it was like walking into a nightmare that wasn’t as bad as you’ve had before, but shocks you just the same. and although i cried sporadically and with controlling breaths – as is my way to cry when things are truly beyond my control – i know that my grief, my loss is small on the scale of a tragedy of this magnitude. even so – i need my moments of narcissum – my time to ponder my loss – no matter its scale…and feel cheated and betrayed.
i was expecting water and my culprit was man or woman – some unnamed person who broke down my door and ate my food and destroyed my aprtment and stole my stuff and went through my things. i don’t know why i bothered locking with unlocking my door, it was open. and the other door was broken at the jam.
and my things. my things. my things littered my hardwood floors like autumn leaves in the northeast – colorful and haphazard.
i couldn’t catch my breath long enough to truly take stock. i think my cds are gone – world music and country – councsious hip hop and alternative rock – no one but me would wan ti and yet i htink it was taken. my hand me down bed was only a metal frame…gone with the top mattress- but the box spring is splayed out like a stubborn child in target- haphazard on the floor.
i shold be greatful – my huge batik – my art on the walls are in tact. and my pictures, though scattered, seem to be ok. waht a liar it makes me…i said that was what i cared about and still i wept at the mess on my floor. every drawer upturned, closets emptied.
i’m glad my groceries fed someone hungry – glad they were able to cook on my gas stove. but how the anger swells inside of me and forms a pierceing pain in my head when i contemplate why they had to destroy it…pull the back off of picture frames to look inside…checking for money i guess.
and maybe tomorrow or in a week when i go back the shock has ebbed i will see that mess is mess and should not be confused with loss…but for now, mess is loss and i feel empty as i wonder what direction to wander to next.
9/20/05 upon seeing my apartment on canal street
Tags: katrina
i’m at the lsu library for a quick moment to reflect, contact folks and stop sneezing. today we ventured to the homemade shelter for pets. not my idea of a good time but one of my new friends has been really awesome and wanted to try this out…bad idea of the allergy persuasion.
i ended up sneezing and snotting all over the place. not to mention cleaning up dog crap in the stifling heat is not my idea of rendering aid. i can kind of wrap my mind around it when i think about the guy i saw on oprah who was clinging to his dog and wouldn’t get on teh bus to evacuate because they were making him leave him. on the surface i don’t understand that connection with something four legged and furry…but when i though of that dog being the ONLY thing that man had left, thinking about it as part of his childhood (which it was) i can understand why people want to reunite with their pets…and maybe in some small way it makes their lives better…some kid’s day more normal. or maybe that is what i say to myself so i don’t feel like i wasted a day that could have been used shlupping ice and food under the blazing sun like i did yesterday and the day before.
i must admit i am tired in a way i was not anticipating. i’m also annoyed that there seems to be so little in the way of organization. at the same time i am amazed at the human capacity to give of themselves. that is reassuring where other things are not.
it feels like i should have more interesting things to say but for now i don’t. my plans for post-baton rouge are up in the air…i had plans but they seem to be shifting without me…i’ll keep you posted as they solidify. part of it hinges on how long i can keep this up. right now i’m a volunteer – in three weeks i’m elegible to actually work, i’m not sure i have that much umph left in me. i guess i’ll see in the coming weeks.
thanks for all of your prayers…
so two days here…and i’m tired beyon tired. all i can do is work and then sleep. heat and more heat… water and then peeing more water more peeing. and i’m so glad to be useful and i’m so glad to be moving but my oh my how tired am i. today we were out in the sun nonstop fromn 11- 4:15 95+ degree weather and lugging 20lb bags of ice and multiple liters of water and all sorts of sundry items. i’d love to wax poetic but i’m pushed for time…there are no computers set up for personal use.
i hope to share something more significant later. just know that i was within 10 miles of my house but didn’t get to go in. maybe soon…maybe soon. much love.
it is so easy to do…to get caught up in semantics. i’ve had whole arguments with people about wording or phrasing… heck, even pronounciation. but ultimately it is time spent arguing AROUND the point and not actually debating said point.
example…
right now everyone has their panies in a bunch over the use of the term refugee. from everythign i know from my classes, a refugee is actually a displaced person who has crossed international borders. that becomes important because they are then subject to new laws and that COULD invite a whole host of issues and very little support without other countries keeping an eye out.
technically, i and my fellow evacuees are IDPs (internally displaced people)…but frankly, though i know the difference, i’m tired of hearing people chant, “they pay taxes, they aren’t refugees”.
maybe i missed the memo that made the term refugee an insult…i’ll think on it some more and see if i hear some hidden jab that i’ve missed ’til now…but when i think of evacuees being called refugees i think it is actually a poorer reflection of our country and government than the displaced. after all – we love to take pictures of starving children and hysterical people in other countries, send it out across tv and send our spare change in to do our part…but now we are those people and the rest of the world is watching and sending us their change.
