Today, while toiling away at the VLICA (Very Large Industrial Corporation of America), I received an email from a senior coworker of mine who, unbeknownst to me, had a daughter who was living in New Orleans. What follows is the email I received. The last names of people in the email are changed to protect their identity:
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Subject: FW: Out of New Orleans
As many of you know, my daughter, Christina, lives in New Orleans. She was evacuated Thursday afternoon and I was able to pick her up in Baton Rouge about midnight. Her story is below.
Thank you all for your concern.
Sherry
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From: Christina (name omitted here) [mailto:christina (email omitted) .com]
Sent: Tuesday, September 06, 2005 10:07 AM
To: Sherry
Subject: Out of New Orleans
Hello family, long-lost friends, & neighbors:
Thank you so much for your concern and offers of support. I really appreciate your kind words and wish that I hadn’t caused you to worry. Jordan, Cha Cha the cat, and I are safe and very comfortable at my Mom's house in Houston.
Although being trapped in New Orleans was difficult, I was very fortunate -- virtually untouched by the horrific conditions so many are still struggling to survive. Although it is impossible to know, there is a chance that my 2nd floor apartment is intact and dry. For the next few weeks/months, I will stay with my Mom, volunteer with refugee relief, try to rescue friend's trapped pets, and if possible, work with the local Planned Parenthood.
If you were affected by the disaster, please let me know if there is anything I can do to help. If you are taking refuge in Houston, I would love to get together.
Some of you have asked for information about my experience in the past week. Below you will find an attempt to relay some of what happened and an awesome article by Jordan. Please share this with anyone I may have missed.
Love,
Christina
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Diary from New Orleans by Christina & Jordan, August 27 - September 2, 2005
Saturday, August 27: We learn on Saturday that Hurricane Katrina has unexpectedly changed course and could be heading directly for New Orleans. Governor Blanco is on the news repeatedly asking residents to “pray down” the hurricane to lessen its strength. After checking with friends and reading news reports, we decide to keep a close watch and make a decision in the morning. We are reluctant to leave because of a harrowing experience trying to flee Hurricane Ivan with carsick Cha Cha. The evacuation traffic jam moved only 2 miles per hour, leaving many people stalled on the road without gas or hope of escaping the storm. It didn’t help that the last two hurricanes were false alarms. After going to several stores and waiting in long lines, we purchase water, batteries and food. There is a great sense of camaraderie in the lines as everyone prepares to weather the storm.
Sunday, August 28: As it becomes clear that this is the big one, everyone is calling everyone “Are you staying or going? Where are you staying? Are you bringing your pets? What should I do?” After deciding we missed our opportunity to get out safely and could be trapped on the road during the hurricane, we decide to relocate to a more sturdy location, an apartment complex built out of an old can factory in the Midcity neighborhood. The building is five stories high, built of concrete and brick, with several hundred fairly plush apartments. There are rumors (false, we find out later) that Mayor Nagin is staying in the building, and that the complex has a power generator for when the power cuts off. There are seven of us in the apartment, with four cats. Upstairs are three more acquaintances, with four dogs and three cats. The night of the hurricane passes fairly smoothly, with poker and pictionary.
Monday, August 29: The next morning, we survey the streets outside. There has been some flooding and window & roof damage that we can see through binoculars. A few people explore the neighborhood in boats, and report extensive damage, but overall we feel as if New Orleans has once again escaped fate. Later in the day, we hear reports of much greater flooding in destruction in the ninth ward and lower ninth ward neighborhoods, New Orleans’ most exploited communities. Tomorrow, we decide, the water will lower and we’ll walk home.
