Dartmouth in Biloxi

2007-01-21T19:05:00.000-08:00

Dartmouth in Biloxi

Adventures in Dixieland Part II*
My First Visit to Taco Bell

Hey Y’all!

Somebody at dinner last night told me I had developed a “southern twang.” I could not be prouder.

Most workers here take Sunday off. I decided to continue Dan Killeen’s tradition of making a Sunday trash crew. Unfortunately, everybody who committed to cleaning up East Biloxi with me found a ride to a New Orleans. So while they piled 12 people into two cars to go explore Bourbon Street and the Lower Ninth Ward, I donned my latex gloves and started to pick up cigarette butts. I worked on Pass Rd. (where Hands On is located) instead of East Biloxi because my ride joined the crew on their way to New Orleans.

Picking up trash by oneself is not fun. I entertained myself by making up life stories of the person who decided the sidewalk was an appropriate trash can for her pregnancy test or the man who lost his socks somewhere along the way. But boredom soon forced me to decrease my goal of reaching Wall-Mart. I grew frustrated with all the people driving by and honking: if they were honking appreciation, I wanted to yell at them to get out of their cars and come help; if they were honking at the (good-looking) girl on the side of the road, I wanted to yell at them.

Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Remember? Friday? Me llamo Alfonso. Cual es tu nombre?” This is not as entirely sketchy as it seems. “Friday” does not refer to a magical night that I spent with Alfonso, but an ESL discussion class that I attended with a few other Hands On volunteers. (Disclaimer: Everything from here on out was said in broken Spanglish and could all be a complete lie. As most of you know, me + Spanish = big mistake.) Alfonso asked me how far I planned to go; I lied and said Wall-Mart. He showed me his Wall-Mart bag and pulled out two pairs of work gloves. He said he saw me earlier and wanted to come back and help. I spent the next hour speaking Spanish, listening to Alfonso’s English responses, and stuffing deteriorating Popeye’s containers into our third trash bag.

When we reached Wall-Mart, Alfonso insisted “We go to Taco Bell.” Taco Bell disgusts me. For more reasons than the breakout of E Coli that it was responsible for earlier this year. “Ah pero no tengo dinero.” “I pay! I pay!” And so, to be polite to the man that already bought me gloves (did I mention they were pink?) and spent two hours picking up trash with me, I abandoned my morals and went to Taco Bell. For the record, it actually wasn’t that bad.

*With creativity credit given to Miss Elizabeth Alabama Mills.

-Elizabeth Mitchell '10

concluding thoughts

2006-12-18T22:27:00.000-08:00

We’re driving down to New Orleans this morning so that we can get the opportunity to check out the conditions of the city as most of us haven’t ever been down there. Even better, we’re spending the night at Hands On New Orleans and there’s even a group of Dartmouth kids working at that base so that will hopefully provide an interesting basis for dialogue and for comparison of how things get done in different relief and community rebuilding groups.

I’m so sad about leaving (yeah, I’m really eloquent, can’t you tell). The biggest internal uneasiness I’m feeling right now is the sense of having learned and gained so much down here yet not enough at the same time. I think many in our group share that sentiment—this seemed to be exemplified in our meeting yesterday with Carrie ’04, Falcon, Mr. Dan, and Ellie. The meeting was a discussion on how we as college students can take our experience down here back to Dartmouth. The predicament most of us seemed to feel was that while all of us agreed that we have learned soooooo much just by witnessing and helping with the community-rebuilding processes in Biloxi and by having conversations and making interpersonal connections (not just with local residents, but also with other volunteers), it’s still incredibly hard to synthesize what we’ve learned and to create a “call to action”, so to speak, with specific concrete steps that we can do while at Dartmouth to both 1) help rebuild the community in Biloxi (better) and 2) to make even longer-termed changes towards the creation of a society of true equal opportunity and justice. See, all of that sounds really abstract, right? Many of us thought so too, and we have only inchoate ideas on how we can even start reaching these goals. All that said (and I’m not usually known as the optimist in my circle of friends) I’m really hopeful about this experience as being the impetus of something much larger in each of our lives. I am excited about keeping the line of communication going with Falcon and Carrie, etc., so that they can guide us in using our experiences and new knowledge in productive and pretty powerful ways at Dartmouth.

All in all, the stories and experiences I got to exchange and share with local residents and other volunteers, the time I spent with the most precious kids at the local Boys and Girls Club and Pass Road Elementary, the incredible fun I had from doing simple things with others at base (making meals, Christmas caroling, doing mold dances and cheers, harassing Helicopter [my personal project]) after a hard day’s at work, were more than priceless. I look forward to future service and learning opportunities that will match, if not surpass, the one we’ve just had. It'll be so kick-ass to return down here.

I would like to close my thoughts by saying that I went down to Biloxi with such incredible peers. I think many of you underestimate your own thoughtfulness and kind spirit. During this trip, I got to know other Dartmouth kids of various socioeconomic, cultural, religious, and political backgrounds yet I sensed the same desire for affecting change. And yes, things got hard at times, and the group dynamics sucked in a few occasions, but such is the nature of putting together a bunch of very opinionated and very willing, smart people (self call! not, lol). Anyways, I’m glad I got to know you all at least a little. Hopefully we can work on some future projects together. And I hope (I'm sure) you guys feel as encouraged as I am from these past two weeks. K, that is all for now. Peace. Huzzah.

~May-Lieng ‘09

Live Oaks

2006-12-17T23:29:00.000-08:00

It's past midnight, and I've just come back from the beach, where a group of us volunteers were sitting around exchanging stories about our lives and how Hands On and Biloxi fit into everything. Aided every once in awhile by the bright lights of a hotel or casino, an eerie string of streetlights reached desperately out to light US-90 into the thickening mist. Most coastal structures are still crumpled and dark. The newly built Holiday Inn radiates its neon "Happy Holidays" marquee just across the street from the sparse skeleton of an old souvenir shop, Sharkland.

For me the most compelling sight is the trees. The majestic live oaks stripped of their leafy fullness by rushing wind and water then left to slowly regrow their ancient branches. Unlike all the man-made structures that have come and gone along this coast, the trees have been here forever competing yet coexisting with the weather, and they will flourish and be battered again as cycles of storms come and go long after I leave this place.

Today, most of the Dartmouth group went to church at the Main Street Missionary Baptist Church, where we enjoyed amazing gospel singing, and a rousing sermon by the Rev. Hayes. He spoke about the Virgin Mary and following God's plan, and seemed to direct his words at us a bit more than was comfortable, but in all the congregation was overwhelmingly warm and inviting to us. They wanted us to share a song with them, and we conceded by singing the alma mater. How embarrassing to have us standing and weakly singing a preppy college song in front of a congregation with more musical talent and rhythm than all of us put together!

I'm very lucky to have had the opportunity to see Biloxi at two very different stages of recovery from Katrina. Last December, the area was still very much a disaster zone, struggling to keep order and provide necessities. There was very little life on the streets, particularly at night. Most stores were closed, and the city was ghostly. A year later, there is a faint but palpable sense of life reborn in Biloxi. It is certainly not a normal city again, but many citizens have settled back in to make new lives for themselves and their families, and the occasional string of Christmas lights reminds the outside world that someone is back in their home.

I can't help but think again of those trees. The live oaks along the coast are particularly beautiful and interesting because of their twisting, convoluted branches. They grow in response to wind and weather, bending to accommodate their surroundings. The bark will envelop and eventually grow around a foreign object, like a chain or brick or wall. Strong and determined things, these slowly growing giants. They have learned, as Biloxi and many towns before it have learned, that handling disaster is to grow with it, incorporate it into one's being, and become all the stronger and more beautiful for the hardship.

