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Life Interrupted “This is the way the world should be; people helping people, strangers becoming friends.” We are all familiar with Hurricane Katrina, the Category 5 storm that slammed into the Gulf Coast region in August 2005, leaving unprecedented destruction in its wake. Almost a year later, images of damage and debris, stories of tragedy and triumph continue to pervade the evening newscasts. Those of us who have not witnessed the destruction firsthand, however, seem to live in another world, far from the reality of the Gulf Coast devastation. We turn the TV off, sleep in our beds, wear our clothing, cook our meals, go to work and assume our loved ones are going about their day in a similar fashion, uninterrupted. During Kent State University’s 2006 spring break, more than 400 volunteers chose interruption over apathy when they traveled to Mississippi to participate in the rebuilding effort. The volunteers, ranging in age from 13 to 74, included Kent State students, faculty and staff, community members and a contingent of University of Akron students, faculty and staff. Some signed up for the trip because they wanted to offer construction skills gained from summer jobs or previous work with Habitat for Humanity. Others had never picked up a hammer before but felt compelled to do something. No one knew exactly what to expect, but everyone understood the experience would be life-changing. 7,000: Number of people estimated to have lived in Pass Christian, Miss., prior to the hurricane; since the storm, 5,000 people have left the city. Unshakable faith and a will to fight — these are perhaps the two defining characteristics of Katrina survivors. Billy Wright recalls swimming out the window of his home, pulling his neighbor to safety. The two rode out the storm on Wright’s roof. Camille Foret, an 84-year-old former Golden Glove boxing champion, uses his own money to rebuild the four businesses he lost to the storm. Mark Noller thinks about the moments before he was knocked unconscious and pinned underwater; his wife, Darlene, fights back tears as she tells of freeing her husband and swimming to the safety of a nearby tree. Rev. Peggy Gibson sees a new garden where one used to be. She points to her yard beyond the FEMA trailer: “I’m a woman with a vision,” she says. “Over here will be a gazebo.” Bill Stallworth, Biloxi Ward 2 council member, coordinates homegrown relief services for his constituents. He worries that a protracted battle with insurance companies will be the next blow to the residents of east Biloxi. Fr. Dong Phan, a Vietnamese immigrant and Catholic priest who survived the fall of Saigon and a harrowing journey to the United States, offers the mantra “Faith first, food second” to his parishioners. For the few young children left in Pass Christian, normal developmental milestones are harder to achieve in the wake of Katrina. A daycare provider, grateful to Kent State volunteers for building bathroom facilities at the tent city, relates the difficulties of toilet training children in portable toilets.
In east Biloxi, veteran elementary school teacher Mrs. Broussard has noticed a change in her young students; she says since the storm they are more emotional and cry often. The residents of Pass Christian and Biloxi know finding one’s way can be difficult in a place with few landmarks, where normalcy is signified by something as simple as a new street sign or the smile of a stranger. 405 volunteers worked on projects ranging from roofing toinstalling dry wall in Pass Christian and Biloxi, Miss. We first glimpsed Katrina’s handiwork along Highway 90. You know you are walking in Katrina’s path when you see the trees — bleached, blanched, bending; some pulled down by the weight of water, some recoiling from the nearby Gulf of Mexico. Their branches, twisted and colorless, continue to cradle Mardi Gras beads, knotted bed sheets and children’s toys. The trees are but one example of how an event ordered by nature can produce wholly unnatural results. The caravan of buses pulled into The Village, a tent city maintained by AmeriCorps and formerly occupied by the remaining residents of Pass Christian. Army-style 15-person tents stretched out in rows, flanked by portable toilets and a moveable wash station with several sinks and six showers. After disembarking, we began almost immediately on our first project, cleaning up the park across the street from camp. Residents told us the sandy soil beneath our feet was a result of the hurricane, and that the park had been the centerpiece and pride of the town; azaleas once lined the sidewalks, and a thick carpet of green grass surrounded a quaint gazebo, at which weddings frequently took place. It was hard to imagine these things as we were pulling glass, straw and seashells out of the gritty sand. Roof shingles, a man’s wedding band, a rusty chain — the ground reluctantly let go of its possessions as we raked, moved soil and pulled weeds. Throughout the week, volunteers worked in teams to tackle projects in Pass Christian and east Biloxi, including roofing, dry-walling, painting, tutoring school children and lending a hand at God’s Katrina Kitchen, a large tent under which thousands of meals have been served by volunteer groups since the hurricane. Grateful homeowners fed us and told us extraordinary stories of survival and struggle. From survivors lucky enough to have received housing, we learned of the perils of life in a 300-square-foot FEMA trailer. Most of all, we marveled at how those who were left with so little could give so much to one another. For many of us, leaving was bittersweet, with the work of rebuilding left undone. Thank you to the volunteers for your hard work; to Dr. Gary Padak, Dr. George Garrison and Ron Perkins for conceiving of the opportunity; and to the residents of the Gulf Coast, who inspire us all. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
