a House Became her Home

Yesterday I posted photos from my trip to New Orleans because I didn’t know where to start writing and processing the trip. I still don’t know a good place, but I’ll start with the basics. During our time we worked on the house of a blind woman. She could afford all our supplies, but not the cost of labor. We were required to keep track of our hours so that the government would be billed for labor and the money could be spent to buy more materials for families in need, and we were worth $8,400 according to government standards. The group insulated her floor by lying on the ground and stapling insulation to the floor beams, scraped, primed, painted and screened her back porch, scraped and painted her rod iron fence, laid tile in her washroom, installed light fixtures, towel racks and toilet paper holders and even hung curtain rods.

For me, the work we were doing and the devastation we were seeing hit when she and her mother talked about the storm. Their stories put names to the reports I’d heard over a year ago on the news. I heard of one of their friends who ventured out after the storm was over to be swept away when the levy broke. I heard of another who was ‘rescued’ by a group helping animals. The ‘rescuers’ dropped their friend off at a bridge. When they attempted to walk across a bridge out of the city they were met with military folks carrying guns who told them to go back. These are only the beginning of the stories I heard. Everyone we met had their own stories to tell. Each wanted to share their experience.

In the evenings we ventured out to explore the city. Many 12 and 15 passenger vans filled the city streets and parking lots with tags from all over the US. Many volunteers were in the city with various groups. The organization we were with said they plan to stay in the city for 10 years. Cleaning and rebuilding for 10 years! To say the need is great is a colossal understatement. On the night before we left I was filling the van at the gas station beside the church we were sleeping in. While cleaning the windshield a couple pulled up at the pump next to us. The first thing out of their mouths were ‘thank you.’ A big white van with a tired driver wearing jeans soaked with paint automatically equals volunteer. Not a day went by without the group being recognized as a group of volunteers rebuilding New Orleans. When folks saw us they knew why we were in the city. Many more groups like ours are needed. The people of New Orleans are hungry to hear they aren’t forgotten. They want you to know they are still hurting. 13 of us were able to work, walk and talk with a family for a week where we transformed one person’s house into a home.