The sun pulls back over a historic sky line, setting the scene for the lurking night. The corner café sells famous French donuts covered in powdered sugar. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets guests before entering its doors. The sound of jazz permeates the Square. A frail black boy holds out a coined filled hat with one hand and holds a harmonica up to his mouth with the other. Picturesque paintings displayed on every other corner flirt with the locals and seduce the pocket-books of tourists. Beads of purple, green and gold still hang from the pole lines, evidence of the revelry that came and left. The desperation of hope lies in the eyes of a half-dressed woman standing at the entrance of the strip club. Jason Joseph, the manager of a local furniture rental, addresses a customer wanting to know the price of a furniture piece; a typical Saturday night for him and an unordinary calm night for the city.
As Jason planned his night, forecasters all over the country were telling of his fate. “New Orleans Braces for Monster Hurricane” and “The Threatening Storm,” were the sort of headlines gracing the pages of just about every local and national newspaper. Unaware of the beast prowling in the nearby waters, he thought about what he would have for dinner and maybe later, a night out on the town.
By Sunday morning, citizens had become a bit more cautioned; well at least some of them. After years of sitting through hurricanes in the living room watching the Saints game or playing catch outside as the “big storm” passed by, many developed a casual attitude toward the threat of a hurricane. Over twenty years had passed since Hurricane Camille left her footprints on the city and residents predicted that this storm would not be nearly as bad as she was. “I figured that I could make it through the storm, in fact I had no intentions of leaving the city,” Jason said.
“Jason, I thank we needs to get out of here. We gots to go,” Jason’s grandmother said in a panic to get her grandson to understand the urgency in leaving town. You been watchin da news? This ain’t no starm we needs to be stickin round fo.”
A six hour drive to Austin was one trip Jason was willing to take to please his dear grandmother; the woman that had practically raised him. Still, Jason was not convinced that this storm would bring anything more than some heavy wind and a little rain. Listening to his grandma, he packed a few things and he and his grandparents headed to Texas Sunday night.
The ride lasted twenty-four hours and cars were backed up for miles. People steamed with road raged as horns honked and middle-fingers raised. A sea of headlights flooded the highway and stopping for gas was a far fetched notion. It could take at least an hour to make it to the next exit.
On the road Jason, thought about coming back home on Wednesday and even smirked as he thought of the free days off from work that he was getting from this sudden intimidation of a storm.
He made it to Austin Monday night and began to watch the weather forecasters. “That’s when it became real to me,” Jason said now convinced of what was to come. “They were showing pictures of the storm and saying that it was a Category 5. I knew that New Orleans could not handle that.”
At 4:30am on Tuesday, the water began to rise along the Industrial Canal, one of the canals that helps keep water out of the city. Katrina shoved her way through the Gulf waters, her destination unsure and her mission unfulfilled, for she had not made landfall. By 6:10, she hit land and by 6:30 the first levee in New Orleans was breached. Water continued to bleed into the city through the night until around 2pm the next day. “I could not believe what I saw on TV,” Jason said with the shadow of shock still hanging in this voice. “That’s my city. That’s my city.”
Katrina was merciless in her defeat of the city. She snatched rooftops and bent trees. The brown flood lines on every building and house served notice of her presence. Those who stayed behind, under the impression that the storm would pass peacefully, were left on interstates, stranded on rooftops, or left to wait in the searing, crowded Super Dome. Others simply did not make it through the storm and their lifeless, helpless bodies were found floating along the city streets. The culture of a city that we all had come to love, had been hit, left bruised, and now laid drowning.
Still, others who had chosen to leave the city were now stuck in shelters, toxic FEMA trailers, or living amongst distant relatives in crowded houses. All watching as water engulfed their homes; waiting for word on what their next move would be. Some gleamed with joy of the thought simply being alive, while others mourned the loss of homes, cars, and the simple things that so many of us take for granted, like a family photo album or a birth certificate.
With all taken away, many refused to return and made cities like Houston and Atlanta their new home. Jason’s grandparents were among those who opted to never return and at their old age, embarked on a new life in Austin. Others were counting down the days till they could return to the bowl-shaped town. Nawlins, a once thriving city, lay wet, cold and lonely, eager for the chance to shine again.
Jason was determined to make his way back to the Crescent City; loyal to its cause and sure of its re-emergence. With no home to return to, he laid his head wherever there was an empty sofa and running water. Optimistic and inspired by his work building still standing, Jason anticipated returning to work and being a part of the few that would help the city get back on its feet. “People is what the city needed to start over,” Jason said proudly knowing that he was one of those people.
“Katrina was just like any other natural disaster,” Jason said with a spotlight of confidence. “New Orleans has not changed. We will always be the loud-mouthed, crawfish eating, second line dancing people we’ve always been. It’s my home and it will get back to the city it once was.”
Four years now since Katrina, and not much has changed in the city. The leftovers of the storm still present, as neighborhoods remain motionless. But ole’ Jason, still holds his head up high as he struts to work each day. Now with a place of his own and a new truck, he takes pride in how far he has come. While others still doubt that New Orleans will again be the thriving metropolis that it was once, Jason remains confident of the coming victory and sees each day as a step closer. “Each day that I work, each day that people return, each day that a new house is built, get us closer to that glorious day.”
Ten years later, the New Orleans Saints win the Super Bowl and the city takes on a new sound; a sound of redemption, progress and hope. Who knew that a game could mean so much to so many people? But to the residents, it was more than a game, it was a comeback!
