Katrina Update

After I returned from Louisiana the first time, right after Hurricane Rita, I was afflicted... infected... unable to stop...the intent to help and heal was very strong. I began studying Louisiana native peoples' history, exploring their environmental issues, & meeting many people by phone and email who were also involved. This passion manifested a presence on the radio, TV, in the newpaper in Ashland, & TruthOut...

Realizing how easy it is to ask for help for others led to the collection of a stash of cash to bring down on my return trip in November. The people in my path were generous, appreciating that someone they know personally would provide the integrity they desired for donations. Many folks expressed regret about having donated to the Red Cross (and wondering where their money went). Others I spoke to had actually been down there and worked with the Red Cross, and though deeply touched, expressed envy about working in the grass roots path. A donation of ten Pacific Domes from Shelters for Freedom (www.sheltersforfreedom.org) was an exciting possibility of safe places for people to stay while re-creating their lives.

My red eye plane trip into New Orleans was seamless. Interestingly many people assumed I was visiting family for Thanksgiving. They'd already forgotten what had happened: The power of media distractibility.

Flying into NOLA showed me how many roofs had been strewn away -- the blue roofs, the tarps FEMA spent $2500 each on, were aplenty, shining brightly in the morning sun. The NOLA-bound plane-mates were aware of what was in store, some people returning from exile with family since August, anticipating what they would find...

I rented The Vibe... and drove through NOLA and Metairie, and saw the same piles of household items and house-parts lining the streets, less tree limbs, clearly much has been done, but still, the eerie abandon remains. More cars and more people around this time.

The rural routes were enticing -- the southern bayou has a charm that has won my heart. Its fall, there is no longer sweltering heat and humidity. The evenings are chilly, but the skies are star filled the first nights I am there. That cajun cadence tickles my west coast soul. This is a unique pocket of culture: white, black, red, and yellow...

Canadian volunteer Elaine and I got directions from the Isle du Jea Charles Chief Albert Naquin to get to Pointe au Chiene. Coming from Golden Meadow, we drove along LA 24 through a stand of trees decorated by spanish moss, which has been used traditionally for roofing, mattresses, and those lovely dolls that are made with great difficulty. Palmettos are sprinkled between the trees, these low lying palms were also used for roofing and are the materials used for regional baskets.

We drove through Grand Bois, a community that has a 70 acre oil field waste pit, with poisonous chemicals dumped 300 feet from the homes of indian community members... law suits against this have been unsuccessful to date.

As we approached the Bayou, a bridge is ahead, one of many that provide access across the many waterways. To the left is LA 55, we turn and drive along the sparkly waters, the sun is gentle, and the homes along this roadway seem unaffected. I recognize landmarks, from my previous visits down the bayou to these comunities.

We took a little inadvertent tour of the charming town of Montegut, a sweet Louisiana bayou town, boats on the water illustrate the lifestyle of the residents -- shrimping boats with graceful nets that glisten in the sun. There are tidy southern homes along the way. Business as usual here, no significant damage.

We head on LA 665, to Albert's house and find a jovial 60 year old Isle du Jean Charles chief and his wife Patsy, welcoming and ready to engage our help.

There was a truckload of donated Seventh Generation paper products, which had been delivered to Albert's large metal barn. He had meticulously separated various products into piles to be equitably distributed to the 3 Biloxi Chitimacha bands, the Pointe au Chiene tribe and the United Houma Nation (which had not in kind been sharing its donations with these other tribes)... The truck and a large trailer was loaded up, and we headed off to the Island...

Driving along this bayou, I recognized homes. The bayou along 665 was on the left side of the road, and the houses had been seriously flooded by the surge waves of Rita. Terrebone Parrish on the right hand side of the road, and Lafourche Parrish on the left. FEMA had initially decided Lafourche hadn't sustained significant damage, so those people wouldn't receive aid. I had been there right after Rita, visited some of those Lafourche homes on LA 665, and yeah, the flood waters had been at least 5 feet high inside the houses, on BOTH sides of the road. Apparently, appeals resulted in reversing that inequity.

This time, the mud was dried out, but alot of houses were still devastated. Ok, people are living in them, and the piles of stuff along the road are gone now. But clearly, little has been done in most places, remnants of furnishings still in the yards, blue tarps, overturned trees...