-Sarah Overton '07

The past few days: A Christmas Carol, lots of paint and potential future volunteer efforts...

2006-12-17T12:29:00.000-08:00

Of course it sounds cliche, but I can't believe the trip's coming to an end. We have two days left here and then fly out of New Orleans to return to hometowns across the US, to celebrate the holidays in a much more holiday-like environment for all of us. I mean most of us have at least a little bit of a disconnect between warm weather and the holiday season (minus Overton maybe) but it's not just the weather that throws off the 'holiday' feeling down here. The only places that are decorated for the holidays it seems are the casinos which have taken over so much of the coast that was lost to the hurricane, and have been immediately rebuilt. The Beau Rivage talked about two entries down was built up as fast as possible it seems and opened on the 1 year anniversary of the hurricane. It's great as far as the jobs that it provides, but is such an odd thing to be in the middle of such desolate surroundings. Especially right on the shoreline where there are still smaller chain hotels that have not made any progress in rebuilding.
Yesterday, I spent the entire day painting at Mr. George's house. This house is really special to a couple of long term volunteers because they have been working on it from the ground up and now it's at a phase where we are painting the interior walls and putting up siding. Gaby and I spent hours inhaling paint fumes and getting it all over ourselves, but definitely enjoyed it. The only part that might not have been enjoyable was this tiny little closet that was probably 2 by 1.5 feet and needed to be primed all the way up to the ceiling, and part way up it became an enclosed box. Poor Monica got her hair covered in paint because she was the only one tall enough to reach the ceiling in there. But really, it was a great day. A certain Luc down here is consistently hilarious, and being the leader of our team, made everything laughable. I guess Mr. George asked him to put up an American flag in the front of the house and Luc assembled it and then ran down his street with the flag while I almost fell over laughing.
Backtracking a little, on Friday, Dan, Eli and I went to the production of A Christmas Carol that was put on at the Biloxi Little Theater with the help of 6 or 7 Hands On volunteers. While the older kids in the play did a great job, probably the best part was the 5 and 6 year olds who tried so hard but just kept us laughing the entire time. There was one little boy who probably evoked the most laughter. He kept waving at the crowd and sang very loudly during all the carols and completely tone deaf. The kids sang pretty well too, and I remember Silent Night particularly, hearing his absolutely and completely off key little boy voice coming out of the chorus. Then occasionally he would jump up and down in excitement and pull out his dance moves at interesting times. What a riot. It was a great production and afterward the high schooler who played Bob Cratchitt came up to us and asked if we were with Hands On, then wanted to shake every one of our hands and thank us for everything we were doing. We've been thanked by so many people, but each person who individually takes the time to say something touches my heart again and again, and that is definitely something I'll take back with me.
Thursday a few of us went to the Mississippi Center for Justice to talk with some pro bono lawyers who are managing so many cases right now, probably a majority of them related to FEMA reimbursements that are nowhere near adequate. We had a half hour appointment with one man, were 15 min late, ended up waiting an hour and then talking with not one but three lawyers for just about two hours. I think they could really see how we wanted to keep up and possibly change the some of kind of volunteer work that is going on down here. As many people will keep doing construction work, it is important to consider the other traumatic impacts of the hurricane. Psychiatry/psychology is apparently the number one health need here right now. I'm trying to figure out how to bring my dad-a psychiatrist-in the spring; how we could make an impact in ways other than gutting, molding, framing, drywalling, siding and painting houses. We'll see how that works and I definitely plan to be back here come spring break.

Elysa Severinghaus '09

Kilz, a holiday party, some cute children, and a trip to the other side

2006-12-16T23:11:00.000-08:00

So I've spent this trip a bit differently than I did last year...much more physical work and much less personal interaction. This wasn't intentional, I don't think, though it's probably emotionally easier to be down here if you're just working with paint and hammers instead of hearing horror stories of the storm; this is corroborated by many conversations with long-term Hands On volunteers on the verge of burnout. Sometimes emotional distance is the only way to survive and sustain an intense experience like this one. See my play for more on that subject...
In any case, I've done a bunch of different things, but overall have spent about 4 full days doing mold removal work. There are several steps to the process of transforming a house from flood-damaged, molding wood to a frame that can then be renovated and drywalled: scrub mold off the wood with toothbrushes, painstakingly vacuum the dust collected from that, carefully wipe down all the wood with disinfectant, and then paint it with Kilz, a latex paint that kills (surprise!) and seals in the mold spores. Not tedious at all, right? But surprisingly, I had a lot of fun. It was satisfying to know that we were part of an important step in the rebuilding process, plus, we had a radio station full of endless pop songs to keep us occupied (and sometimes annoyed). And yes, there was dancing too (mostly to scare away the mold). Some might deem the goofing off part of mold crew a waste of time, but there's no way anyone would spend 6 hours on their knees with a toothbrush to rotting wood unless there was some joy involved. I think an important thing to recognize about Hands On now, and the relief effort in general down here, is that it has to be sustainable. Last year there was a real sense of chaos and panic: this has to be done now, this cannot wait, we have to keep up the intensity to get this place back on its feet. But now that Biloxi does have at least something to stand on, we have to realize that things will move at a slower pace towards recovery. Hands On's mission is changing now too...they're trying to move towards a model of consistent rebuilding rather than temporary relief. Which is a tough transition, but a totally necessary one. I feel like the mold fun is part of that, of finding ways to make this work, this life, doable day after day after day. And plus, I got a sweet bracelet out of it that says FIGHT MOLD! Woohoo!
In other news...Hands On had an awesome holiday party on Wednesday night...we invited Bay St. Louis volunteers to come, everyone dressed up, there was tasty food (including potato latkes) and Dan and I decorated our brains out. Walmart supplied us with many ridiculous items, including a light up Santa sleigh and a Superman pinata, and we even made Christmas-colored rice krispie treats. So awesome. The longterm volunteers had set up a secret santa exchange before we arrived, so we did our own Dartmouth version, which turned out SO WELL. My mom was involved too (oh yeah, she's been here all week with us!), and everyone worked so hard to make these amazing presents for each other...the rule being you weren't allowed to spend any money.
Afterwards a group of us headed to the Beau Rivage, one of the many casinos on the Biloxi coast, and therefore both a blessing and a curse for the community. In some ways the casino industry is a great supplier of jobs, of income generated by tourism, etc...but in other ways it takes over the community in a really negative way, trying to buy land from lower-income homeowners in order to develop its empire. You'll also note, driving through Biloxi, that the roads leading to the casinos are lined with pawn shops. Not a good sign. In any case...the Beau has been completely restored since Katrina. Though the rest of East Biloxi, and even most of highway 90, remains a mess of debris and broken homes, the casinos are back in action and bigger than ever, lit in neon and gaudily decked out for Christmas. We walked in to this enormous lobby and I wanted to throw up. I was covered in Kilz from the painting/mold-fighting adventures of the day, all I had seen driving around Biloxi were the recovering ruins, and here in the midst of it was a high-rise hotel complex with designer carpeting. What world had I walked into? In the bathroom, two girls overheard: "I'm sooooo glad we came to Biloxi, the boys here are soooo cute!" "I know, and the party is just starting!" I looked at myself in the mirror, face splattered with mold paint, hands chafed from sanding floors, and felt an enormous disconnect. This feeling was amplified a few days later when I followed a friend to the Mississippi Center for Justice and we spent over two hours talking with some pro bono lawyers about the income discrepancies in Biloxi, especially when it comes to affordable housing. There is so much more to learn about this place- I'm overwhelmed...and a little exhilarated that I can be part of creating real change here, in whatever way that might manifest itself.
One manifestation of change is art. I haven't said much about the musical version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL, the play I've been helping out with down here at the Biloxi Little Theater. We did a production last year that starred yours truly and some other Hands On/Dartmouth volunteers as Scrooge and company...but this year it's all kinds of little (and big) kiddos from Biloxi elementary and high schools. It's so freaking cute, I can't even explain. I'm semi-stage managing, and Sarah, Nathan, Becky and Janill are doing tech, under the lovely direction of one Elizabeth Falcon (cousin to the famed Jay Starr of last year). Sad to miss dinner every night at base, but it's worth it for the excitement of these children (and the chaos/hilarity that inevitably ensues from their unbridled enthusiasm). Opening night was last night and went relatively smoothly (with excellent ad libbing all around) and tonight was (I thought) even better. Tomorrow's our last show, and I'm going to miss the energy of it. I wish I'd gotten to know the kids better- we were mostly in the booth so it was hard. If I were staying longer...
And I do wish I were staying longer. But this time I'm also ready to go home, in a way I never was last year. I think that's healthy. I think I've accepted that I can't be here right now, in the way Carrie or Falcon or Guillermo is here. My place right now is Dartmouth...and though I can work from there to hold on to these issues, my time to exist in a place like Biloxi has not come yet. I will be back, and back again, and it will be different every time, and I will be different every time...but that's how I'll know we're moving forward.

