I was excited to return to the gulf coast on this trip. The last time I had been here was August 2006, almost exactly 1 year after Katrina. Now, I was returning nearly 4 years after that and 5 since Katrina hit and levees broke. On my hurricane relief trip, I was touched by stories of survival and determination to rebuild. For the entire ride into New Orleans from the airport then along the coast to Biloxi, I was silenced by the sights. A boat in the median of the freeway miles from the closest water. An entire neighborhood with tarp covered roofs marked with x on their doors. There were people’s belongings (clothes, toys, books, you name it we saw it) scattered all over the ground. I thought things must be different now. It, after all, had been 4 years since I walked these streets. Progress must have been made.
On this trip, when we began to drive into New Orleans, I was happy to see that the signs of destruction weren’t so prevalent. I didn’t see boats in medians or many tarped roofs. There were a few “x”es on buildings and boarded windows. But, all in all, it seemed to the naked eye that New Orleans had patched it wounds and began to rebuild. We got to our hotel in the French quarter and everything looked normal. But, then again, the French Quarter wasn’t hit that hard by the disaster. It all still seemed a little bit too good to be true. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to see the rebirth of the city. I was happy to see cut grasses and new homes, but I could tell that the cuts were still deep and all had not been healed.
The next day, Matt & I rented a scooter and headed over to the lower Ninth Ward to see if all was well again. On the ride over, with the wind in my face, I hoped that we were taking the ride for nothing, that it was going to look just like any other neighborhood in any other town. I was hoping there were no stories to be told, except those of hope and rebirth. As we scooted our way into the neighborhood, I was again silenced by the sights. For every 1 new house, there were 20 other ones. Some of the others had been gutted and left with just the bones. Some hadn’t been touched since the rescue workers marked the x on it the day the water receded. For the most of the homes, that date was 9-22 which meant that those houses sat under water for nearly a month. Other homes didn’t even exist anymore, they were foundations and empty lots over grown by weeds. It broke my heart. Then we passed a house, one that hadn’t been touched in years. It had boarded up windows, an overgrown yard, a torn apart roof, and an x on the front door. Next to the x, I saw a graffiti mark - a tree trunk and roots with the words “our roots run deep here.” And, at that moment, I believed more than ever that this statement was the truth. Because, despite the majority of houses that lay in shambles, there were rebuilt homes. There were houses that we saw people working on, we saw people rebuilding. In the houses that had been rebuilt, there were often men sitting on the porches. Each one waved and smiled at us. These were the people who had been through so much and came back. They didn’t give up. They rebuilt. Riding around the street, was to me, one of the most beautiful things I did on this trip to New Orleans. Sure, it was heart breaking. But, more than anything, it was inspiring and uplifting. The spirit of NOLA filled the humid air on that afternoon drive. The hope for a new start was ever present. These people had roots here, and despite the fact that their homes and lives had been uprooted, they returned. They overcame. They replanted and they would not surrender.
I can’t wait to return to this city. There’s something so special about it to me. Something too beautiful to describe with words. I hope the future allows another opportunity for me to help those who wish to rebuild. There is nothing more beautiful than people helping people build a new future.
Their roots run deep. And I have been blessed to see sprouts of hope scatter this beautiful city.
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