Vacation at Camp Premier, New Orleans
I took a much-needed week long break from life - to reflect and to live again. I chose to volunteer in the Katrina debris removal program under the ageis of Habitat for Humanity.
I arrived at Camp Premier, the Federal Emergency Management Agency's(FEMA) "advanced" base camp in St.Bernad Parish in Louisiana. Since the camp was federal property, security was tight with a lot of restrictions. On the bright side, the food was good, the potties were ok and showers excellent.
The camp had around 600 people when I got there with volunteers arrving and leaving during weekends. It included volunteers from AmeriCorp, Samaritan's Purse and of course Habitat for Humanity. Most were college students, arriving in big groups. I was one of the rare "independent" volunteer, not connected to any big group.
I was put in Team Gold 1. We were a team of 9, headed by a 19 year kid from Michigan. Work began at 7:30 am in the morning and continued till 2:30 in the afternoon. It involved gutting flood-damaged houses. We had to go into houses, remove all sodden furniture, clear out the silt/sludge, knock down dry walls and get the house in shape for rebuilding. We cleaned out 4 houses in varying degrees through the week.
The team was a colorful one. The team captian, Corey, was a work-a-holic and had come down as a part of team from his college. He is a swimming champion. He handled the 90+ degrees heat and humidity in style and made up for the incompetancies of others.There were the cousins from Kentucky(Katie and Jason), two kids from U of Fl(Kim and Choppy), a kid from Maine(Sara), a educational consultant from Philly(Jen) and Clarie(I dont know much about her). Katie had a Master's in pshycology. Jason was a pure country fellow with a sarcastic sense of humor, and Choppy had an interesting history on the origins of his name. Jen, was the most talkative of the lot. She is an active baloonists and she entertained us with her balooning exploits over sunflower fields in southern France. Baloons, cannot be steered and it goes where the wind takes it. Apparently, French farmers are balooning patrons and whenever she landed in a farm, she was treated with some amazing country wine and fluffiest of croissants!
Each of us had a favorite tool and a favorite job. Corey was a attic worm. Choppy wouldn't let go of the crow-bar. I had my shovel. We worked amazingly well. It was surprising to see to a bunch of random people working so efficiently. There was no one to supervise us and yet we worked as if our life depended on it.
The scenary of destruction was one of our biggest motivators. Nine months since Katrina and a just a week away from the 2006 storm season, nothing much has changed. The houses destroyed by floods where, it seemed, preserved for us in its virgin state. The area was hardly repopulated and the Army Corp of Engineers worked in our backyards in a frentic pace to strengthen leeves for the new storm season.
The work hazards were many. The worst was the heat and humidity. For me, food was also one. Being a vegetarian, I survived on 6 liters of water, 4 slices of bread, mashed potatoes and steamed brocolli. Besides the heat, we had to encounter snakes, spiders, bugs, rusted nails,live ammunition (its deep south baby) and refrigrators.
The refrigrators had become legendary. The rotten food emanated such bad stench that some people puked wantedly in their masks, hoping their puke will smell better. The cardinal rule was, if the fridge door opened, run as if you have no tomorrow. The fridges psyched us so much that, when a girl shouted "look, an open fridge" in the bus-journey back to camp, we instinctively scampered for cover.
By the end of the day, we trooped back to the camp weary beyond comprehension. A shower was a life-giver. There was a rush for dinner at 5:30. It was the reward for our toils, and oh yeah, it tasted great. The camp was dead by 8 and the ritual started all-over the next morning.
On the last day, on our way back to camp, before disembarking, our bus-driver spoke with a heavy voice puctuated by southern accent "Y'all dont know me"...he paused..."But God bless you for what y'all are doing". A brief moment of silence ensued and then the whole bus burst into applause. There was no demeaning thanks or words of praise. Just simple heart-felt appreciation for being there and doing it.For me, that was the defining moment of the whole camp.
