Living Through Katrina: My Journal of the Fifteen Days that Followed the Storm

I'm writing this in the bathroom right now so I don't disturb my two brothers sleeping in the other room. This is the only light on in the two room suite my family procured at my Father's job. I've spent the past few hours using the internet. Updating my friends and family elsewhere on my status, some contact info for after the storm, and trying to put the concerns of others to rest.

I'm sitting in a building a block and a half off of Canal St, in the middle of downtown New Orleans. I know it's raining outside, and that the gales have got to be around 50mph by now, if not more. It's just so eerie because all I can hear is the electric hum of the lights above me, and the sink dripping water.

We've been in this room now for roughly twelve hours. I can still remember how bright and clear it was this afternoon when we unloaded our cars. They call it "the calm before the storm", and I never truly understood it till today.

All of the News Channels say that there'll be 25-40 ft of water and with New Orleans "faulty topography" that the city is going to quickly go to the fishes. The time to evacuate has long since past as the Mayor of New Orleans issued a mandatory evacuation for the first time ever. My family, however, has already made their decision. My Father, the Head of Engineering for this downtown Hotel, was to be MOD (Manager on Duty) tonight. And with my family's limited financial resources, we decided to vertically evacuate rather than brave the "bumper car" traffic fleeing the city.

I know that our house will flood. Bad rains in the past have threatened to over flow the small canal by our house. How much flooding, is more the question. I don't know if the second floor windows will blow out. It makes me wish I'd have thrown more items into my closet before we left.

I know that this hotel will flood. I'm expecting the first floor and possibly the second floor to go under. I'm not worried about the windows here. The only one we have looks out into the hallway. We have some food and water, though it'll be the loss of clean water and electricity that will be the true test of our limits. It's freezing in here, but I'll bare it because when the power goes out we'll be begging for cold air. The rest of today, and part of tomorrow, will make us, and break us. And I'm so tired already, so very tired.

Wednesday, August 31st, approximately 8am
Day 3

My mother is refusing to leave. She still believes that our home may still stand, and that four days from now we might be able to see it again. There's talks of FEMA trucks with food, but I don't live on speculation alone. I've walked many times outside of the hotel we're in, and through the neighborhood while my Mother stayed in her room unable to deal with the devastation.
There's a breach in the Industrial Canal, and for now, the water has ceased to continue rising. I'm not optimistic enough to believe that this is the end of it. My older brother isn't either, but he still sides with her. He thinks that the power will be out "for just one more day." He's never been through something like this before. He believes that just because our house might still stand, that all we have to do is show up and that power will be restored.

My Father's Boss, the Hotel's General Manager, just told us that Pontchartrain Lake is two feet over the Industrial Canal. Which means that there'll only be more flooding to come.

The looters shot a police officer yesterday. The News has been talking about people floating garbage cans full of clothes and jewelry. While my Father, brothers, and me were walking yesterday, the looters from Walgreens came by with bags full of food. The News also said this morning that they're trying to break into Children's Hospital. They tried to call for help, but the police couldn't get there.

Saturday, September 3rd, 10am
Day 6

I'm starting to feel the weight of it all. I had to turn the TV off today because I couldn't take it anymore. I realized yesterday that I went down one pants size due the amazing powers of the Hurricane Katrina diet, and the wonderful help from FEMA. (Note the sarcasm.) Last night I read online that my friend's sister had to cut off all her hair to avoid being raped. She's safe now, but I can't escape the thought of how close that could've been me.

I heard that there was bad looting all over Metairie. Our house possibly still stands, but maybe trashed beyond belief.

My Father's Boss went down to Royal the night we left. Just in time since they looted and trashed the hotel later on that evening. I don't know if he's still down there or not, but the hotel he went to was police headquarters last I heard. I hope he's alright.

We left Wednesday afternoon. The city's water had finally given out. It was enough to spur the decision in my favor that the calvary wasn't coming, and that fleeing to my Uncle's house in Houston was the only option.

The only way out was to cross the Crescent City Connection to the Westbank and then go all the way out and across the suspension bridge at Luling and then down Hwy 90. On our way out of downtown, the mass exodus had just begun. They had people by the hundreds in the streets trying to cross the Connection to get out of the city. We were petrified of being car jacked.

The Westbank was surprisingly intact when we saw it. Tons of wind damage, but nothing beyond that. We also got some of the last glimpses of Oakwood Mall before arson fires burnt half of it down a day later. We saw more police in Jefferson Parish than all our days in downtown put together. In Westwego, there were arresting looters everywhere. You might have heard about the looters that stole mail trucks and were robbing commercial businesses. They were handcuffing them on the ground as we drove by.

The sheer amount of abandoned cars on the road to Baton Rouge was shocking. It was like something out of a movie. My Mother's car had been syphoned of gas. We barely made it out of the city and to a gas station in Gramercy (one of the only ones opened for miles). We then had to wait in line for an hour before we could get gas. They actually had to call the police on someone who cut the line in order to avoid a fight. The Popeyes we ate at next door had to shut down right after we got our food because they had run out of chicken due to all the evacuees.

We arrived in the night. Over a large suspension bridge and past refineries that could've looked like anywhere in the Gulf South. I hadn't seen or really spoken to my Uncle in ten years. Not since I attended his wedding to my Aunt. We're just south of Houston now, where there's people...where there's life. I'm being spoiled by the little things: hot food, cold air, and warm showers. It's rained since I've been here, but after seeing gusts that uprooted full-grown trees, I'm not impressed.

This is home, for now; sanctuary, or something like it. Not from the Storm though, but from everything it brought with it. I've been watching the looting, arson, and every other monstrosity via twenty-four hour news channels that are only marginally projecting the magnitude of it all.

I can't imagine going back right now. It's the furthest thing from my mind. I want to be distracted. I want to be led astray. Just anything to ignore all the horror that's plagued my once normal life. Or whatever fraction of normalcy it once had.

Monday, September 12th, 11am
Day 15

It's been decided. We're going back. The landlord actually called a few hours after we made this decision to tell us that the house was fine. No flood or wind damage. Not even the rampant looters managed to touch our home. We still haven't received any assistance from FEMA, and we've only managed to get clothes and food from Red Cross.

We've barely been here two weeks and I don't know what to expect when we return. I wish there was an option to stay here, but my Father's job is calling him back to help with their main hotel in the city, and where my Father goes, the family goes too.