Hurricane Katrina: Remembering the 'Forgotten Storm'

I kicked another one.

CHOP!

Another.

The morning sun was beaming, but the Louisianan air was as crisp as the skin on the Red Delicious I had just eaten.

Adjusting my SpongBob bandana, I slammed my steel-toed boot against another fallen tree branch. I was exuberated to be doing hurricane relief for my spring break in Lake Charles, La., but if all I was doing for a week was clearing brush and debris I don't think I'd be as energetic as the first day.

Other teams helping in Southwest Louisiana were reconstructing houses, meeting Louisianans and having meals prepared to them by the individuals they were helping.

Hours passed and my team and I continued to break down fallen trees as tall as skyscrapers that were uprooted as if sneezed over, making controlled brushfires; never have I heard so much moaning and groaning.

Just like every other college student, I waited in anticipation for Spring Break. When I first found out about the United Way of America's (UWA) Alternative Spring Break (ASB) program, I didn't hesitate to apply.

I wanted to be able to say that I helped rebuild America before it completely collapses because we're not getting the help we deserve from the government.

Out of 1,000 applicants only a few hundred students between the ages of 18 and 24 are picked-I was one of the lucky few. This year's location was the Gulf Coast.

On Sept. 23 and 24, 2005 Hurricane Rita, a Category Five storm (which was worse than Katrina), hit Southwest Louisiana. Rita is often called the "Forgotten Storm" because no one died or asked for rebuilding assistance much like Katrina victims in New Orleans.

"Hurricane Rita was the fourth-most intense Atlantic hurricane ever recorded and the most intense tropical cyclone ever observed in the Gulf of Mexico," according to wikipeida.org.

Parishes in Louisiana are still severely damaged and need help rebuilding. Since last year, college students throughout America gather to help communities over their spring break with UWA-a non-profit organization that sponsors communities across America.

Sixty-plus students helped during the week of March 17-24. We were housed in the Moss Bluff Middle School now known as the SWLA Volunteer Center.

Men shared one dorm and the women shared another where we all slept in bunks made of toothpicks. Bathrooms and shower houses, which we shared with enormous water bugs as big as infants and spiders no smaller than a quarter, were outside, and we ate in the gym at lunch tables.

The day after we arrived we trekked off in vans and took a tour of Cameron, one of the most devastated parishes we saw. Rubble, toilets, sinks, fridges, and other household items littered the parish making it look more like an elaborate junkyard than a city where people still lived-black mold in their houses and all.

"You see that house out there?" Asked the AmeriCorps*NCCC (National Civilian Community Corps) tour guide pointing out of the van's window to a home submerged under water.

Only its ramshackle roof and top windows were peeking out of the water like a hippo. "It used to be over there." She pointed about 20 miles to the right where a field with nothing but mud and puddles laid.

That night, after dinner, we divided into 12 groups chosen by the ASB staff. About 12 volunteers per group were chosen according to the answers we supplied on our applications. Each group included two leaders and two NCCC members.

Some teams were being sent to parishes as far as Cameron which was about an hour away from the volunteer center, while others were only a few minutes away from where we stayed.

When we met with our team leaders we would find out where we were going.

I was hoping I would get to build a playground or something geared towards children assuming that most volunteers that travel to Louisiana help rebuild houses.

The children didn't have a transition when they had to essentially give up their childhood for months when the storm hit. They shared schools-half the students going Monday through Wednesday afternoons; the other half going Wednesday afternoons through Friday.

If I built a playground I would feel like I really accomplished something. Years from now children and their parents could play and not worry about cutting themselves on shards of rusty metal that were plowed into the ground from Rita's winds as if they always belonged there.

After an "icebreaker" game of "Two facts/One lie" where we all told two facts about ourselves and one lie and the others had to guess which one was the lie.

"We're going to Camp Wi-Ta-Wentin," said Jamie, one of our team leaders.

Yes!

Ecstatic, I couldn't wait for 8 a.m. to come the next day. My team was going to work on a summer camp that was still in shambles although it was opened last year.

Camp Wi-Ta-Wentin, which means living and playing together in the out of doors, is the ideal over-night camp with 12 sleeping cabins, a pool, dining hall and Bumet's Bay where kids can enjoy canoeing.

