Habitat for Humanity Kingston's
Global Village
Gulf Coast Rebuilding Trip
April 23 to 29, 2006

Habitat Kingston is building homes at home and abroad. In keeping with our mission, Habitat Kingston sent the first of numerous teams to the Gulf Coast to aid in rebuilding.
The first team from Habitat Kingston worked in Thibodaux,LA April 23 to April 29, 2006.

Sunday April 23 - Five Habitat volunteers, some experienced, others not, arrive at the Syracuse airport before sunrise. Our group of 10 members will meet at the baggage carousel in New Orleans before lunch but first our flight is routed through D.C. There we meet a Canadian couple who are also volunteering in New Orleans for the week. Their job is different from ours. We are actively rebuilding. They will muck out destroyed homes. All are unsure of the atmosphere that will greet us in Louisiana. We land in New Orleans with a sense of excitement and apprehension. We meet our fellow Team members who flew from Toronto and Detroit. Together, we rent vans and drive 45 minutes west of New Orleans to Thibodaux. The Quiet Oaks community exemplifies the industrious efforts of close to 1000 volunteers since January 2006. We see RVs from the Habitat for Humanity Care-A-Vanners program. The American youth group, AmeriCorp, have 15 young people in residence in 6 week intervals. Another team of 10 volunteers from the US is unpacking as we arrive. We are greeted by fellow Canadian, Mike Tower, Build Supervisor from Habitat for Humanity Windsor who has been volunteering on site all month. The site will hold 86 homes. Currently 23 houses are under construction (slab on grade bungalows with 7 styles and a volunteer pavilion which will eventually become a community centre with children’s playground equipment). One family has moved in. Their youngest son, flashes a smile and grabs my hand. He will be a heart-breaker when he grows up. He tours me through their home of the last 2 weeks and proudly shows off his bedroom with bunk-bed and toys littering the floor. A local elementary school is helping with landscaping and planting flowers in the front yard. The lush Louisiana weather helps to produce an oasis of colour and texture in a construction zone which is quickly becoming a community. We are honoured to be part of the creation of this haven of hope.

Monday April 24 - introductions of families. We hear of homes being washed away and sitting on a rooftop for 4 days before a helicopter rescue. We learn of Dale who, due to post traumatic stress, has lost his ability to read and write. We are introduced to volunteers Ken and Joanne from Maryland who are chefs. They instantly become heroes on site. They packed their van full of food and drove to Thibodaux to feed 60 people three times per day. The quickest way to a Habitat for Humanity Volunteer’s heart is through their stomach! Bravo Ken and Joanne! Partner families, Bayou Habitat for Humanity staff and volunteers from across the continent form a circle for morning devotions. A local pastor joins us for thanks and inspiration. We join hands and raise them collectively while saying together, ‘Habitat is a hand-up not a hand out’. We break into work groups. I work with Mike. We begin finishing carpentry on the porch posts. We cut and build pressure-treated boxes around the tops and bottoms of the support posts to cover the post hardware and hurricane brackets. This is my task for the next 2 days before rain forces us inside. My colleagues are doing any number of things from sheathing a roof and tar papering to shingling, painting, flooring, hanging doors and installing windows and siding. The temperature quickly climbs to 88 F with high humidity. Our Canadian bodies emerging from winter hibernation are not accustomed to the intense sun and dehydrating effects. We break for water, Gatorade and snacks. The volunteers in the pavilion attach inspiring messages to the snack bars that say things like: Great Job! You’re Awesome! After a Ken/Joanne turkey dinner with stuffing, we head to the Thibodaux Cultural Centre for a free Cajun music and Acadian dancing performance. The air is hot and sultry. The dancers wear period costumes of the bourgeois and the working class. They are leaping and smiling and perspiring in their woolen clothing. Inside the museum, we learn of the trek of the French to the Canadian Maritimes to Louisiana and back again. One of our team is Acadian. She recognizes the music from childhood. We study the dancers and musicians for familial similarities.

Tuesday April 25 - biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Team Leader Dave’s birthday. Cake at lunch. We meet with the US Team and AmeriCorp students for seafood dinner in Thibodaux. Catfish chips are the local favourite. I ordered soft-shell crab. Spoke to US Team Leader Bob over dinner. He was on the first team of Habitat for Humanity volunteers who responded after the devastating Tsunami in SE Asia. Bob is retired Navy. He is stoic and capable and modest. He believes his efforts are nothing special; that he is helping in a way that most people would, if they had the means. Earlier in the day, one of the homeowners, Miss Paula, stops me on the street as I am crossing from house to house with tools and lumber.