The road to the Island is a bit further down, to the right, we turn. Island Road is a long 2 lane road, 2 feet above sea level, recently raised to that height, lined with white rocks to hold the sides up. There's salt water marshes on both sides now, used to be clear water. It leads to "the island."

The loss of land is so profound. Not only land, but animals, herbal medicine plants, trees, and gardens are gone now. Apparently, the oil industry hasn't had any limitations, and there are signs everywhere warning "Do Not Dredge," because pipelines are in the bayous. While nature created north south bayous with natural drainage, the oil companies created canals that are east west, big river sized canals, bridges go over them, and word has it that these caused some of the flood waters' force, among other causes.

We begin to observe what makes you sure you are in a third world country. Right away, the houses are shabby, flimsy, overpopulated, clearly nothing for Better Homes and Gardens. Dogs everywhere, well cared for and friendly though barking. The smiling faces belie the hard life of this resilient group of people, who have lived, thrived and survived on this island for generations and generations.

We went door to door delivering paper towels, tissues, diapers... people were grateful, funny, talkative... Even though I had only been there briefly on my first trip to Louisiana, I recognize that there is something very endearing about this community, the gentle souls, the loving women, the elders, the scenery...

Most of the huge piles of storm garbage are gone here too, the belongings that were destroyed by the 8 to 10 foot flood waters. But damage is everywhere, and it's obvious little has been repaired. People are making due without the basics. There are signs here and there that the Mennonites have been removing walls and doing small jobs to make a dent in an immeasurably overwhelming amount of damage. (Mennonite dedication has touched this community's heart).

A few families had made some progress, but these houses are so rudimentary. One woman, Mary, lives across the bayou that runs along the right side of Island Road. Her one room dwelling is home for herself and a couple of grandkids she's raising, 2 goofy dogs bark and then wag and toss their toys around. She's tidied the yard, but her front door is a blue tarp and the roof is like a sukkah. You walk on boards over mud to get to that doorway. She's smiling and gracious, accepting the paper products. Her place is clean after all, and this will help.

Delivering things is a good cover for a doctor out to data collect. I get to check in on people, how's it going, what do you need. Travelling with the tribal chief makes a big difference. They see me with him & its a clear credential. He is the unopposed chief, he grew up on the Island, took over as chief when his brother became too ill. His family have been chiefs of this community for generations.

Limping up and down the road, Albert had a total knee replacement just before Katrina, and he hasn't really been able to do proper physical therapy (he asked me to bring acupuncture needles). There's a delight on his face as he brings the paper goods to his people, obvious caring, strong close familiarity (most of the people are related by blood or marriage).

He knows who needs what, who's home and who isn't. There are some homes up for sale since the storms. Some families are crammed together, because the houses that were not raised on stilts were harshly effected by the storm. People take care of their own.

Next day again is a delivery day. We drop off the paper goods for the Grand Caillou/Dulac band of the Biloxi Chitimacha in Chauvin at Cheryl and Ronald Courteaux's house (tribal council members) and they too have sustained water damage and loss of household basics. But their living room is a distribution depot. We take off for "the city" of Houma to meet Conscious Alliance, a group that collects donations from sports and music celebs... their task today is bringing Thanksgiving food to the indians.

There is a gathering of the tribal leaders. All 4 bands have sent helpers. Up drives the big yellow rental truck and out pops Conscious Alliance Ivan, a stocky well tattoo'd gentle faced man, and Justin, a sweet young anarchist. There's crates of fresh veggies and fruits.

The cast of characters includes Chucky Verdin, chief of Pointe au Chiene with Donald and Teresa Dardar, his assistants, Marlene Forret, Grand Caillou/Dulac chief, Albert & Patsy, Naomi Archer from Four Directions Relief who choreographed this connection, Chris Brunet, a wheelchair bound Island man (who lives with his uncle the priest Father Roc) who manifests the Island distribution center, Ernie Dardar is Albert's brother in law & runs the pow-wows, and a few others ... Randy Verdin, the Bayou Lafourche chief was away in Baton Rouge at a meeting.