Miss Jean and the Loaves and Fishes Soup Kitchen

2006-12-14T14:20:00.000-08:00

I had the pleasure yesterday of working at Loaves and Fishes, the only soup kitchen in East Biloxi. Loaves and Fishes serves a meal every day from 11:30am to 12:30pm and has resources for homeless and needy residents of Biloxi. When I arrived with two other volunteers at 10 o'clock I was approached by a one Miss Jean. Now Miss Jean was about 5 feet tall(if she was lucky) and about as big around as my thigh. Donned in her stylish bell-bottomed jeans, the 70 year old woman works at Loaves and Fishes daily as a volunteer. Upon meeting Miss Jean, it became clear that she ran the kitchen how she wanted to. Instructed first to assemble small to go bags which contained a sandwich, snack, banana and condiments, I laid out the paper bags and began. Not more than a minute passed before Miss Jean in her endearing way, accosted me and told me I was doing it all wrong. Miss Jean said, " You put the mustard in and then the mayonnaise. Haven't you ever been to McDonald's?! On the burgers, it goes mustard and then mayonnaise." I was not about to step on Miss Jean's well-justified rationale. Finishing up the lunch bags, I moved to the coveted lunch serving line. At the end of the line, "where I belonged" joked Miss Jean, I was charged with dishing out applesauce on the trays. When the lunch line began, things were rolling along fine until Miss Jean scooted over to my end of the line and said, " You serve applesauce away from you,child! Haven't you ever served applesauce before? " We laughed and a few minutes later when I had mastered the art, Miss Jean quipped " He can listen and learn." It was only after a few minutes of conversation that I learned that Miss Jean had been working at Loaves and Fishes for over 20 years...and never missed a day. The morning her husband died a few years ago, she was there. This type of dedication and perseverance was something I have seen in few people. Miss Jean was an inspiration to me. She was not well off herself as she made clear, but " always felt the need to help." A final touch in my parting words with Miss Jean shined light on a lesson we should all strive to understand this holiday and always. When I asked Miss Jean what she wanted for Christmas, she told me "Nothing but good health and life." She then asked me the same and when I told her that I wanted nothing, she said," Well sugar you can't want nothing. You have got to want to be and love to live. The second that want stops, the second you stop truly living."

Daniel "Slaughter" Killeen '09

Library Books, Little Kids and Mass Cooking

2006-12-11T18:18:00.000-08:00

This morning I awoke to about 7 alarms between the hours of 5 and 7am. One of the few downsides of community living, no walls. I heard salsa music at 5, a portion of 'SexyBack' about 8 times over at 7, and a whole variety of beeps and buzzers in between.
Anyways, today I took a little break from the manual labor side of things down here and went to Pass Road Elementary School with two other volunteers. When we arrived there, we went to the library to sort books. They got so many donations after the storm and a lot of them still haven't been catalogued or organized so we went to work. I saw lots of books I read in my childhood, from The Boxcar Children to The Berenstain Bears to My Father's Dragon to Bridge to Terabithia. Looking stuff up on the computer and writing numbers on books isn't something to write home about, but I loved observing the classroom dynamics while the kids were in what they call a 'special', periods like library, p.e., or art. First of all the librarian was completely out of a 90s movie and used no method of quieting the children down other than repeatedly saying 'STOP TALKING OR YOU'LL GO TO THE CORNER.' An interesting approach. It did bring back the memory of how my brother used to try to get in time out in kindergarten because then he got to watch the fish swim around their tank instead of listening to the teacher.
Anyways, one of the more amusing things that the library teacher had them do was rewrite "'Twas the night before christmas...". They each added in their own little touches as she kept a thesaurus on hand to give them ideas for certain words. One kid wrote "'Twas the night before Feliz Navidad" and the librarian had no idea what he meant, but after a little explaining on his part she left him to his own creative license.
After library, we went to one-on-one tutoring with 3rd, 4th and 5th graders. Each was working on a letter to a pen pal in Compton, California. The funniest part of the day was probably a certain fourth grade boy named Jessie who was telling his pen pal that he was a rapper. He wrote, verbatim, "I go to talent contests to rap for them, you know what I mean?" He also was going to inform his pen pal that he "gets all the ladies", but I think he ran out of time. He didn't start off on a good note with me as he decided to take his short multiple choice quiz with 'eenie meenie mynie mo' at which point I informed him that was not how he was supposed to take this test, or any test for that matter! (SATs? haha) The day was over pretty quickly but I enjoyed spending the day talking to little kids instead of shouting through a respirator.
I came back to prepare dinner around 3. I cook from time to time, but I have never prepared any meal for 75 people. It's really quite the feat with three people on preparation duty. We made a baked potato and salad bar which ended up being a great success among HandsOn-ers.
Well, I have to get to SpinCycle for another exciting game of Catch Phrase!
Cheers,
Elysa Severinghaus '09

Trees in Pass Christian...

2006-12-09T14:43:00.000-08:00

Today, 8 members of our illustrious group had the chance to offer our help to the citizens of Pass Christian, MS, a town about 40 minutes west of Biloxi. Pass Christian was one of the hardest hit towns as a result of Katrina and Rita. Going down Route 90 which follows the coast, the remnants of numerous antebellum mansions were apparent as well as the few grand homes that have been rebuilt. I asked a citizen today how many people there were in Pass Christian. He said before the storm 5,000 and after only 1-2,000. Many in the upper-middle class neighborhood decided to leave and not come back. The debris and destruction is something that it seems most have gotten used to. Stopping at a unique circular church on the way back from Pass Christian, people were preparing for mass in the church that had no carpeting, plywood instead of windows and numerous other structural issues. Driving daily, citizens and visitors are exposed to and more importantly reminded of the storm that changed their life. In the park in Pass Christian, I walked passed a memorial that named the fallen citizens from the last great storm Camille in 1969. But people came back. And that seems to be the attitude of most. That people will come back. I certainly hope so, as the area is absolutely breathtaking. Waking up every morning to look out on the ocean. Can you beat it. In Pass Christian, we helped citizens to plant upwards of 30 trees along the coast. They are only trees. But I told myself that we were giving life back to a place that needed it more than most.

