are encouraged to do so to bring their story back to others who will hopefully be inspired to help them to rebuild and express outrage at a government who has left them literally high and dry.

I filled my memory card with snapshots of the everyday mundane items and artifacts that were at one time such a part of their lives. Kitchen mixing bowls, vases, a mouldy toy box filled with toys, a stuffed Koala bear on the curbside, a cabbage patch doll in a front doorway -a year and a half later! These personal artifacts remained untouched and respected by those who've come since Katrina visited on August 29, 2005. A memorial sacred ground of sorts. Perhaps the homeowners will one day return to collect the treasures strewn among the many seashells left behind. A church remains in the Ninth Ward. The interior is completely destroyed except strangely enough a painting of Jesus Christ ironically wading through water and yet, the portrait is in nearly pristine condition. Come to your own conclusion on this one.

After a half an hour or more, we came to the levee and stood just staring. Across the street only cement porches with attached metal railings remain. Sea shells, mould, wilted ceiling fans, broken bits of records, a casino card with a name imprinted. People's precious treasures.

Had the day ended then, I could have fell into an exhausted slumber. The day was however only half over.

Tonight half of our group had kitchen duty. I washed dishes with Vanessa (my fellow blogger), Sandy, Sandra, Brooke, Amanda, Fleur (came with our group but lives in New Zealand!) and others. The tedious chore was made easier as the folks dropped off their dirty dishes and every single one of them took the time to say "thanks" -just for washing their dishes that night. I must remind myself to do this for my fellow Camp Hopers when next they do my dishes.

Then in came Mr. John Boone. This is when the real stories of the day began. You see many residents of St. Bernard's Parish stop by each night to join the volunteers for dinner and share their stories. This my friends who've asked me is why I'm HERE in "primitive" Camp Hope with daily overflowing toilets, showering with tepid water and eating corn flakes encrusted chicken. The real people of New Orleans are HERE, they are NOT in the hotels or motels.
By being here, I have the priveledge of being a part of this historic event.

Mr. Boone (John) comes to this centre daily and sometimes from 6 am til 11:00 at night. While here, he shares his stories, his photos, his heartache, his vivacious personality, his Cajun cooking skills and his KP skills from days gone by. John, a white, curly haired gentleman with a fantastic New Orleans drawl knows so much of the history of this area and shared so much, I spent 3 hours washing dishes and actually waved my fellow volunteer dishwashers away when they offered to take over for me.

I think Vanessa will agree with me when I say that so far, washing dishes with John Boone
has been the most hearwarming and heartwrenching part of this trip so far. John has lost all of his belongings, many friends and acquaintances to the storm and then an additional 7 close friends as a result of their committing suicide after the storm because they just couldn't cope. This is the part of the hurricane death toll that's not always reported.

John himself held a gun to his own head, but somehow mustered up the courage not to pull the trigger. I told him that I was really glad for that. He is married, but seems to spend a lot of time here anyway. Weathering a hurricane and living in a FEMA trailer can't be the easiest on a marriage. I know after a week of camping with Jim, the kids and the dog, frankly I can't wait to get away from them and find my own space.

Today John powerwashed and bleached what's left of his interior -likely studs. It won't get rid of all the mould. Nothing will. But still, for John and his wife, this is the beginning of the rebuild. How do they get through it? In his words, by coming to Camp Hope and sharing his stories and photos. John holds a special place in his heart for Canadians and came into the kitchen especially to give us each a kiss and hug for being here. You see, John recalls that the first few days after Katrina, it was the Canadians who arrived first to help -even before his own country!

After that visit, I was ready for some "alone time" to reflect and write. But, listening to the students share their individual stories of the day during team time was just too interesting not to stay. Everyone was touched in so many different ways.

As the day draws to an end (it's 11:51 N.O. Time), I feel more recharged than ever and am finding it tough to settle down my mind.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.....
Good night and count your blessings tonight. I know I will.

Beth