in either scenario being displaced sucks beyond any words i have (think of no place to go back to, loss of people, feelings of saftey and stuff…)but when folks talk about rawandan refugees it isn’t a condemnation of them…it is a comdenation of what they are forced to flee from.
my point is that calling people refugees or IDPs or disgruntled campers isn’t what’s important, getting the message across is.
but that is the big question – what is the message?
is it what kanye west asserts, that w doesn’t care about black people. or as someone on DL’s show suggested, that w doesn’t care about poor people? is it that simple or does it get simpler…what it just a matter of an unqualified man being put in an important position (micheal brown) or shortcomings on the local level. finger pointing could go in the direction of poor education, unstable infrastructure, passing the buck where the levees are concerend or just plain poverty…
the point is that naming the disaster or its unfortuante “players” doesn’t change what’s important. calling them refugees or campers doesn’t matter, getting them help and making sure this, or something like this, doesn’t happen again is.
don’t fuss…for those of you who didn’t hear from me directly…i just found out my flight info this evening. it wasn’t a slight, just a slipping away of time.
i decided that i need to DO something. so rather than lament this horrible event and cry over all the suffering i decided that i, unlike most people, have the luxury of time and circumstance on my hands. i intend to use it. so tomorrow bright and early i head off into the sunny arms of florida. i’ll do a few days training in orlando and then i’m off to some unknown destination. it’s like peace corps all over again except with a shorter application time. this time i got cleared in a day and a half!
i’ll try to keep up the blogging but i have no idea what kind of circumstances i’ll be in. i could be in a shelter or a hotel room or anything. not to mention, if i’m closer to the surrounding area i’m not sure if my phone will work in terms of people calling in…but go ahead and try it. text messages usually work either way and i’m sure i’ll be able to get my hands on some internet at some point.
for all of your support, love and patience in dealing with me…all i can say is thank you – i couldn’t have managed this without you!
or if it is cement it isn’t quite dry yet. late this morning i got a phone call from crisis corps and had an impromptu interview. it was strange to be on the answering side of the questions after so long as a recruiter. it went well enough until she asked if i have had a major life change or traumatic expereince in the last three months.
i giggled.
how could i not giggle. the irony of katrina revisited. at any rate, we chatted about that and coping with difficult situations and she e-mailed a “trauma” form for me to fill out. dutiful as i am i completed it and shot it back.
then this evening around 6 or so i got another call from PC. poor guy was eating dinner and trying to process me through. it appears all my references like me well enough to send me out to toxic water or the far reaches of arkansas to help my fellow evacuees…so it’s a go. tomorrow i’ll fill out the hsr (health status review form) – more formality than anything else i think…and then i’ll make flight arrangements and by sometime sunday i’ll be on a plane to florida. after that i don’t konw.
i’m excited and slightly nervous – yet another chapter to my life…unplanned as the good ones tend to be.
anyone know of a good book i should take with me…preferably nothing tear worthy?
Google maps is amazing. just for fun…or horror depending on your frame of mind…type an address into it, any address…say…mine…if you know it, and then click the katrina button…ummm yeah…
on an upside…the water doesn’t look that high. maybe i managed to stay dry, and the windows in tact. at the very least, the roof is in place. that’s good right?
Tags: katrina
in fact, this is the most i’ve written in a couple of years. it seems odd to me to be so far removed from what so moved me in another phase of my life. in college i was known for my words – poetry – articles – whatever was on my mind. i rarely went anywhere without a pen and when i failed to produce paper it wasn’t uncommon for me to write out my latest poetic musings on the top of a to-go container.
i miss those days.
it seems the longer i go without writing the more my writing “muscles” atrophy. all of a sudden the thud in my chest that used to spill out into some form – sappy poetry or ranting essay- gets harder and harder to define. it isn’t that i don’t feel it, only that i can’t describe it, can’t find the words to make someone else feel it too.
a part of me feels as if i’m riding this hurricane thing into the ground – like i should be writing about something else…about how my thoughts about the handling of the whole situation fluctuate between indignation and understanding – between what i know about how america treats the poor/marginalized and how difficult disaster management can be – between my distaste for the neglect of those in need and my beleif in personal responsibility.
i hope i can get hold of this thud in my chest…work out the kinks in my pen and attack my thoughts in an organized way, or a poetic way, or any way other than simply writing about the thud in my chest that i can’t seem to write about.
Tags: katrina
There is an unwritten understanding in new orleans. You don’t evacuate. Don’t get me wrong – no one will tell you not to. In fact, you may be encouraged to. But from old heads who’ve been around hurricanes for more than a season or two – packing up every time a storm passes our general direction would be the equivalent of packing up every time a breeze shifted or every time a new orleans summer day hits 90 degrees.