Tired and inspired,

Daniel P. Killeen '09

Ms. Cynthia's house, my terrible Spanish...and a mold song

2006-12-08T20:49:00.000-08:00

So today a few of us got up reeeeeeeeal early and made breakfast (and coffee, thank the lord) for the 70 people that are here now at Hands On. We made too much food, but it was delicious anyway- breakfast burritos with eggs and cheese and onions and peppers and salsa and sour cream and black beans and olives. It's easy to eat too much here...
Then we headed out on two different projects, mold removal and Ms. Cynthia's house. Mold involves lots of scubbing and painting and spraying and wiping...basically what we're trying to do is get rid of the gross rottenness that got into the wood frames of houses with the enormous floodwaters down here, so that the frames can be rebuilt-upon and turned into nice new buildings! The crew that went even got to sing a gorgeous song at dinner tonight (and apparently had the privilege to get close to some porta-potties, too. I'm jealous.)
Ms. Cynthia's house is a house (duh) that Hands On has been working on for a while now, turning it from a gutted frame to a drywalled building to a sided and painted almost-house, which is what it is now! The water came on today, they installed cabinets, and we painted, painted and painted some more. The baseboards and door trim needed putty, primer and white paint, so we tried (neatly) to apply the various coats. By the end of the day it looked GORGEOUS! And then we got to install doorknobs which was pretty much the COOLEST thing I've ever done, because they actually worked. But the best part was meeting Ms. Cynthia, a mother of five has been living in a tiny FEMA trailer next to the house, but who will now be able to move back in with her kids (before Christmas!) to the home her parents built! She told us all about how she used to climb on the counters when she was little, and you could just feel how excited she was to know she'd be seeing her kids do the same.
Afterwards we all ate dinner (delicious salmon and pasta), I caught up with a few friends from last year (Nate, Beau, Sue) and then we all headed over to the church across the street to speak English with some Hispanic construction workers who are trying to improve their conversation skills. I was worried I'd have nothing to say and would just make a fool of myself (and I did do that) but it was so much fun and I'm so glad I went. The people were great, even when they only knew a few words, and I felt as though we were all learning something. We spoke Spanish at the end and wow, they must have thought I was crazy, because I literally spent 15 minutes just making up words. So awesome.
Anyway, it's cold here but we're happy...Biloxi looks so much better than the last time I was here, and it's impossible to describe how unadulteratedly joyful that makes me.
Goodnight for now...I've gotta get sleep cause I'm doing mold. And mom...see you at the airport tomorrow,
can't wait!

-Sarah Hughes '07

We're BACK!

2006-12-07T15:56:00.000-08:00

So here we are, a year later, back in Biloxi! This time I'm co-leading a trip with the other Sarah, and the group is much smaller- only 14 of us this time. We just got in from the New Orleans airport, and we're a little tired, but man is it good to be back! Things along Pass Road look amazing...almost all the signs are back, debris has been cleared away. I can't wait to see what the rest of the city looks like. Hands On itself is just about the same, save for new shirts, a new staircase and a few more showers (though I can't say that'll keep me any cleaner!) We'll get to work tomorrow morning (can't wait) but for now I think I oughta remove my stinky feet from the area surrounding these poor folks next to me. More manana, from me or one of the other fabulous trippees...
-Sarah Hughes '07 (aka Scrooge)

Back in Biloxi

2006-01-01T13:29:00.000-08:00

So there I was, on the morning of December 20th, watching the Dartmouth vans headed to the New Orleans airport pull out of the parking lot of Hands On USA. My last chance to leave with the rest of the group and meet my parents at the airport as planned was driving slowly away. What was I doing? Why was I considering giving up a comfortable Christmas with my family in order to stay in a warehouse in the middle of a disaster zone? That's what I've been trying to explain to everyone who hasn't been down here, to everyone who must think I've gone absolutely crazy. But I can't really explain it myself.
I did end up spending Christmas with my family; I caught a ride about a day later with a group driving up to Greenville, SC where I met my parents. I spent the next seven days in Savannah, GA and Asheville, NC wrapping Christmas presents, making cookies, and catching up with relatives-- but I couldn't get Biloxi out of my head. I kept sneaking away to go online and look for cheap flights or bus rides back down to Mississippi, and I went as far as emailing Hands On to find out if they could pick me up at 5 AM at the bus station if I came back. Finally it was the day before my parents and I were due to fly back home to Connecticut, and I had to make a decision. It would have been easier and probably less stressful for everyone if I'd just gotten on the plane with them, but something was pulling me back to Biloxi. I tried to explain this to my parents and justify to them a $100, overnight bus trip to Mississippi-- and instead of flipping out, my mom told me she'd like to come back with me. I could not have been more surprised when I realized that she was completely serious.
Long story short, Mom and I rented a car for ten hours and drove from Asheville, NC to Biloxi, Mississippi, arriving at about 4 PM on December 30th. And man, it's GREAT to be back. The past two days we've spent cleaning up the city streets and a local historical cemetary, getting sweaty and scratched up clearing away debris, and hearing from locals who couldn't be happier to have their parks and public streets back in order. Already I feel completely at home again, and my mom's having a wonderful time meeting all of the incredible people at Hands On. Today we visited Main Street Baptist Church again for services, and I had the opportunity to get up in front of the congregation and thank them for welcoming us all into their community. And tomorrow I plan to head out as part of the "Mold Revolution" that is taking Biloxi by storm and beating all those spores into submission so that we can start rebuilding.
Last night was New Year's Eve, and a bunch of us headed over to the Buddhist Temple on Oak Street to gather with other volunteers around the bonfire and count down to 2006 together. Just before midnight, I took a walk away from the fire and down a side street, where a few FEMA trailers sat quietly amongst piles of debris and empty foundations. Everything was half-hidden in the thick fog that's been covering the city since Friday evening, and in any other situation, in any other place, I might have been nervous or scared. But I wasn't. I was a little bit sad, a little bit hopeful, a little bit confused-- kind of the way I've felt the whole time I've been in Biloxi. And also, I was awed. By the people at Hands On, by the community members I've met; by all that I've seen in Biloxi, by all that I've heard about but still haven't seen; by the work we've already done here, and by all the work that still needs doing. I've never had a stranger, better New Year's Eve.
So long story short: I'm back here and I'm still feeling the same way I felt that last morning when I watched the Dartmouth vans pull out. Thinking logically, I shouldn't want to stay here-- I have a wonderful, comfortable life to go home to. But logic doesn't work here, and all I know is I'm still not ready to leave. I want to get in touch with all the locals I met when we were all here before, to check in on how they're doing. I want to talk to everyone at Hands On, to find out how they ended up here. I want to go to Pass Christian, to Waveland, to Bay St. Louis, to see how we can help out there. There are still so many more pictures I want to take, so many more conversations I want to have, so many more people I want to meet.
So we'll see what happens. Probably I'll leave on the 5th, like I'm supposed to. But I hope more than anything that I'll be back.