She hugs me with a sincerity and affection that you associate with family. She looks skyward and then looks me in the eye and says, ‘We are blessed. He brought you to us. Thank you for coming all this way to help us’. I am instantly speechless and overwhelmed. I have worked in Quiet Oaks for less than two days and already feel part of this community. I have felt so much love in such a short time. The thanksgiving is tangible. I thank her for the opportunity to come here. I explain that there are many individuals from Canada and the USA who have wanted to help since September. We had to wait until now. We are thrilled and privileged to be able to lend a hand. I return to work knowing that what I bring back to Canada is greater than what I leave in this joyous, loving community.

Wednesday April 26 - rain. Hard, driving rain over breakfast.

The cooler air is a reprieve from the intense sun but the wind blows the storm into the open-air Volunteer pavilion. We wonder if work will be cancelled for the day. Today’s works focuses on indoor tasks like insulation and dead wood (the installation of non-structural lumber on interior walls for the installation of drywall boards). Interior painting isn’t possible because the houses lack lighting and the cloudy weather makes it difficult to see well. Until today, I’ve always managed to avoid insulation installation. These homes require R11 (walls) and R19 (ceiling). They don’t use compression-fit PINK insulation but rather paper-backed insulation bats which are fixed in place with staples through paper tabs. Compression-fit Insulation would grow heavy with moisture from the humidity and slide down the wall hence the reason that we are stapling the bats in place. The fiberglass particles wedge between my dust mask and cheeks. My insulation partner suffers two nose bleeds that day probably from inhaling fiberglass. At lunchtime, the AmeriCorp students start jostling in the rain. Mississippi Delta soil turns to gumbo with a few drops of moisture. Stepping off the gravel pathways results in ankle-deep muck and lost footwear. The students begin slipping and sliding. The adults remember such childish freedom. The crowd ooohs and aaaaahs each time a student comes close to going down. Amy is thrown face first into the gumbo. Her long, thick curls are heavy with muck. Filthy and sticky, Amy is now a mucky threat. She sets her sights on Mike and draws him into the battle. Mike is four times her size. He stands there impervious to her mucky tackles. The AmeriCorp team advance on Mike. They are on his ankles, his wrists. Amy piggy backs him and when they cant bring Big Mike down, they scoop up mud and apply it like cold cream. We laugh and laugh and rush down the street knowing that we will be next if we linger. The next day, the suns burns hot and the muck disappears. The mud fight is remembered only in photos and stained t-shirts.

After dinner, we impulsively drive into New Orleans. I am curious to see how Big and Easy the Big Easy really is. We drive past the infamous Stadium where civilized behaviour was abandoned in the days following the hurricane. I wonder if the city will stink, if the shops will be boarded or simply abandoned, if the desperation will be visible. We park a few blocks from the French Quarter and the legendary Bourbon Street. There are 15 of us and we couldn’t look any more like tourists. Shops are open but few people are in them. Is it the rain or simply the reduced population? The tourist shops are full of Mardi Gras beads and vulgar t-shirts---most of which have strong, negative evaluations of the work of FEMA. There are margarita bars selling Hurricane drinks. We are encouraged to walk through the streets with drinks in hand. Bars and strips joints are open for business. There is currently a 4:1 ratio of men to women in New Orleans. I read that New Orleans neighbourhoods lack the sounds of children. Those who have returned are men who are rebuilding their homes. Young, strong men from Mexico are crossing the border to pick up the endless labourer positions. Everywhere businesses are offering signing bonuses. Fast food restaurants are paying $10 per hour. Car dealerships advertise on the radio for more employees rather than automotive specials. Teachers who return are laid off because there aren’t enough children to teach.

Thursday April 27 - the sun threatens to burn hot and the roofers ascend the roof at sunrise to beat the heat. Also, we are finishing early this afternoon so that we can take in a swamp tour. I return to the insulation task with my 2 partners. We work out an efficient system and finish before lunch. We drive 5 miles south past sugarcane fields. The front office is filled with stuffed animal specimens local to the area. The two leather-skinned men who lead the daily tours of their swamp try to shock me with tales of eating every animal in the room. I’m a biologist and am always eager to taste local delicacies. I ask if they’ve ever eaten armadillo. They reply ‘ on the half shell over a fire; you can’t beat the flavour’. As I biologist, I know that the armadillo doesn’t technically have a shell but I am intrigued by their description nonetheless. We board a pontoon boat and head into the swamp. The stream is narrow-only 30 feet across. Alligators approach the boat for free snacks (chicken) that our captain tosses out to them. Obviously, they have eaten earlier today because some individuals let the chicken float in the water beside them. We see maple trees similar to ours at home. Water plants are in abundance---the same plants that I pay top dollar for to keep in my backyard pond and must replace annually. A large owl follows us along the river. The water is alive with minnows and tiny tree frogs. Dragonflies alight on my sandals. We slowly motor under the canopy of the woods and the fascinating bayou Cyprus trees. The density of the woods is claustrophobic. It reminds me of the feeling of camping at home but with the added challenges of soggy, unstable earth and large, fearless reptiles. Back at Quiet Oaks, we celebrate another birthday with more cake and the roofers return to complete their job before sundown.

