Where to Now?

In response to one of my recent blogs, someone wrote it was time to let go of New Orleans, not rebuild, and move on. This story is my sister's recollection of the aftermath of the Hurricane Katrina and the levee breaking. It is also the story of her present decision to move on with her life by returning to Mississippi to live.

When I left my home of 30 years on Sunday, August 28, 2005, to wait out Hurricane Katrina at a friend's house, I had no idea that I would still be trying to make major house decisions exactly seven months later from my brother's house in Salt Lake City, Utah. I think back to the days following the hurricane, to the extensive flooding caused by at least two levee breaks that destroyed the contents of my house. I watched flood water completely fill the street in front of my friend's house. It looked like I was taking pictures from the middle of a lake surrounded by huge, beautiful Oak trees and large elegant houses. I was supposed to be touring the Greecian Isles and Turkey. I asked myself, how can I be taking pictures of boat loads of people on the way to rescue people trapped by flood waters and those returning with people and pets that had been rescued? Why were there so many helicopters buzzing overhead? How can I still be in New Orleans???????

To add to this drama -- I had no way to let my loved ones know that while I was trapped in the city, I was physically fine. We had sufficient food and water, but communication was apparently out of the question. The house phone was not working, my cell phone was not working. Seven days later I hit upon an idea -- Maybe, one of the members of the Coast Guard would allow me use his cell phone to contact my brother and he could let other loved ones know that while danger was all around me, my life was not in immediate danger. The problem: I had speed dialing at my house. I didn't know the telephone numbers by heart. Wait. The numbers were stored in my cell phone directory. I remembered that I had also packed the cell phone charger to be used in a car. Since my car was safely tucked away in my friend's partially flooded garage, if I could charge my cell phone from my car battery, I could get the telephone numbers of my loved ones. It worked.

My only contact with the outside world was the small battery-operated radio that I had brought along to listen to music on vacation. There was no way I could have imagined that what I was experiencing was an "international cause celebre" I could not have imagined so many of my relatives and friends were doing everything possible to find out about me --- calling my telephone numbers and those of my friends, leaving messages on my flooded computer, glued to television sets listening for my name or a picture of me, searching the internet, calling the University from which I had retired, and going to shelters in the States of Louisiana and Mississippi.

On the eighth day we were told by the Coast Guard and FEMA that we had had to leave our "oasis" because it was too dangerous to stay any longer with the nearby violence increasing daily. We were taken by boat to a high rise bridge that was above water. On the way there I continued to take pictures of submerged houses, cars, schools, churches, businesses, street signs. Surely this was a nightmare from which I would soon emerge. The scene before me was too unreal to be real. The City of my birth, childhood and adulthood was gone. The City that I loved and enjoyed was substituted for water in every direction. We walked up a ramp to wait for a bus to take us to the Dutch Morial Convention Center for registration and to determine if we needed medical care. I looked below to see more scenes of devastation. I looked ahead to wind-beaten expressway signs that had once proudly pointed to various sections of the City. I looked back and wondered "how far have I come and how far must I go to find a home." Food and cold water awaited us provided by volunteers from areas that we knew not where.

The next step was a Greyhound bus ride around the Eastern section of the City to pick up more people like ourselves, those without livable homes. There were three dogs on the bus; one was a seeing eye dog. From the air conditioned bus, I took a picture of the Superdome with half a roof. I think I knew then that my City would never be the same, but I was still hoping. At the Convention Center, people walked aimlessly unless told to get into a particular line to provide information or to be seen by medical personnel. It was not chaotic. We all seemed to be sleepwalking.

A helicopter ride to Louis Armstrong International Airport was the next step on the journey. I had never been on a helicopter before. Of course there were no seats like would be seen on a regular airplane. There was an ill man on a stretcher and his wife. It was a short, smooth flight -- I would guess about 30 to 45 minutes

Almost 24 hours were spent at the airport, wondering where I was going and if I had any relatives I could call to pick me up. We were given EME meals that could be heated, snacks, and water. Not long after my arrival, I thought of something else. Maybe, I can convince one of the guards to let me charge my cell phone. I saw that the airport had power. That idea allowed me to let my brother know that I was away from the flood waters and if things worked out well, I would soon be on my way out of watery New Orleans. I tried to sleep a little while waiting for the next set of instructions concerning where we were going. We were given warm blankets. I saw many people in wheelchairs and walking canes, many dogs, and two parakeets. I didn't see any cats.

My group was herded onto a Delta aircraft. After the doors were closed, the pilot announced "This plane is going Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C.." Several people called out that they did not want to go Washington, D.C. First, some had never been on an airplane before, Second, they didn't Know anybody in that area, Third, they didn't want to leave New Orleans, not knowing when they would ever be able to come back. I began to wonder, what relatives do I have in the Washington, D.C. area? I had my first cup of hot coffee in over a week. It would have been a good flight if the man directly behind me had not been drinking hard liquor from a strawberry crème soda bottle. He insisted upon sitting forward while leaning on my hair. The Delta personnel tried to make everyone comfortable. Three dogs and one parakeet were on the plane.


I refused to accept the idea that my house had not withstood the hurricane. In fact, it was not the hurricane that destroyed the contents of my house, it was the breaks in the levee. I could not believe that it was possible to leave my house one morning and six months later come back to find out that everything is gone and destroyed. Not one picture remained , not one of my husband's books that he had so thoroughly researched. our family history on the computer, beautiful art works from many parts of the world, the furniture that I had recently purchased, the wonderful letters from former students and when I retired from my University position after 42 years.

I thought about people like the saleslady from whom I had purchased my last pair of gold earrings that Saturday, the hairdresser, dressmaker, and countless others who I may never see again. They, and many of my friends, are in countless places across the United States. In all likelihood we will never be reunited. The point: we must move on if we are going to live at all.


Be sure to check out Rodney , chapter 6, and visit the bookstore and purchase those titles of interest to you.