Tuesday, August 30: We wake up to discover that the water level has risen several feet. Panic begins to set in among some. We inventory our food and water and find that, if we ration it tightly, we have enough for five days. As we discuss it, we repeatedly say, “Not that we’ll be here that long, but if we had to...” Others continue to explore the area by boat, helping people when possible. The atmosphere outside is like the film Dawn of the Dead but with water instead of zombies - a sort of post-apocalyptic, slightly threatening world, where the streets are empty and the future seems uncertain. The flood water is a repellent mix of sewage, gas, oil, trash and worse. We meet some of our neighbors. Of approximately 250+ apartments, there are maybe 150 people in the building. Many of them, like us, are crowded 7 or 10 to an apartment, and few of them live there. Most of the building is empty. About 60% of the people in the building are black. Many in the building have no food and water. Some residents break open the building candy machine and distribute the contents. We talk about breaking into the cafe attached to the building and distributing the food. During the course of the day the water continues to rise over the tops of cars and into the first floor of the building, leaving us no common area other than the roof. We fill all containers with water (no longer potable) so that we can flush the toilet & wash the sewage water off our legs and feet. We try to conserve our batteries in the flash lights because it is pitch black in the halls and staircases even during the day. We turn on a battery-powered tv and radio, and then turn it off in disgust. No solid information, just rumor and conjecture and fear. All news is directed at people who have evacuated with announcers advising, “do not attempt to return to the city”. No tactical information is given for people who still need to get out, like evacuation routes and dry areas. Tomorrow, the news announces, the water level will continue to rise, perhaps 9-15 feet. Governor Blanco advises us to have a day of prayer. With all of the lights in the city out, the night sky is beautiful. We lie on our backs on the roof and try to take solace in the shooting stars.
Wednesday, August 31: White people in the building start whispering about their fears of “them.” There is talk of people in the building “from the projects and hoarding food.” There is talk of gangs in the streets, shooting, robbing, and lawless anarchy. However, we witness many folks traveling around in boats, bringing food or giving lifts. But the overwhelming atmosphere is one of fear. People fear they won’t be able to leave, they fear disease, hunger, and crime. There is talk of a soldier shot in the head by looters, of huge masses emptying WalMart and the electronic stores on Canal street. We hear the police are joining in the looting. There are fires visible in the distance. A particularly large fire seems to be nearby - we think its at the projects at Orleans and Claiborne. Helicopters drop army MREs (Meal Ready to Eat) and water, and people rush forward to grab as many as they can. After the third air drop, people start organizing a more even distribution. Across the street is a small narrow strip of land called “the island”, and helicopters begin landing there and picking people up. Two of our friends from the apartment convince a person with a boat to give them a ride to the island. Hundreds of people from the nearby hospital also make their way there, many wearing only flimsy gowns, waiting in the sun. As more helicopters come, people start arriving from every direction, straggling in, swimming or coming by boat. Late in the day, a helicopter hovers over our roof, and a soldier comes down and announces that tomorrow everyone in the building will be evacuated – no pets allowed. There are many tense conversations about what to do with our pets, “Is there enough food and water to leave them until we can return? Can we smuggle them out?” By nightfall all of the helicopters stop running and about 150 people are stranded on the island. Late in the evening, our two friends swim back to the building to spend the night after a day of unsuccessfully trying to get on a helicopter. All night you can hear the people trapped on the island.
Thursday, September 1: People in the building want out. They are lining up on the roof to be picked up by helicopters - three helicopters come early in the morning and take a total of nine people. Maybe 75 people spend the next several hours waiting on the roof for helicopters, but no more come. Down in the parking garage, flooded with sewage, a steady stream of boats takes people to various locations, mostly to the island. Our group fractures, people leaving at various times. With Cha Cha hidden in a bag we take a boat to a helicopter to a refugee camp on the interstate. A thousand people are crowded on the side of the road behind barricades, forced to sit in mud and trash. There are a few port-a-potties, but no trash cans. It is total chaos when a bus arrives because there is no organization. Families get separated. The individual soldiers and police are friendly and polite - at least to us - but nobody seems to know what's going on. The atmosphere among the refugees is friendly. Many people sit on the side, not even trying to get on a bus. Children, people in wheelchairs, and everyone else sit in the sun by the side of the highway. Everyone has a story to tell, of a home destroyed, of swimming across town, of bodies and fights and gunshots and looting and fear. The worst stories come from the Superdome. We speak to one man who describes having to escape and swim up to Midcity. Many trucks and helicopter arrive bringing more and more refugees, yet only two buses come in four hours we are there. Three of us walk out of the camp, considering trying to hitchhike a ride from relief workers or press. We get a ride from an Australian tv team who are good-natured and polite. They drive us to Baton Rouge where we sit on the street until Christina's mom arrives from Houston. While we sit on the street, everyone we meet is a refugee from somewhere - Bay St Louis, Gulfport, Slidell, Covington. Its after midnight, but the roads are crowded. Everyone is going somewhere.
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Wow... TMW
Posted by The Mighty Wizard at September 6, 2005 09:51 PM