The weather during the week was nice enough to give me a little sunburn, and not once did clouds threaten our work.

Our first day, after meeting the camp's supervisors, Wayne and Wendy, we removed brush and debris. Trees that seemed to have once brushed the clouds were uprooted as if a giant had just run by and plucked them out of the ground as you and I would pick a dandelion.

A few of the bunk houses were ripped in half so we could see the inside without stepping foot on the leafy ground. My vision of the happy-go-lucky, Kumbaya-singing, s'more consuming camp had flushed out of me as I stared at wood on the cook sheds, or hot dog shacks as I call them that were dangling.

From 8 a.m.-5p.m. we made piles of sticks and pieces of bunk house, and made controlled fires to get rid of the damage. It was pretty unanimous that my team didn't want to remove wood and twigs for a week.

Day two brought a little more tension to the group as we painted the exterior of the bunk houses (as well as each other) mint-green while fighting off hoards of wood bees that were trying to devour us (these things were looking us up and down with angry wolf eyes that seemed to say "the better to eat you with, my dear").

Town hall meetings were held after dinner every night. We would have members of the community guest speak to us and shower us with thanks, as well as each group telling everyone their progress their each site.

What were we to tell the other volunteers? "We picked up sticks and burned them today."

How would that compare to "We helped build a roof today and Miss So-and-so cooked us lunch" or "My team knocked down and reconstructed walls and we had to wear these outfits so we didn't die from the black mold"?

Few supplies were given to us, and we weren't given enough tasks to do everyday, thus some of my team members were not satisfied with what we were doing at Camp Wi-Ta-Wentin after hearing how much the other groups were doing. I didn't blame them, but I had no complaints seeing that I was doing what I wanted to do.

After having a team meeting and long talk with the heads of ASB, our team was assured to get the things we needed and have a better scheduling system.

Everything was cleared up quick.

Throughout the week we built two more hot dog shacks and repaired another one that was grasping on to its last breath. We also built picnic tables and cleaned the interior of the bunk houses.

Three of the women in my group painted the shower house from prison cell-cement to psychiatric ward-white. The floors were white, the ceilings were white, even the showers were white.

The only thing that wasn't white was the big plywood door that went from the showers to the dressing area with white cubbies on the walls.

We decided to make a trip to Wal-Mart to buy stencils and paint along with new shower curtains-from white to summer fun with fish and suns painted on the wall.

My once semi-pessimistic group was gradually becoming more involved and realizing that we were contributing to the community as much as the other groups (I guess we really learned the true meaning of the Native American phrase wi-ta-wentin-living and playing together in the out of doors).

After repairing a lot of the damage at the camp, I felt like there was so much more that needed to be done. I and two women from my group decided to pitch in and buy games, art supplies, sports equipment and pool toys to donate to Camp Wi-Ta-Wentin.

I decided we should call Wal-Mart to see if they were willing to contribute a playground since we didn't get to build one ourselves. (We've yet to hear back from the stores, but we haven't given up.)

The week zoomed by. When time came leave I didn't think it would actually be that hard to say good-bye. I didn't just befriend the nine women on my team (yes, I was the only male aside from the one male NCCC member), but 60-some other people as far as Hawaii and Washington.

As much as we accomplished in five days I didn't want to go home. I wanted to stay and help an extra week.

For years I felt like I've been doing the same thing all the time: work, school, work, school. I was at a stand still, and all that changed in a week.

I met new friends, and I learned new skills. But the best part of it all is that kids are going to have a place to have fun and be kids this summer all thanks to my team, the "Purple Warrior Campers."

On the last day, clad in our "ASB, I helped rebuild" shirts, me, my friend, and a girl from my group walked to Walgreens. On our way back, a man driving a gigantic truck with a house on the back stopped in the middle of the road, holding up a bit of traffic.

He honked, waved and yelled, "Thanks."

Some sort of chain reaction jolted through the couple of cars behind him and the drivers waved or honked to us.

Everyone kept saying that we gave up our Spring Break to help the people in Louisiana, but we didn't give it up; we used our Spring Break to help others. It can't get any better than that.