Teenagers Help Victims of Hurricane Katrina
My trip to New Orleans in February 2008, with the National Relief Network was a life changing experience. When I first arrived in the Lower 9th Ward, I spent three hours uprooting what had once been a hardwood floor in a modest two story house. It was now a collection of mangled, rotting planks on a cement foundation. How could we possibly make a difference in this devastated, abandoned neighborhood? At that time I underestimated the determination of a small group of hard working individuals and the power of hope.
During the day my peers and I would work for ten hours tackling jobs such as removing foundation from a garage, taking out nails from a once furnished living room, or shoveling out two feet of thick mud from a patio. At night we would reconvene and discuss what we had experienced. In the beginning our mission appeared bleak. The first evening everyone's face wore an exhausted expression. The single house we were working on was like a fish in a sea of damaged, desolate houses that were begging for some love and repair. It was three years since Hurricane Katrina, but it looked as though she had just swept through yesterday. Houses were in ruin, furniture was thrown into backyards, lamp posts were bent on a sixty degree angle, and trees were lying on the ground. I wondered how people could just leave their homes and a lifetime of memories, but the sad truth stared me in the face; there was little here for them to come back to. The families had been forced to make the painful decision to start a new life somewhere else.
The first night I fell asleep frustrated with our progress. What could we accomplish in a mere five days? Despite my pessimistic attitude, I awoke the next morning determined to do everything I could to help, and gradually I found small signs of hope showing up in the wreckage. As we worked on tearing down an extremely damaged shed, I saw something white sticking out of the black mud. I picked it up and cleaned it off. It was a photo of two boys playing with toy trucks in a living room. I was overcome with a feeling of sadness, but also a renewed feeling of motivation. I was reminded once again that this wasn't just a structure to tear down; it was a part of somebody's home. Other helpers found things that remained from the once full life that had occupied the house: a cross still hanging on the kitchen wall, a towel draped over a hook in the bathroom, and a working radio that eerily played "What a Beautiful World". It was as if every time one of us became discouraged, we were reminded of the reason we were there: to make an impact, to turn a house back into a home.
Get Our Latest News for FREE
The progress we made over five days was incredible. Now when we met in the evening everyone's face mirrored excitement. We spoke of not being able to wait for tomorrow so we could continue our project. We applauded each other's hard work and fell asleep knowing we were making a difference. It was an amazing feeling!
Ray, the man whose house we were working on paid us a surprise visit. He was presently living in a FEMA trailer in Texas. He and his wife had cooked us an authentic Cajun meal as a thank you. As we hungrily ate the delicious jambalaya and barbequed chicken, he told us his family's story of survival and the many generous people that had reached out to them since August 2003. His voice shook as he said, "From the bottom of my heart, I thank each and every one of you. You have no idea the impact you are making on my family." That was when I knew that my original feelings of hopelessness had been wrong. Although our work had been discouragingly slow and tedious at times, thanks to our efforts, and the help of thousands of individuals and organizations before us, we were providing a light at the end of the tunnel.