-Sarah "Scrooge" Hughes

Touched

2005-12-27T14:48:00.000-08:00

You can’t understand unless you’ve seen it with your own eyes. You can’t believe it unless you lived through. Understanding the scope is impossible. The only thing you can do in grit your teeth, dig in your heels, and refuse to be forgotten; swept away by the shifting tide of public consciousness. I recently spent two weeks down along the Gulf Coast, and even during the last day I had trouble having the whole event sink in. It’s because I didn’t see the terrible events unfold. New Orleans flooded over a period of several days. Biloxi, MS, our home base during the trip, flooded in mere three hours. Minus the storm surge, the effects of the category 4 hurricane would have been devastating: trees down, roofs ripped off, damage to any thing exposed. The storm surge was the keystone of the disaster. It hit during high tide. There’s a normal 8 to 12 foot variability in the tides, yet it hit at its peak. Coupled with the storm surge, water rose nearly 30 feet along the hardest-hit, low lying (if you’ve ever been to the South, then you know that everything is low-lying) areas. The architecture and low-income tier of the residents ill-suits flood damage prevention. Their houses are one-story and small. Damage to residences was extensive. Not just to the places that we’ve heard about in the news, or to the places that we saw, but to every house in every town along the Gulf Coast that was hit. I was part of the crew that worked on the interiors, or as it is more properly known as: demolition. Basically, we took the house down to its studs so that its foundations could be demolded before the rebuilding could took place. To do this we used crowbars of all sizes and weights, hammers, shovels, chisels, and sledgehammers. It still feels weird to open doors without my trusted behemoth of a crowbar. Our first day we were exposed right away to our task: two houses to demo. It’s amazing to think how tepid we were when we first started – small sings of the sledgehammer, paying careful attention to minute details, wrinkling our nose at the smell, using masks other than the effective and form-fitting 3M masks. The smell was the worst. Every house has a smell – a microcosm of this is dorm rooms. No two student rooms smell the same – even frat basements have distinct odors. In the aftermath of Katrina, all the houses we worked on smelled the same. It had the same mud caked to the floor, the same mess created in the homes, the same flood water found in the refrigerators, cupboards, and lamps. The same 3-month old rotting food strewn about as these people’s lives were so rudely interrupted. The same cockroaches half-dead after we removed their perches, the same sickly geckos half-heartedly trying to make an escape. Only one house was different. There was shit in that one. Everyday we worked, we looked at these trashed houses – insurmountable mountains that needed to be climbed. 7 hours later, whatever paralyzed frozen personality that remained in the house was gone – there was only shades of wood and mold, and a giant pile of trash on the side of the streets. A layer of ruined scrapbooks under layers of their ruined furniture under their ruined walls. People’s lives strewn on the sidewalks in town, courtesy of us, damned by the storm surge. The last structure we did, our eleventh, the elderly owner and her daughter stopped by to see if anything could be saved. This house had been particularly trashed – flood water was found in all sorts of interesting places. By the time the family arrived, we done a good job cleaning out the front room (the kitchen and dining room). Before the owner entered, I had grabbed one of the two items she wanted to keep – a metal snowman that the water came a few inches short of grabbing. The second item was a trunk in under her bed that contained Christmas ornaments that she a had bought the previous year. She wanted to celebrate a normal Christmas. The owner walked in. She was disturbed at the sight, but fine. Her grown daughter followed; she had not been home since the storm. She let out a scream, quickly swallowed by her hands. No one else heard it – only I did. I was close to her. I will never forget that cry. The trunk was found, but its contents were ruined. The owner began to cry too. Personality had just come back to the house, and it was horrified at what that bastard storm did to it. After the family left, we finished our work in silence, preparing the house so that it would be renewed. The owner wasn’t going to come back – she couldn’t afford to.
Biloxi is fortunate to have a coordinated relief effort – hundreds of volunteers have helped out at all levels, abiding by the Hands On’s mantra of asking people ‘how can we help you?’. Many aspects of the town has been helped, although there is still much to go. The casinos, which bring countless millions of dollars into the state of Mississippi, will move on land now, and people will lose their homes.
Not every town is so lucky. My crew spent two days in Waveland, a town nearby. It took a day or two for the initial aid workers to ever reach the city- the roads going in were covered by miles of downed trees. It was there that we saw the best and worst of Southern culture. A meal at Christian church affiliated center (which shall remain nameless in the article) exhibited the selective relief that some organizations are giving to communities. Waveland was mostly black, yet very nearly all the people being helped were white. They preached and sang of the virtues of Jesus and Armageddon, which would save all of these people of this affiliation and kill the rest. God bless us when the trumpets of Gabriel blow. When they made us tell them what religious organization we were part of, they nearly kicked us out at the spot. When we were done eating, we were kicked out. One of our group was subjected to the opinions of one elderly, faithful churchgoer. God bless the hurricane, he said, it killed all those n*****rs in New Orleans. It got even better when the heathens began shooting each other. Now, all those schoolteachers are upset about all those n*****rs being shipped into their schools because they’re uneducated and they’ll have to change the curriculum for them! It was nearly too much for me, especially that night when I talked to two elderly white women who lost their home, were living in a tent because FEMA hadn’t given them a trailer yet, and their daughter that’s living with them was expecting a child in two weeks. God bless that hurricane. However, that next day I met one of the nicest men that I have ever met. By some miracle, his street escaped the surge. Soon after the storm, he was helping cook and feed many in his neighborhood, happy to be a help. Previous volunteers had helped out sister, so he said he would feed us. With only a few hours of ahead notice, he cooked one of the most amazing meals I had ever tried. Believe me – I’ve had some excellent meals (thanks Mom, my girlfriend and her sister!). He was kind, devoutly Christian, and totally welcoming of us. He even invited us to his small church, which was also blessed with a very talented gospel choir, of which this man was a part of. Southern culture was dichotomized on this trip. Admittedly, I’ve had a sheltered life growing up in secular Maine suburbia, but still, I believe I saw the absolute depth and greatest heights of the religious South.
Overall, by the time we left, a member of our team totaled the work we had done: 11 houses, $6000 of work done. It wasn’t a few of us changing the world, but we were making a world of change to a few people. It was community service at its best and most-needed form.
Lastly, I’d like to mention that community service is always needed, whether it gets the press or not. This disaster does not warrant acute relief. Towns will need help rebuilding for many years. However, there are other parts of society that need our help. The work required may not be as sexy as disaster relief, but it is just as needed in some parts. Worldwide and at home. Chronic problems need perpetual work done on them, and unfortunately these problems do not inspire the same and appropriate impetus of the relief work that has gone on since the hurricane. Martin Luther King once said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in the moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of challenge and controversy.” I believe this to be true, but not encompassing of human character. The mettle is tested when in these situations, but it leaves out service. It is in times of comfort and convenience that we should most focus on bringing others to us. However many are already helping in some way, there are countless more who are not. An addict needing help overcoming an addiction, a family is does on their luck and have lost their home. These small disasters can be relieved by the more comfortable. Margaret Edelman once said, “Service is the rent for living.” In a perfect world, this should be true.