The scene in the grocery store parking lot was incredible. My photos fail to reflect the beauty of what was happening. The kindness and sharing and consideration was palpable. Every one was concerned about the others. Remembering Randy's band's needs was on everyone's minds. There was attention to leaving enough to send turkeys to UHN in Raceland (again, not a reciprocated choice).

I hopped in the truck with Albert and Patsy and off we went again to the Island with Chris (born with cerebral palsy) in tow. The challenge was breaking down the stash of produce into 70+ portions along with a turkey for each family.

It was getting cold, and the sun was going down, reflecting beautiful colors on the water and the marshes. Then we boogeyed, Chris directing us, Patsy driving, gimpy Albert and I running up and down the bridges, over the bayou, up and down houses on pilings, hugs and laughter, delivering beautiful buckets of veggies, potatos, yams, carrots, bananas, and apples. And turkeys.

Many people told me they did not have a stove to cook their turkey, but they would go to a neighbor's or a cousin's to cook ...

Well after dark, they were all delivered. Always the doctor --people had shared much with me about how things are going, their health, their emotions, their needs. Lots of hugs -- this is a hugging people, men and women both. Everyone is family.

The next day we brought a group of volunteers from North Carolina to the Island, accesorized with gloves and black garbage bags & worked our way along Island Road picking up garbage --some from careless littering, but much of it from the flood. Chief Albert likes to do this now and then and this time it was profound to find the stashes of scattered debris and gently take it away.

People were popping out ouf their homes. Any time something happens on the road, first 2 then 6 then 10 people circle up to get in on the action, family all, and this scene was amusing. A bunch of white folks picking up garbage on a holiday. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? You should be eating your dinner!!! " Over and over.

I ate my way down the road. Everyone wanted to feed me! And I was taking the time while the kids did the garbage gig, Dr Robin's data collection -- housing needs, appliances, heaters, blankets, overcrowding...

I spoke with one 28 year old woman with 10 yr old and 3 yr old daughters... she'd gotten drunk and drove her car 70 mph into a phone pole and lived to tell about it. "No more drinking for me," she said. Her daughter verified that she was telling the truth. I ate a piece of her ham, first pork I've had in 40 years, it was a holy sharing, and a piece of her turkey, the one I'd delivered the day before. The love was incredible. Her dad stopped me on the bridge to their house over the bayou and told me he understood how this work was guided by God. His eyes were very knowing, 60 yr old dude, (this time, his son told me, they grabbed the Harley FIRST when the hurricane started and got it off the island. Last time, his Harley was messed up.) He took off to ride the Harley into town, his wife, in the hospital, was supposed to come home, but her kidneys were failing now. Hard life and intense illnesses.

We joined Albert and Ernie and family for a Thanksgiving pot luck. Next day, I hung out in the morning with Albert and talked tribal politics and needs. And I did acupuncture on his knee. Next stop was at Chuckie Verdin's house. He was gracious and willing to talk about how things were going in Pointe au Chiene. From a hand written census, and his memory, he gave me a list of needs. He said a lot of the elders wouldn't let their inner walls be removed because the outer walls had leaks. They would rather have mold than cold. I like Chuckie, matter of fact, funny, very indian in his mannerisms, smart, honest. A lot of carpentry needs in a community that was swamped with 10 feet of water for days after Rita, worst ever.

Saturday was a chiefs' meeting. We were honored to be included in this meeting, which was to be a morning meeting, and lasted all day. UHN didnt show up, the Mennonites were there, both native american folks, and Naomi, Brandon and I, along with Albert, Marlene, Chuckie, Randy, and assistants for each chief. This gathering assessed each band's needs... emotional sharing and expression, and commitment to remain generous in helping everyone, and some planning and creativity for manifesting assistance. Bayou Lafourche had a levee that wasn't breeched by the water, but the other communities were all under water after Rita. Being allowed to share at this level was a deeply moving experience for us. Everyone was moved by the gathering.

Next adventure - a call from DeeAnn, the head midwife from the Barefoot Doctor Academy, who wanted to know if we wanted food for the tribes -- the Welcome Home Food Kitchen was closing down after 3 months and 25,000 meals served in Washington Square Park in NOLA.

