"A Story to Tell"

Gazing out of the van window, at the empty streets and destroyed homes, I couldn’t help but think that the media did not do this situation justice. The streets were littered with trash, and there were huge piles of debris on the inside and outside of nearly every home in the area. Only about two businesses remained open from what was once an entire community. Makeshift signs still cluttered the yards. Some hopelessly in search of lost pets, others advertising house-gutting services that no one could afford. One sign in particular caught my eye reading, “R.I.H. Rest in Hell Katrina.”

The devastation in St. Bernard Parish (La), 7 months after the hurricane, looked as if Katrina had rained down last week. Of the approximate 1600 lives Katrina claimed, Wikipeia stated that at least 127 were in St. Bernard. Another 47 members of the parish were reported missing, and the survivors were nowhere to be seen. The population was reported to be at 67,419 in July of 2005, but by January of 2006 that estimate was down to 6,889. That’s an astonishing loss of 89.9%.

The more of the area we saw, the more it became clear what kind of chaotic warpath Katrina left. In the middle of one of the barren and deserted streets sat a huge shrimp boat, immobilized, at least 20 miles away from any water. One vacant house had a ruined car leaning against it, standing up on end. Another had a fishing boat on its roof - the only part of the house you probably could have seen when the flood water level was at its height. Residents told us the water rose to the ceilings of homes in an earth-shattering 20 minutes.

The smell of abandonment lingered in the form of mold, oil, and things left to rot. The thick black substance from the oil spill still lined the floors of many of the buildings, and coated much of what was left behind by fleeing families. It just seemed as if this place had fallen off the map, out of sight and out of mind. When the media says anything at all about the disaster now, they seem to paint a picture of improvement and successful steps toward recovery.

But that isn’t what I saw.

I found myself in a seemingly forgotten parish on spring break. I went down there with the Campus Crusade for Christ group from Dana College, and we joined other volunteer hurricane relief groups. Much work had been done, but so much more remained. It was amazing how many people were still on a waiting list to have their homes cleaned up and fixed, while their lives remained broken. It was an unforgettable experience to be able to lend a helping hand.

Dana student Blair Alderman described the trip as a chance to meet new people, see something you wouldn’t see every day, and try to help people out – even if at times it felt kind of hopeless. Alderman commented that he was “surprised how empty it was. I thought there would be more people living there, thought it’d be more cleaned up. It was a lot messier than I thought it was going to be.”

Our group’s living quarters for the week was Bethany Church in Slidell, LA. A pew makes a better bed than one might expect. Our routine was early to bed and early to rise, with breakfast served at about 6:30 AM, and the end of the work day coming around 4:00 PM.

We were oriented and organized by Operation Blessing, the relief organization that we worked under. They provided us with the tools we needed, the MRE’s for our lunches, and assigned us to our respective houses to gut. They also warned us of a vast array of potential dangers including deadly water moccasins, poisonous brown recluse spiders, mold that can cause a number of irritations as well as pneumonia, and alligators. Then it was off to work.

Our gear included optional body suits to protect us from the oil and mud. We wore ventilating masks so as not to breathe in the dangerous mold that had been forming for the last 7 months. We wore gloves and hard hats, and we experienced teamwork like I would have never imagined.

Many of us went there as only acquaintances, but banded together to make amazing progress. My team gutted a house that had not been touched since it was evacuated. For 4 days we hauled loads of stuff out of the home by hand, shovel, and garbage barrel. We tore down the drywall and the insulation. We ripped up the carpet and tore out the nails. We left only the framework remaining. Alderman mentioned that he was at first apprehensive to go inside the dark musty home. “I didn’t know what was crawling around.” But, once everyone got started, things moved pretty fast. Alderman said he was shocked at how fast the pile we made outside came to be, and how big it got. It was hard to imagine all of that stuff had once fit inside the one-story home. The work was pretty exhaustive, but definitely worth every minute. Except, perhaps, for a few minor glitches like the one graceful moment when I stepped on a rusty nail and had no alcohol to disinfect it. And, of course, the subsequent trip to get a tetnis shot the next day - in a volunteer doctor’s office - in a trailer, in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

Even that worked out though. In the same parking lot was a huge tent that housed a soup kitchen and place where people could pick up groceries and other necessities. I had the privilege of working there for a day, serving and interacting with the people in the community. We also took names down of those who still needed help with their homes, and gave the list to Operation Blessing.

The people of Louisiana were immensely grateful, and I came to understand that their faith in God seemed to be what has kept many of them hopeful even in despair. Many referred to us volunteers as “angels from heaven” and “the answer to our prayers.” I think it would be difficult to get more of a sense of fulfillment than hearing that.