I am now trying to come to grip to being back in my comfortable home in Maine, living with my stable family and close friends. After coming back, it has been hard to forget what I have seen, done, and experienced. There are terribly strong emotions that have bubbled up: guilt, sadness, resentment. I felt my inner self come close to breaking while I was on the trip – after the house with the family, every time I closed my eyes, everytime I was asked how my day was, I always thought of that one cry. To me, that is what Gulf Coast is. It is shocked, pained, turned about, temporarily lost but still altogether assured of its course. But others cannot know this. It is strange feeling emotions emerge without the control that we are all so used to having, and it will take time until I finally come to grips to my time as a Hurricane Katrina relief worker. ~ZS

Elmer Street

2005-12-15T21:52:00.000-08:00

"Nobody ever comes down Elmer Street," Andria Harris says, standing next to her husband. "The Red Cross, FEMA... Nobody. Except for Hands On, who comes down it every day." Elmer is a narrow street running through a poorer neighborhood in East Biloxi. I watch as dogs run up and down the street, Andria's children laugh and play next to her 3 foot tall, plastic Christmas tree- a beautifully decorated tree. A Christmas toy, given to her kids by Hands On volunteers, is playing Christmas songs, one after the other. The people on Elmer street embody what it means to be a good neighbor; they watch out for each others kids and, "tell their parents when their kids get out of line." Their FEMA trailers are lined up 5 feet apart, lined up in the neighborly way their homes were before the storm, in a lot where a home once was, not seperate and hidden like most FEMA trailers in the city. Each and every home on Elmer street is nearly collapsed.

Mr. and Ms. Davis stand next to their FEMA trailer, their home stands in the background. It is damaged to the point that it looks like it has to be demolished. "We still have some people living in tents, we have some people who don't even have tents, they're living in their cars. But at the same token, yesterday our president said things were going back to normal. What's normal? This is not a lifestyle we are used to. We are not from South Africa we are not from the Middle East, this is not a lifestyle we are used to, but if this is normal, I want to know what I had before that. Because in my eyes, this is not normal, and in the eyes of other people in Mississippi and Biloxi, this is not normal. Where's the normalcy? We have 11 days till Christmas, but what is a Christmas if you have nothing to give? Granted we have a life, we have each other, we have our friends we have our neighbors, but where's our real Christmas, where's our life, who's gonna give us our lives back? We can only do so much."

Andria takes me into her trailer. I ask her how it is working out for her. "It's not. There is a leak in the roof the trailer guys can't fix, the fridge is so small that I have to go shopping every day." She shows me the bathroom. The bath tub is about 4 feet long and two feet deep, "infant-sized," she says. The toiled has no leg room. She laughs and says it is funny when her husband, who is at least 6'4", uses the bathroom. I had this image of his feet in the bathtub while using the toilet. These are "travel trailers," and there is one bed for Mr. and Mrs. Harris, and their two little children. They recieved a trailer in mid-October, and before that they were living in tents.

Much of the attention in post-Katrina Biloxi has gone toward bringing back the Casino's. Lots of time and energy was spent passing legislation to allow the Casino's to open up on land. The Casino's aren't having problems with their insurance companies, like nearly every Biloxi resident. The only construction workers I have seen so far have been at the Casinos. "The Casinos are going up rapidly. They want to open up Sin City, for the tourists, granted you have tourists, thats revenue, but what about the people? The tourists are in for a week, but then they're gone, what about the people who are living here, who grew up here. All of the houses on this street are inheritances, our home was here since 1932, passed on through generations. The Casinos are not here for generations, they've been here for a few years and we've been here for a lifetime, so what can they give us, because we have nothing." Their belongings are all in their 5 foot by 25 foot trailer.

Because the Harris home is part of eminent domain, they are worried that the city will come seize their property for a public project. Because of this, Andria stays home to protect her property and is not working. She says that if the city tries to take her property, she will put up a giant wall and plant giant oak trees where her house was.

Mr. Harris, says,"I was 4 when my mom purchased this home. I remember when this street was oyster shells. You have so many deep memories of this place, it is just too hard to leave it."

Ted Mathias '09

$ Biloxi, Casinos, and Cold Cash $

2005-12-15T07:25:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, December 14th, 2005:
My idea that she wanted another casino card dealing job evaporated as the middle aged woman sighed and glanced at the floor.
"I took too much money from too many people. You just have to keep making them think they can win even after they go back to the car and get the baby food money. It's all about false hope."
We worked on a new résumé, which she planned to use to apply for an airport security job.
"I want something more useful, where I won't feel that I'm always trying to steal peoples’ money. You look at them, and they know they're losing, but they just can't stop."
The Katrina victims seeking résumé and employment assistance opened the unscreened windows into their minds today. I hope they felt listened to, and that we boosted their confidence.
"I was working two jobs, at the Daycare, and at the Magic Casino. The Storm destroyed both buildings and flooded my home...I guess you just have to build back up. That's all you can do; start again."
Personal accounts of splintered homes and broken lives reverberate off the twisted metal in Biloxi, and through our minds.

Nick Ware ‘08

Halfway There

2005-12-14T19:42:00.000-08:00

Well it’s been about a week since our trip started, and what an experience this has been for me thus far. I hadn’t watched much of the footage on the hurricane before arriving, so my trip though different communities showed me the very real destruction all around. Seeing blocks upon blocks of barren land, wrecked vehicles, and smashed buildings totally awed me – and then I remembered I was just viewing a tiny piece of the total picture.

Today I worked at the East Biloxi Community Center, which I have been doing for the past few days. It basically acts as a distribution center for any resident who needs food, clothing, baby supplies, drinks, blankets, home goods, shampoo, mattresses…anything Shipments arrive almost daily and it is a very full, busy day to constantly stock and organize all the essentials that people are given to improve their lives. Unfortunately for the hundreds (roughly 600-800) of people who come through on a given day, the mayor of Biloxi has decided to shut the center down by December 31st, in order to allow other activities to move back in. News crews have been in recently covering the story, as almost all of the people who rely on the center could not imagine living without it. The guy who runs the place, Dave Romero, is a total volunteer who has found a way to pay rent, allocate shipments, work here for 27 hours a day, and run the most successful operation around. He’s an amazing guy. He even taught me how to operate a forklift, and I drove that thing around for the afternoon, unloading shipments – wicked sweet.

Working here also gave me the bitter taste of politics in the area, and I found out about the very recent (Feb 2005) Supreme Court decision on eminent domain which has expanded the previous usage, now allowing the government to force private property owners to sell their land/homes if the purchaser’s new usage of the land will improve the community through economic development. Applying here in Biloxi, to those people living along the valuable shoreline who were too poor to afford insurance and had their homes destroyed, if they don’t make visible signs that they are fixing their house/land by the new year, their land will be taken from them (probably against their will) and they will be given whatever compensation deemed fit in return so that a money-making casino can sit on their lot. These people don’t have money to buy food, their jobs are destroyed, many haven’t yet even returned home, and they now face the near-impossible challenge of improving their home or having it taken away from them!? I thought about these problems today, and I got had a quite emotional afternoon, empathizing with these unfair and upsetting situations. Local people feel betrayed and hopeless. Many feel that leaving might be in their best interests, because the community they once knew is being rebuilt with an entirely different agenda – their new town will end up looking more like a casino resort and less like a home.

Aside from the depressing realities the people are forced to deal with, it has meant a lot to me to have been able to help so many people. I talk with people every day, and some of the stories I hear are just unbelievable. People are strong down here in the south, and their infinite optimism should be an example for us all. I made a friend with another volunteer down here – Virgil, but we call him Big V – and working alongside him has made every day a fun day filled with laughing and teasing. Some can’t take his loud, southern-drawl-filled hollerin’, but I enjoy it as part of the total southern experience, alongside morning breakfast grits. Anyways, I hope this next week gives me the same satisfaction as the first one has. Goodnight ya’ll.

Ibrahim Elshamy 09

Pink

2005-12-14T07:03:00.000-08:00

12-14-05

A number of people not here on our trip have emailed or phoned me asking "Who are you helping there in Biloxi? Why can't they do the work themselves? Are they just lazy?" That one requires a bit of a response and explanation.