I arrived at Camp Premier, the Federal Emergency Management Agency's(FEMA) "advanced" base camp in St.Bernad Parish in Louisiana. Since the camp was federal property, security was tight with a lot of restrictions. On the bright side, the food was good, the potties were ok and showers excellent.
The camp had around 600 people when I got there with volunteers arrving and leaving during weekends. It included volunteers from AmeriCorp, Samaritan's Purse and of course Habitat for Humanity. Most were college students, arriving in big groups. I was one of the rare "independent" volunteer, not connected to any big group.
I was put in Team Gold 1. We were a team of 9, headed by a 19 year kid from Michigan. Work began at 7:30 am in the morning and continued till 2:30 in the afternoon. It involved gutting flood-damaged houses. We had to go into houses, remove all sodden furniture, clear out the silt/sludge, knock down dry walls and get the house in shape for rebuilding. We cleaned out 4 houses in varying degrees through the week.
The team was a colorful one. The team captian, Corey, was a work-a-holic and had come down as a part of team from his college. He is a swimming champion. He handled the 90+ degrees heat and humidity in style and made up for the incompetancies of others.There were the cousins from Kentucky(Katie and Jason), two kids from U of Fl(Kim and Choppy), a kid from Maine(Sara), a educational consultant from Philly(Jen) and Clarie(I dont know much about her). Katie had a Master's in pshycology. Jason was a pure country fellow with a sarcastic sense of humor, and Choppy had an interesting history on the origins of his name. Jen, was the most talkative of the lot. She is an active baloonists and she entertained us with her balooning exploits over sunflower fields in southern France. Baloons, cannot be steered and it goes where the wind takes it. Apparently, French farmers are balooning patrons and whenever she landed in a farm, she was treated with some amazing country wine and fluffiest of croissants!
Each of us had a favorite tool and a favorite job. Corey was a attic worm. Choppy wouldn't let go of the crow-bar. I had my shovel. We worked amazingly well. It was surprising to see to a bunch of random people working so efficiently. There was no one to supervise us and yet we worked as if our life depended on it.
The scenary of destruction was one of our biggest motivators. Nine months since Katrina and a just a week away from the 2006 storm season, nothing much has changed. The houses destroyed by floods where, it seemed, preserved for us in its virgin state. The area was hardly repopulated and the Army Corp of Engineers worked in our backyards in a frentic pace to strengthen leeves for the new storm season.
The work hazards were many. The worst was the heat and humidity. For me, food was also one. Being a vegetarian, I survived on 6 liters of water, 4 slices of bread, mashed potatoes and steamed brocolli. Besides the heat, we had to encounter snakes, spiders, bugs, rusted nails,live ammunition (its deep south baby) and refrigrators.
The refrigrators had become legendary. The rotten food emanated such bad stench that some people puked wantedly in their masks, hoping their puke will smell better. The cardinal rule was, if the fridge door opened, run as if you have no tomorrow. The fridges psyched us so much that, when a girl shouted "look, an open fridge" in the bus-journey back to camp, we instinctively scampered for cover.
By the end of the day, we trooped back to the camp weary beyond comprehension. A shower was a life-giver. There was a rush for dinner at 5:30. It was the reward for our toils, and oh yeah, it tasted great. The camp was dead by 8 and the ritual started all-over the next morning.
On the last day, on our way back to camp, before disembarking, our bus-driver spoke with a heavy voice puctuated by southern accent "Y'all dont know me"...he paused..."But God bless you for what y'all are doing". A brief moment of silence ensued and then the whole bus burst into applause. There was no demeaning thanks or words of praise. Just simple heart-felt appreciation for being there and doing it.For me, that was the defining moment of the whole camp.
posted by Unknown at 1:41 AM
3 Comments:
Very touching and inspiring. You do surprise me once in a while. Great job Goks.
Very inspiring. Lot of us want to do; only few end up doing! Great going.
An awesome thing to do and your post was very touching and got me thinking. Proud of you dude.
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