New orleans is a hunker down kind of city. At the grocery store on the Saturday before katie hit, there wasn’t even an air of panic – southern hospitality prevailed. People helped me find water and figure out how many cans of baked beans I’d need to last a hurricane brushing up against the big easy.
After making myself evacuate for ivan last year and dennis this year I figured I’d graduated to the ranks of the hunker down crew. So water, beans, and potted meat in hand, I smiled at the beautiful prestorm-saturday and prepared myself for katie’s visit.
Saturday tv was belabored by news on katie – her size, her speed, her projected path. Even so – I languished. Even so I waited it out. By Sunday morning – early Sunday morning – something in the city changed. The meteorologists, who generally look as collected as car salesmen, had an air of desperation in their forecasts. I took their predictions of dear katie as, “if I weren’t chained to this damn job I’d be on the next thing out of here.”
So, as last minute as I could be and still manage to flee – I fled. Hunkered down in traffic instead of my apartment, listening to talk radio as the information got more and more dire. One hundred and seventy five miles an hour. That is a huge category five storm – bigger than anyone living in new orleans has seen. A storm that size would put even camille and betsy to shame. As it was, even a slightly slimmer katrina did the job just the same.
All that is nothing new – everyone has been watching at least something on the storm – even if you don’t want to. It was pretty hard to escape in the early days of her passing. As talk slows and shifts to other things I am left with my thoughts for my future.
What will I do?
I had a very orderly two-year plan in place before katrina knocked on my door. I was going to finish this semester and then do a year in new zealand and be done with this school thing.
Now I’m rethinking school for the semester. I’m not sure I could concentrate – on the other hand I’m a little scared to go to a foreign country completely out of the rhythm of school for a full semester. This morning I was on the brink of making plans to move to san diego and take at least two of three classes I need there. I checked on housing, a non-profit to volunteer with.
Then I discovered that peace corps is sending in crisis corps to work with fema and everything shifted. Now all of a sudden I am torn. Do I help or do I finish school so I can help. It seems ridiculous to not help now so that I can help later…at the same time…I am torn.
I have to decide soon…tonight…I’ll keep you posted.
Tags: katrina
I am embroiled in a conflict of my own. Selfish absorption and sincere empathy. I’m on the brink of losing my sanity. Not in any real terms…I haven’t been trapped in the superdome. I haven’t felt the ripple of waves created by a floating body washing by me. I know I am lucky – people tell me daily just how lucky I am. Trust me, I know that I am blessed to have the love of so many people who have come to my aid and supported me in ways I couldn’t have imagined for myself. To you all…I say a thank you that will never be adequate.
At the same time…I’m hurting in a way that I can’t quite put into words when asked how I’m doing.
Despite what answer I may give you, I’m not fine.
Every time I see a shot of my street – canal street – with boats floating by as if it was part of the bayou, my face scrunches up, my chest contracts and I fight to hold back sobs.
Why?
Like I said, I’m part of the lucky crew – those of us that got out with no horror story leaning on our backs. I drove out before the first rains hit the ground…but I feel it. It is how I imagine coming home to your home engulfed in flames must feel like. I don’t know if it is the same – but I imagine it to be close. A great sense of loss and helplessness. A wondering of what might have been different if…
When I was in africa I was in a car accident and my head went through the back window. I have a small scar on the side of my face and even when it was larger, rougher, uglier and more raw – people told me how lucky I was…every day. Every day I was reminded that I didn’t die, I wasn’t blind, I wasn’t completely incapacitated.
All I could do was agree that I was lucky. Blessed. Who could argue otherwise knowing that we found a hospital in mozambique and later Peace Corps flew me back to South Africa?
But I was sick as a dog from my medicine and I was having migraine strength headaches and dizzy spells and bouts of forgetfulness. I was in constant pain and wasn’t sleeping.
Lucky me.
For me, this hurricane is the same thing. I am blessed beyond words for the things I won’t have to experience. At the same time, I look at pictures of the car in africa that brought me so close to death/saved my life (someplace in my canal street apartment) and it catches my breath in my chest the same way that looking at canal street does. So close to destruction. So close to not being “lucky”…it hurts me.
I don’t know what the next few months will mean for me. I joke that it will be easier to pack…but it hurts me to know what packing I won’t be doing…30 years of my life, 15 countries of travel, a lifetime of friendship memorabilia, is probably washed away in great big rain and a raging levee. Even on the third floor I don’t know what’s left…
And even as I write this I am torn by how self-absorbed this is. Me, typing this from the comfort of my family’s house. Me, with only 30 years of life washed away – not a grandmother’s 75 years, not my friends’ actual home and marriage memorabilia.
I’m lucky…I’m lucky…damn I’m lucky.
It’s just a little hard for me to focus on that right now.
Tags: katrina
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