This morning, 46 of us drove an hour west toward New Orleans down Interstate 10, the eerily shattered trees and twisted billboards serving as our mangled sentinels along the way. Forty miles from Biloxi, we pulled off the highway and drove five miles toward the coast to Bay St. Louis, a city of 5,000 located directly to the right of the eye of Katrina, placing it within the most destructive path of the storm. As we drive down route 603, we turn down Three Dog Night to gape at the trailers and pick-ups, dumped upside down, or, in one instance, twenty feet above the ground in the nook of a tree. Stagnant water, algae layered like some grim sci-fi back drop, skirts both sides of the roads, absorbing the centuries-old live oaks and spanish mosses, those weeping monsters that flank the way.
As we pull in to Disaster Central - a small satellite operation of Hands On that has been established in the heart of Bay St. Louis - we are welcomed by a black woman in cargo pants and a white polo shirt. Lori has us sign wavers and then divides us into trees, mold and interior teams. We've brought all of our own tools and gear - sledge hammers, bad mommas, crow bars, skill saws, generators, helmets, MREs (meals ready to eat, the same food that the frontline soliders in Iraq consume), and boxes of face masks - so Lori hands out job orders and sends us off with skeletal instructions scribbled on the back of photocopied insurance claims and meal tickets.
My crew is on interiors. For those of you who have never ripped out the guts of a house before, pounding and slamming away until the building is naked, it is an experience in and of itself. You arrive at a home in the morning, reeking of decaying wood, mold, and rot, piles of soggy and moldy clothing, china, dressers, books and nick-knacks - so many nick-knacks - waiting silently inside darkened and damp rooms. By the time the crew leaves at the end of the day, the house has been reduced to a skeleton of 2x4's and shingles, a veritable mountian of memories and crumbled dry-wall piled on the front lawn.
We pull into the driveway of 799 Washington Street, home of Gerri Bryant, aka Gerri Kay, the pin-up girl, comedian and performer of 1950s acclaim. Gerri is inside her FEMA trailer - she's one of the few who's been lucky enough to find a new place to live. Because she had access to a phone, which many people don't have, she was able to obtain information and place an order for a trailer, which she received four weeks ago. Many people's trailer orders were filed improperly or lost by FEMA. Those unlucky people are still living in tents or crashing on friends and family's couches, nearly four months after the storm. Gerri spent the ten weeks in between living with distant relatives in Houston, who literally kicked her out by the end of her stay. After we knock and open the door, Gerri appears with tears in her eyes. She invites a girl named Suzanne and me inside, shuffling about in a pink velour nightgown, cradling a mini-poodle in her arms as she sniffs and coos to us. "Oh, Nick, I just can't go on. I just can't do it, sweetheart." As she launches into a tear-filled abreviated version of her show-biz career and life history, the rest of our work crew carries soggy couches and moldy carpets out of her house, visible through the windows on the side of her trailer.
She sits with us and shows us the few scraps from newspapers and magazines that she has left, the only mementos of an illustrious career. When Katrina hit, Gerri wanted to stay in her house. Many of her neighbors did. The woman next door died. Gerri had fifteen minutes to pack-up before a concerned stranger forced her into his vehicle in a hasty exodus. She managed to save her Bible, a veritable tomb that would put the Gideons to shame. Inisde, she had stored a dozen clippings and articles. Those and one framed fading photo of her, a buxom beauty sprawled across a plush velvet couch - Gerri the Platinum Blonde, the caption proclaims - are all that she has to remember.
She collected East Asian art and porcelain, and managed to save some items - a Buddha head and some Tibetan prayer wheels - which she cleaned and placed around her crowded trailer. Our crew was given specific instructions to use their own discretion when demoing the house, to save anything that might be of value - jewlery, porcelain, fancy nick-knacks. Usually we just go to town on the rig, sledge-hammering vases, toilets and mirrors with detached empathy. Here we had a special request.
"My only son, he's not a good... I mean, when I was in the hospital with cervical cancer three years ago, he only came once, for ten minutes, and he didn't even bring flowers. It's probably my fault, but he's self-centered and doesn't care about me. Nick," she sobs and wraps her frail pink arms around my shoulders, "he's just waiting for me to die so he can get my house."

So, to answer the question in a roundabout way, we are here because we're needed. Because without our help, people like Gerri have to pay upwards of $10,000 to have their houses gutted and demolded. We spent the afternoon at a black woman named Paula's house. She's a single, uninsured mother, parent of three, one of whom suffers from alopicia and requires biweekly trips to Jackson for treatment. As we danced with her to the Rolling Stones while tearing our her bathroom - I broke a water valve on the toilet, and ended up getting an unexpected and unsanitary shower - she kept on clapping her hands and hugging me, thundering "Nick, y'all are such a blessing. God is GOOD, Nick, God is good." Paula got word last night that she had been selected to have her house redrywalled pro bono thanks to the benificence of a Washington state based group of Mennonites. The only catch was that she had to have her housed demoed down to the studs by tomorrow morning. She called Disaster Central - again, she had access to a phone - and we were able to help. She has absolutely zero financial wiggle room, and our free demolition service allowed her to rebuild her house wihout going into crippling, depressing, life-ending debt.

It feels good to be here. The satisfaction I get from one full day of dusty, moldy, back breaking work is greater than what I've gotten from writing any paper or taking any test in four years of college. Seeing people's faces, hearing their stories, hugging them, crying with them throughout a day - that's why we're needed here. Only when that element of human compassion breaks down will these people truly have nothing. So, as you sit on your computers reading this, thinking about lunch meetings, getting the kids to school, what's for dinner - take a minute and remember that just because Biloxi, Bay St. Louis, Waveland, and Pass Christien are no longer in the news, doesn't mean that things have gotten better. The need here is still great. You can do your part by continuing to seek out the issues and keep them vocal within your community. Your compassion and thoughts are what these people need more than anything else.

Gratification

2005-12-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

12-13-05

There are no desolate fields to speak of, no crying widows in the street, but this is but the outside of the city. As we venture further in, we see the razed remains of homes, the devestation that words cna only begin to describe. The waters have receded now, but they leave behind far more than mold and ruined buildings. The lives here are shattered. Beloved family and dear neighbors lie dead, remembered only by orange numebrs sprayed onto walls by emergency services. Devestation can only begin to describe the material damage here, and there are no words for the people.The people... that's what everything is about. Why there are two hundred men and women down here in Biloxi volunteering with Hands On USA. Volunteers who have taken time off school, work, or away from family in order to help the people of Biloxi, as best they can.And the residents of this town know this. Though deprived of what many of us consider basic living necessities, they smile and tell us their stories, of how water rose and rose and rose, never ending, of how they prayed and wept and prayed - not only for themselves, but for the people of Biloxi.One woman eagerly told me of how her and sixteen other family members huddled together in the attic, as the water rose more than ten feet. She told me of how the attic window was locked, and had the water risen any further, they would have all drowned. And yet this woman, whose home and most material possessions are destroyed, can wait in line for some clothes, while telling me her story without shedding a tear. She even tells me one thing in her rich southern accent I don't think I'll ever forget. "God gives us challenges, but only those we can meet." She sees this as a challenge, and is willing to pick up the threads of her life. And that is why being here is so gratifying, because I can help mend one small thread of her life. By just being there, by just listening and doing the small tasks I can here. For anyone who reads this, I encourage you to come down, if only for a day, to do what you can here. No matter how small, your contribution will make a difference to these people. The fact that you are here and that you care is enough.