The Welcome Home Kitchen was run by Food Not Bombs, Rainbow Family, Barefoot Docs, and others in coalition since Katrina. They were all camped in the park, the scene looked like a groovy festival -- but it was a group of incredibly hard working tatood, dredlocked, pierced, mohawked young anarchists and a handful of grey hairs grounding things...

DeeAnn was one of them, peppered long flowing hair with a commanding presence and a sunlight beaming face... they were breaking up camp, and loaded up the truck with produce, bags of grains and beans, and cans of food from their kitchen, meat, cheese, clothing, and a big sack of lovely quilts made especially for giving children effected by the storm (I promised her they would be hand delivered).. Their little clinic was getting disassembled and they were tossing things in bags for me to distribute.

Next stop was Common Ground. Hitting the end of their Thanksgiving Break volunteer week, they too had a bunch of supplies to send with us to the bayou. Their distribution center by the railroad was in a building that had actually flooded the night before in a heavy rain. We hiked up 2 rickety stories of stairs in the dark, then sloshed in ankle deep water to gather some blankets (I'd promised Chris Brunet I'd find some for the islanders), and more cans of food, and lots of water.

Meantime, we were seeing New Orleans. The ghost town. More people and cars than last time, but not much more. Most places are closed up, boarded up. Signs for repairs are all over the place, and offers to buy property cheap are everywhere. Whole streets look like nothing has happened in 3 months. The smell is a little better, but there is a sense that what's in the air can't be good for you.

Back down to the bayou, and within moments of arrival a huge group of folks materialized to unload this truckload of food and supplies in the dark.

Next day Brandon (my partner) and I brought the rental truck back, and stopped to pick up some oil heaters to deliver to the Island. We loaded up Albert's truck and got the produce delivered on the Island, this time Brandon joined in, and got a chance to meet the community.

Chris was in on the separating of veggies into more buckets... More stories and information. Who cooked what for Thanksgiving. Expression of being overwhelmed, slowly people sharing more than "We're okay," their theme song for stoicism. Even Albert said people weren't telling HIM what they needed. It's a strong dignity. We pressed the issue... Tables to eat at, dressers for clothing. Rice cookers (thanks!) and stoves, heaters.

Brandon connected with a man who hadn't had a hot bath for months -- an elder who lives with his sons, & he also had no stove. The diet is poor enough now without having a way to cook... So in his limited amount of time there, Brandon manifested the equipment (borrowed from Chris) and the materials to install a water heater and build a housing for it, so that this little family was able to bathe and eat. This man, it turns out, is a few months older than me, looked 20 years older. Hard life....

On November 30th there was a grass roots coalition meeting in Slidell, just northeast of NOLA. I invited some tribal leaders to come along, and we drove up to this meeting. Many people were staying in Slidell at two houses donated by a dentist for volunteers. I was glad to see PLENTY volunteer Elaine Langley there, staying in Slidell and working in NOLA and Biloxi .

The whole drive there, Ernie Dardar (the pow wow master) talked about his experiences with obtaining federal recognition. He had been on the United Houma Nation council for years. But when he began researching, he realized that he was raised as Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw, he along with many others chose to resign from UHN, and created what he described as an amiable divorce. The reality has been less than amiable over the years. Ernie talked about the BIA and their hopes for recognition by next October '06. Time will tell.

The meeting was a sharing of needs each group has identified. I was glad Ernie Dardar and Donald Dardar came with us. They felt very real and grounded. It was inspiring for them, Ernie said, to witness & share so much generosity, sacrifice, and creativity. Everyone there had donated parts of their own lives to manifest projects during the crisis following the storms, and were there to carry the long course and dedication needed to make things happen. Everyone there understood how pathetically little help came from agencies and government. Sharing passion. And understanding.

Magic kept happening. I spent the following day with Donald and Theresa Dardar, delivering the NOLA donations in Pointe au Chiene. Donald is Chucky's assistant chief, a traditional shimper, whose home is raised on pilings, so they sustained very little damage in their house. These two are incredibly generous with their time, and sensitive to people's needs. They extended that to me.