Friday April 28 - today is a day of joy and sadness. We begin to bid farewell to people who have so quickly become friends. Chefs Ken and Joanne will leave after serving lunch. We finish our work at noon so that we can board a bus for the Devastation Tour of the 9th Ward---the area below sea level that sat under contaminated water for weeks. After breakfast, our team heads to the Canada House, the first Canadian House-in-a-Box which was built in Ottawa during Winterlude. What a difference! In February, we wore touques under our hardhats and framing was difficult because the nails continually bent in the frozen lumber. Today, the humidity has everyone stripped down to tank tops and shorts. We install vinyl siding on the house and Cathy installs locksets---a 4 minute job which takes her all morning. Bayou Habitat organizes a wonderful appreciation lunch for us where we are presented with certificates and each volunteer is personally thanked. The homeowners know us all by name. This is truly remarkable to me because I know that these homeowners have met hundreds of people over the last months and will meet hundreds more before I see them again on my next trip. All of them hug us and invite us back. All but Dale, who told us Monday that the goodbyes are too difficult and he won’t say them any longer. We board the bus and chat for the 45 minute drive into New Orleans. No announcement is needed when we enter the 9th Ward. Eerie stillness surrounds us. The only life is represented by FEMA workers mucking out houses. Debris is piled in the streets. Our bus driver is silent. Everyone on the bus is silent. Each house is marked by a spray painted X with numeric codes understood to those whose task it was to search these neighbourhoods looking for the living but often finding the opposite. The houses are mostly framed bungalows with low pitched roofs. Every house has an X on the front wall----except for those whose X is on the roof because of water depth. Every house has a visible yellow sludgey horizontal line indicating water depth----except for those houses which were completed submerged. You watch in horror as house upon house is destroyed, X’d and abandoned. Block upon block looks the same on both sides of the street. More spray paint: one dog; one cat. We see boats speared through porches. I saw those same images in photos last October. Trees laying on crushed houses. Correction, dead trees laying on crushed houses. In the lush Louisiana climate, all of these trees and shrubs are dead. There are no people. No feral dogs or cats. No birds.

There is no sound except for the isolated groan of a FEMA trailer randomly distributed throughout this lifeless wasteland. FEMA trailers are hooked directly into sewer services in the front yard and wired directly to the power lines. The trailers are plunked on front yards of deserted houses. It is obvious that no one enters the associated houses. The bus driver tells us that the people living in these trailers are those who are working on the cleanup and must reside in the area somewhere…some way. We see men in the street cutting tree limbs. We see a few more men wearing orange vests moving a debris pile or adding to a pile. This is a community of men doing filthy, thankless work. I give thanks for the opportunity to rebuild in an environment of happiness and life. Everywhere I look in the 9th Ward, I see destruction and death. The group is somber as we exit the bus in the French Quarter of New Orleans. The Jazz Festival began last night but we aren’t in much of mood to celebrate. Diane and I locate a patio and sip coffee as a jazz band sets up their equipment. We chat at length with our energetic waitress, Kathy. Is she always this energetic or is this evidence of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? Her description of the days, weeks and months after the hurricane is shocking. She describes her father, sitting at the entrance of their cul de sac with a beer and pistol and rifle. All of their neighbours left but her parents stayed. He protected their street for 2 weeks. Kathy wasn’t allowed back into her New Orleans apartment for four weeks. Just before the hurricane, her uncle gave her a pile of wild game that he had hunted. Kathy said it took her 3 months to get the smell of rotten meat out her home. Rents in New Orleans have doubled. She left for Atlanta but returned to New Orleans after a few months. It seems as though she has lived a lifetime in the last 8 months.

Saturday April 29 - Miss Paula arrives at Quiet Oaks with 2 big boxes of doughnuts. She thought of us early this morning and wanted to bring us a little snack for the morning flight.
We are weary and fulfilled, eager to get home and sad to leave this special experience.
In the New Orleans airport, we meet the Canadian couple who have been mucking houses all week for FEMA. They share their tales of taking 3 days to muck out one house. There is still six to 12 inches of muck in the houses. Upon entering the buildings, you see that nothing remains. The ceilings have fallen because of the water level. They use hand tools because there is no power for power tools. At night they slept in FEMA military tents on cots. They were put on buses each morning and dropped off with bagged lunches, for 7 hours. Their job was to shovel waste into wheelbarrows and dump it into the street. One of their team members sifted through the debris looking for treasures (jewelry, trinkets, anything that was impermeable to water). I listened and felt guilt at the comparative easy week that we had. Those FEMA volunteers are a tough lot! The Habitat Partner families in Quiet Oaks are a tough lot! Those who return to New Orleans like our waitress Kathy are of solid stock! I am humbled by everyone that I met and all that I saw.

The Gulf Coast needs more help. I will return to Quiet Oaks to help with the rebuilding efforts in Autumn. I will take 9 others with me. Will you join me?