Nikhil Jain '09

What next?

2005-12-10T21:07:00.000-08:00

12-10-05

"I dunno, I've been workin' all day, every day for the past three months now, and there's still boucoup stuff down in that ravine there. It makes a body tired." A.J., in his early-70s and speckeled with liver spots, dribbles a bit of spittle onto his tripple layered flannel shirts as he sits perched on his Gator lawn maintenance vehicle, surveying what is left of his domain, Camp Wickles, across the Back Bay from East Biloxi. "That damn hurricane wrecked this whole place, man. I'm telling you, Morehead Cabin, Dominick Dining Hall, Eagles Perch, the canoe rack. God only knows where they're at now, probably sittin' at the bottom of the Gulf." His camp property ruined, no insurance in place, A.J. has hopes of getting the camp running by next summer in time for Scouts season, but at this point, is taking things a day at a time. Today, he has thirty volunteer Air Force men and women from the local Kesseler Air Force Base raking leaves, gathering trash, and hauling corroded lumber towards a massive football field sized pile of debris. Our group of Dartmouth students and staff joined several other volunteers from Hands On USA at the site.
The work here in Biloxi at times seems almost pointless - we are carving such a small dent into such an overwhelmingly huge problem. But, then again, as Dave Hunt, our Safety and Security officer on the trip, pointed out last night, our work here is reminiscent of the boy and starfish story - every hour we work, every rotting kitchen we clean, every house we de-mold, is making a huge difference in someone's life. And, for more self-centered reasons, it also makes us feel good.
Take Kim for instance. Today at 8:30AM, we entered her house - a reeking, muddy, moldy calamity with water logged carpets, smashed dishes on the ground, and a roof which let the sun shine through. She had two refriderators, neither of which had been touched since Katrina, both filled with four month old rotting food - even with the doors on the fridge duct-taped shut, the stench was nearly enough to make me vomit. But we threw her kids stuffed animals out the windows, tore the carpeting up off the floor, and ripped the siding and insulation from the walls. We smashed cabinets, dodged falling chunks of ceiling, and filled her streetside curb with literal mountains of debris. By the end of the afternoon, we'd emptied her house of everything that she had once owned - as you can imagine, one accumulates quite a lot of crap over two decades of living in the same house. Kim is one of the luckier ones. She still lives on her property in a FEMA trailer - for all intents and purposes, an RV - donated by the illustrious branch of Homeland and Security, attached to gas, water, and power through a series of tubes that runs up her driveway from the street. She is in her forties, but doesn't have the money to pay for renovations - in fact, she's only received $15,000 of the total $95,000 insurance plan she had purchased for her house. Everybody on the worksite felt like they had accomplished something by the end of the day.
At tonight's reflection session with our Dartmouth group, several people expressed concerns over working on people's homes and other sites within the community while the capable homeowners and local residents only watched, and in some cases actually partied. I'm not sure how to respond to this issue - on the one hand, Hands On's work in this community is a testament to the power of idealism. But on the other, the idealism falls short when in the long run we end up providing the manpower for people who should be providing their own. I'm not trying to imply that the people we help don't need us - in most situations, the individuals we meet are in dire straits, having lost numerous family members and everything they own. It is impossible to imagine. But, we face the important issue of long-term sustainability, and what happens once we leave in two weeks and Hands On leaves in January. Will the relief effort grind to a halt? Will the government (local, state and federal) finally step in?
Steps will be taken to provide for a "clean exit" (to use the parlance of a far more expensive current government initiative), but we certainly can't predict what will be here several weeks (or months or years) down the road...

Documenting Curry and the Indescribable

2005-12-09T20:07:00.000-08:00

Curry wafts from the kitchen here, or at least it did tonight. And everyone at Hands On seems to own at least one musical instrument, an excellent pairing with the repetoire of early 90s pop song lyrics everyone seems to know. The facilities and people at Hands On smack of a nuevo Hippie commune to me. And sitting through the nightly 'All Hands' debriefing that follows dinner makes even the days work completed and the following days work to be done seem not only do-able, but incredibly rewarding.
I find that as I try to think about my first full day in Biloxi, I can only capture logisitics or describe the festival of sorts that is Hands On USA. The underlying significance of it all is so hard to delve into. Just trying to assess how I was affected by the crumpled McDonald's sign, or (to get to the crux of it all...) the woman who described putting her "babies" (6 children under the age of 10) on top of dressers as the water level rose in their two story apartment, leaves me so emotionally drained and overwhelmed that I become almost desensitized. The buckled over trees, devastated houses and wiped away bridges leave me in awe of the power of nature. But did I really come all the way here to realize "Geeze, winds and storm surge sure can cause a lot of damage"? Signs point to No. What really affects me is the true optomism that the people here have in the face of such unimaginable circumstances. A man and his dog passed us as we got into our van to head to lunch. The two had ridden out the storm together, swimming out of a flooding one story house and climbing into its attic for the terrifying duration. Today the man chuckles, after mentioning his unemployment, his dilapidated home and his essentially condemed community in passing, he tells us that Midnight is a Hurricane hound. "A beast who just loves taking rubble pile walks in this post Katrina ghost land".
It is this dogged optomism that affirms the trip, makes the curry, runs the nightly meetings and just inspires everyone to keep plugging away. So heres to Dartmouth's hand in the plugging...
-Annie Rittgers '09

We All Made It!

2005-12-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

12-8-2005

Hi all,

Here we all are, safe and sound - albeit smelly, tired and hungry - at Hands On USA (www.HandsOnUSA.org) in Biloxi, Mississippi. Calvin Richardson and I spent the past three days driving from Dartmouth via New York and Knoxville with a van full of computers, clothes, tents, food and machetes. We met the rest of the crew this afternoon at the Hands On headquarters, where we'll be staying for at least the next few days. Calvin and I arrived an hour before the rest of the group, and had just enough time to put-up the first tent before thunder clapped and water inundated our camping field. Never fear! The lovely people at Hands On have let us all stay inside their heated wearhouse tonight, where we're all currently talking, playing cards, meeting other volunteers, and waiting for dinner - spaghetti with sauce and broccoli to feed 150. The other 43 members of the Dartmouth team successfully reconvened in New Orleans and rented six minivans and one 12-seater for the 90 mile trip east. People spoke of finally being able to see this disaster from outside the confines of 'the media straw,' an analogy I liked. The immensity of the damage here is still harrowing nearly four months later, and may be even more so considering how little has been done in some parts of the city. Piles of trash - not traditional trash, but insulation, moldy 2x4's, shoes, baby carriages, pots and pans, wheels, trees, windows, cabinets, doors, mirrors, beds, mattresses, and literal tons and tons of viscous, reeking mud - still line the streets of downtown Biloxi. There is a lot of work to be done.
We have all five of our projects planned out for tomorrow, and - amazingly - it looks like everything so far has gone off without a hitch - knock on wood. We'll be heading out to the East Biloxi Coordination and Relief Center, Nichols Elementary School, and several condemned and moldy houses, amongst other luxurious destinations, for our first day of work. All students here are excited to be done with finals, and everyone from the Dartmouth contingent is psyched to get their hands dirty. We're keeping our fingers crossed for clear skies tomorrow, which should make everyone's initial impressions here a bit more pleasant. Dinner's served - more to follow after our first day of work tomorrow!

Nick Taranto '06