I'd been through Pointe au Chiene my last trip, and here again, people remembered me. The community also has separated itself from UHN, and there is a different vibe there. More chill, and more suspicious -- at first. Me, naive to any politics, had hopped out of the UHN van first trip and enthusiastically handed out medications, treated various illnesses, and continued shooting people with "tecknik" and flu shots...

This time I was with the assistant tribal chief and his wife, my new buddy Teresa... both grew up there, taking plenty of time to introduce me to people, allowing time for chatting, sharing stories, gathering information, hearing issues...and of course, feeding Dr Robin (clearly more petite than almost everyone there). I was treated to freshly caught raw oysters & fried crabs.

This community is further down LA 665. Before you get to Island road, you cross the bayou to go down Oak Point Road, with the water on the right, homes on the left. There are still many trees here, though less than in the past, and still -- very few people know anything about the old ways. The elders are dying and the young people are losing the wisdom. I keep asking people about healing plants, and foods, and gardening, and housing.

Donald fed me freshly caught raw oysters. One of the political issues I hear is that indian oystering grounds are being taken away from them... there is something fishy about the white people's sport fishing areas being maintained...

Those midwife blankets got delivered to lots of kids.... they were happy to let me take pictures, and when I remembered, I tried to take shots of the kids and the elders.... there are households with several families and generations.

One clan I remember well from my last trip, initially a bit guarded. But when I pulled out the sack of beanie babies, the kids warmed up, then the momma's warmed up, and a wound treatment, a bronchitis treatment, a couple of kid check ups and a bunch of shots later, we were laughing and bonded. I'd had the kids PICK which toy they wanted, make a choice and stick with it. So this time, along comes this crazy white lady, with this huge bag of JUICY beautiful hand made midwife quilts. These little girls had to CHOOSE which one they want. It's one of the kid's birthday, she gets to choose first. Major ordeal, making up the mind, so many choices, all are yummy.... meanwhile, Donald is related to most of these folks and is having birthday cake, they offer me a coke, and we spend a while hanging out, watching the kids make up their minds. laughing and teasing...

Another household -- elderly couple, he's frying clams, and I HAVE TO HAVE SOME... they sit me down, and like a little kid, everyone is making sure get the best parts, laughing at me, I dont know how to open these things, rice from the cooker with the grease in the pot... YUMMY....more coke. The nephew is a minister, nice man, sensitive and eager to help the young men learn to gain pride. It's a serious problem, and drugs and alcohol numb their pain -- racism and lack of opportunities are powerful adversaries.

The old lady is on oxygen, neither of them are doing well, but despite a musty odor in their home on stilts, their poverty is more significant than their hurricane damage. I check his meds for him, explain what some are for. A young man comes in, glowing with excitement. Teresa tells me his young wife is due 12/26, first baby. This focused very HANDsome young man is talking about being at the birth, so down we go to the truck, to pick out babyquilts and... DeeAnn had given me a box of baby clothes. By now its freezing cold, in the 30s and there I am shivvering away, grooving with this sweet dude, picking out boy clothes, socks, and a baby carrier, bottles, barf rags... what a treat for me, this sweet and very progressive new poppa stuffing this impromptu baby shower gift pile in little green buckets to bring home...

Friday as we were leaving, Donald and Teresa came over to Albert's to get some more stuff...their dedication is moving, this effort on top of an already full life.... Teresa and I exchanged gifts, hugging and talking about what else is needed. Heaters she says. More blankets, more quilts. Its really cold there now at night, and the drafty houses without their inner walls... people are cold...

The last treat is going over to say goodbye to Chris. This 40 something man lives in a beautiful home, pretty and colorful and tidy. Father Roc isn't there. I was to talk to Mr. Wen, an elder who knows about local healing, but he's no where to be found... so we hang out with Chris, he and Brandon playing music for each other. And I was able to catch Chris on my camera, clips of him talking about the history of the island, of the environmental challenges and the changes in the culture.

The needs list now includes furniture, appliances, and blankets. The need for carpenters is gigantic. The principal said BIKES for KIDS....The donated pacific Domes have arrived, and people are beginning to put them up and move into them... we need resources for building materials, and gift cards from Lowes.

Small gifts make huge waves in these Indian communities. They are survivors. And we are honored to be included in any of their doings.

Love, Robin Rose MD

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