Tonight, I Write From New Orleans
It is interesting being the only person on the block. Going outside, I can hear things. Things you usually can’t hear in the city. Simple things, that you could take for granted if you heard them all the time. Distinct insects, the crackling of dry leaves, branches creaking. Unfortunately, I can also feel the thick, lukewarm air, interrupted only by the occasional, slight, very slight breeze. Only the back of my neck can feel those changes of air, but I wish they wouldn’t stop.
How people existed without air conditioners just baffles me. Now I see why ice is in such hot demand down here. Going to the distribution centers, everyone wants ice. Tons of it. I wish I could lie on some ice right now. I remember backpacking up San Gorgonio when I was younger. We spent two days just climbing upwards in the summer sun. All day long, that heat was just killing. On very rare occasions, we pass a substantial chunk of compacted snow. Hard as a rock, but still cold. I wanted to lay on it and just relish the irradiating coldness. It was never comfortable enough to stay on for more than a few seconds, plus they were filthy. I would give anything to have that pile of snow right now. Even just cold water. From the car, I brought in one water bottle (of the many that roll around the backseat). Its warm, but it helps out so much. It almost feels cold in my mouth. It’s also this cheap bottle stuff from one of the distribution points I’ve stopped in it. The plastic bottle is imparting a really strong taste. The stamp says it was bottle less than three months ago, but it is really nasty. I’ll keep drinking it though, because this bottle, and those in the car, is all I have until I head back into the EOC tomorrow. This air is making me stink too, so I’m not too sure what I’ll do about a shower tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll have to use toilet water.
Today I continued where I left off yesterday: volunteering at the EOC. Specifically, I’ve been working with the New Orleans Public Health Department. For all intensive purposes, this department doesn’t exist anymore and is being rebuilt from scratch. I showed up because the work I’d been doing, of cataloging and mapping assistance locations, is quite similar to an endeavor of theirs, which is to locate and assess healthcare locations across New Orleans. Most of this, I’ve already achieved. See, New Orleans proper, that section on the east bank of the Mississippi has all about been destroyed. The west bank, Algiers, is the foundation of the New Orleans health system right now: 3 clinics. One of those is a parking lot. On the east bank, there’s one clinic, two pharmacies, and a very large Army MASH hospital set up in the Convention Center. Oh, and the USS Comfort, a naval hospital ship down across town, in Ward 9 (the hardest hit part of the city).
There’s a huge amount of work which needs to be done. For any progress to be achieved in this city, people need to come back. But people won’t come back unless there are serviced provided to them. You can’t expect a family to return to their toxic, flooded home to salvage the remnants of their life and not have food to serve them, water they can use, ice, healthcare and first-aid, psychological support, cleaning supplies, whatever. People will be coming back, if at least for closure or to pick up some pieces. The city is wide open for it, but not at all prepared.
Much of that responsibility starts with public health. It’s an exciting time to be there, seeing how it unfolds, and helping it to do so.
How people existed without air conditioners just baffles me. Now I see why ice is in such hot demand down here. Going to the distribution centers, everyone wants ice. Tons of it. I wish I could lie on some ice right now. I remember backpacking up San Gorgonio when I was younger. We spent two days just climbing upwards in the summer sun. All day long, that heat was just killing. On very rare occasions, we pass a substantial chunk of compacted snow. Hard as a rock, but still cold. I wanted to lay on it and just relish the irradiating coldness. It was never comfortable enough to stay on for more than a few seconds, plus they were filthy. I would give anything to have that pile of snow right now. Even just cold water. From the car, I brought in one water bottle (of the many that roll around the backseat). Its warm, but it helps out so much. It almost feels cold in my mouth. It’s also this cheap bottle stuff from one of the distribution points I’ve stopped in it. The plastic bottle is imparting a really strong taste. The stamp says it was bottle less than three months ago, but it is really nasty. I’ll keep drinking it though, because this bottle, and those in the car, is all I have until I head back into the EOC tomorrow. This air is making me stink too, so I’m not too sure what I’ll do about a shower tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll have to use toilet water.
Today I continued where I left off yesterday: volunteering at the EOC. Specifically, I’ve been working with the New Orleans Public Health Department. For all intensive purposes, this department doesn’t exist anymore and is being rebuilt from scratch. I showed up because the work I’d been doing, of cataloging and mapping assistance locations, is quite similar to an endeavor of theirs, which is to locate and assess healthcare locations across New Orleans. Most of this, I’ve already achieved. See, New Orleans proper, that section on the east bank of the Mississippi has all about been destroyed. The west bank, Algiers, is the foundation of the New Orleans health system right now: 3 clinics. One of those is a parking lot. On the east bank, there’s one clinic, two pharmacies, and a very large Army MASH hospital set up in the Convention Center. Oh, and the USS Comfort, a naval hospital ship down across town, in Ward 9 (the hardest hit part of the city).
There’s a huge amount of work which needs to be done. For any progress to be achieved in this city, people need to come back. But people won’t come back unless there are serviced provided to them. You can’t expect a family to return to their toxic, flooded home to salvage the remnants of their life and not have food to serve them, water they can use, ice, healthcare and first-aid, psychological support, cleaning supplies, whatever. People will be coming back, if at least for closure or to pick up some pieces. The city is wide open for it, but not at all prepared.
Much of that responsibility starts with public health. It’s an exciting time to be there, seeing how it unfolds, and helping it to do so.
posted by B at
2:33 AM
