Tomorrow we (hopefully) move into our 3rd 'home' in the past two and a half weeks, and it will be our permanent residence.
I chose to come to New Orleans for a variety of reasons. One being that the extension of AmeriCorps down here is tremendous, and the amount of good-hearted people both in the local communities, and within the non-profit spectrum, is unlike any other city in the country. The food is awesome. The winters are warm. There are lizards on porches, and alligators swimming the bayou. I can find live, soulful music on every street corner, every night of the week. The streetcar is old & rickety, and sometimes it breaks down- but nobody minds. Parties and festivals dapple the calendars all months of the year, and living in a pink or purple or neon green house is the norm. In reality, the 'norm' doesn't exist in New Orleans. I saw a guy on a bicycle carrying a weedwacker this morning, his bike adorned with large black insect wings. New Orleans is accepting of anything, and ignites on the spark of celebrating life... Nowhere else in the country has the odd, awkward, happy-go-lucky, live life to the fullest attitude of New Orleans. They just don't.
But New Orleans isn't strictly a city of gigantic proportions, of parties and mardi gras beads, of buckets of fried chicken and Bar-B-Que. There is heartbreak. The city is swollen with violence, guns, drugs, alcohol, and sex. The city is poor, the education system is poor, the state is poor. People are fighting to survive. The city, unlike any other in the country, is truly checkered with the 'good' and the 'bad' neighborhoods. Mansions are one block from boarded up homes, with shingles torn, and many children running from squeaky-hinged front doors.
In August of 2005, Hurricane Katrina settled her waters on the city, the levees broke, and eventually the water receeded. However, the weight of such a disaster is not so easily lifted.
I knew all this before even applying for the position with St. Bernard Project in New Orleans. My time here in the past, has not resolved solely on the tourist-driven places such as Bourbon St. and Magazine St. I'd visited the 9th ward, i'd installed green materials in blighted homes, and I'd spent much time talking with locals who lost everything. The city in many ways is torn, but it certainly is not broken. This city is a fighter - they'll get through it. They'll make it.
Upon arriving at my 'new' apartment in the 7th ward, only 16 days ago, I found myself deep in the pockets of New Orleans troubles. The car parked in front of our apartment had a broken window. Mim's grocery, catty-corner to our apartment, was boarded up and swabbed with grafitti. As soon as I parked my SUV at the new apartment, I was greeted by a little girl with thick black braides, riding her rusty pink bicycle. Sweat beaded in the little sunken depressions under her eyes, a sign of a night of restless sleep. I smiled as I jumped out of the car. "How much ya bike cost?" she asked. "I dunno, not much" I shrugged. Her little brother came running over, and I greeted him with a high five. "Gotta dollah?" he asked. "Sorry," I replied. My heart ached, as these kids knew the importance & need for money. And little Myell told me of her hopes of visiting her grandma someday in Houston. I'm not sure if it will ever happen for her.
The area of the 7th ward we were residing in, was filled with families. Children were on the streets, but so were the cops, and so were the gangs. It's not uncommon for gunshots to be heard, police to be called, neighbors to try stealing our water, or for there to be clamoring on the streets. Upon talking to locals, police, and coworkers, (and seeing/hearing a few things ourselves), we decided we needed to move. Perhaps we would have no issues in the 10-months of residence, but we wanted to live somewhere we could be comfortable, and feel safe. We struggled with the decision, as we felt somewhat hypocritical about our position as 'affordable housing' advocates, to move away from a downtrodden area. It came down to feeling safe, and having somewhere we felt at peace after our stressful days at work, to be able to best serve the community best.
After the linkage of several 'I know this guy-who knows him-who knows him', we found a wonderful landlord and a beautiful spanish house to live in. With a 4th roommate, we will be moving into the place without paying much more than the first apartment. However, the house is actually our landlord's home, and so he's currently moving out of the place. We've been staying in his 1-BR 'in-law' apartment in the back of the house. It's nice, but its small, and we're now at day 12 in the little apartment. Our landlord thought we would be in by day 4- that alone has kept me from doing laundry because there is a washer/dryer in the house, and every day I have hopes that we'll be moving in. Our landlord is suuuuuper nice, but false hope for 8 days has been tough on me. He said yesterday that "tomorrow you'll move in. i'm certain.'' ...its 11pm now... I'll again pray that tomorrow will be the day.
My situation in a tiny apartment has been much less demanding than the experiences of my friend, Sam. Sam is going to be our 4th roommate, when we move in. He was living less than 2 blocks from us (at our old place), up until Friday night when his Landlord and a tenant were arrested. His landlord had an 'open door policy' and assured Sam that he didn't need a key for the apartment - this was true up until the evening when Sam arrived to see the landlord gone, and the apartment locked. He quickly came to the realization that he truly needed to get out of that situation-now. Since then, Sam's been living basically under another SBP friend's dining room table for the past 2 nights, and now tonight will be spending yet another night there. For his sake alone, I want us to move into our 'home.'
In some ways, this housing experience may be the best way for all of us to better understand the families that we are trying to help - many of them are still in FEMA trailers, or are still living in small rooms at a grandparents' home, or are bouncing around every few months from old neighbors, to friends, to family homes. They haven't had a stable, safe place to live since the storm, now SIX years ago. They hold onto the hope of "maybe next month", "maybe next week", "maybe tomorrow"... it's been 6 years since they celebrated Christmas at home, or blew out birthday candles at their own kitchen table. Every homeowner I've met is a fighter. They've kept the hope. They come visit us at our sites, to see their home slowly resurrect to, at least in some capacity, what it used to be. They are beautiful people, and watching & helping volunteers work on their home, for me, is a beautiful thing.
The AmeriCorps position has been amazing. I've met incredible people - local & corporation donation contributors, volunteer fundraisers, homeowners aching to move home, volunteers with huge hearts, communities who are slowly mending after 6 years of separation. The people who I work with are amazing. Diverse. Passionate. FuN. There are fellow AmeriCorps members from Iowa, New Orleans, Ohio, New York, California, Idaho - we're black, white, asian, native american - we're gay, straight, bisexual - we're all dreamers, all adventure addicts, opportunity seekers. We all love New Orleans. We all want to help resurrect the city, to bring the community back together.
