EXODUS AFTERMATH
Guest Blogger Becky

(My wife fills in some of the gaps in my story about our evacuation from the hurricane zone, and brings us up to speed on what's been going on since then.)

Ron gave a great description of our so-called exodus, and relatively quick return. The only missing element was the fact that I really, really didn’t want to leave.

I was more fearful about hitting the road into the great unknown (in an eleven year old car with a re-built engine) than staying in our battened-down abode with plentiful supplies. I wanted to scream and argue against our leaving, but Ron’s dad was adamant, and Ron trusted his dad unequivocally. Something happened to my normal behavior and I acquiesced. In a reluctant, intentionally slow-moving daze, I tried to think of everything necessary that could fit into a Toyota Tercel. Ron deftly organized the payload, half of it being the cats and their supplies.

Instead of feeling like Hans’ co-pilot, I was an unwilling evacuee whose mild anxiety about the impending hurricane was kicked into bona fide fright. While I served my purpose along the way as route-planner and shelter-scout, I was otherwise useless. I broke down into sobs several times. I was oddly more afraid for the fate of the cats than for us: I imagined nightmare scenarios of their demise, or their simply being stuck in their carriers for what might be days.

In calmer moments, I pondered my reluctance to leave. I realized that if we owned our home here in Baton Rouge, I would have fought harder to stay. I thought about a friend in New Orleans who told me she intended to stay. She has her 84 year old stepfather living with her, and her young married son living on the second floor of her house. I haven’t heard from her. I hope she got out or had at least a week’s worth of supplies. I’m fairly certain her neighborhood didn’t flood significantly, due to it’s proximity to the river. But now fires are burning in various places, and she lived close to the chemical plant that was burning today.

I can understand why some people didn’t evacuate. I like to think if we lived in New Orleans, I would have left early and prepared. But would have I have clung desperately to my imaginary shotgun house, feeling some weird control in not jumping ship? Maybe.

Then again, that’s not why so many stayed behind. The vast majority of those stranded were desperately poor, without transportation or funds of any consequence.

The reality of what’s happening continues to sink in. The news is being broadcast 24 hours from Baton Rouge, with both local and New Orleans personnel. And I’m watching it too much, but it’s hard to drag myself away.

I went to work Thursday, where five people showed up to take their graduate nursing exams. One young woman was an evacuee from New Orleans, a June newlywed whose newly purchased home was probably destroyed. She was amazingly chipper considering her circumstances.

On the way home, I encountered a couple at the Circle K who were asking directions. I found out that they were in a frantic search to buy a house here. I didn’t get a chance to ask any details, as I was trying as best I could to relate what little I know about neighborhoods here. I gave them my city map, and wished them luck.

Later last night, Ron and I went outside to pry the iron lawn furniture I had tied together with bungee cords out from under a big pecan branch. While we were there, we met my neighbor’s mother’s friend, Barbara, who was hanging out in the back yard with her wine and cigarettes. The two women had left New Orleans late Sunday evening with their two dogs, heading north. They found a room in McComb, Mississippi that night, but were denied a room on Monday due to reservations that were being held for rescue personnel. They had nowhere to go, and literally drove through the storm, avoiding tree branches in populated areas and torrential rains in others. They spent Monday night on the sidewalk – I’ve forgotten where. They made it here to Baton Rouge Tuesday evening, and have managed to secure a small apartment as long as the landlord can evict a deadbeat LSU student.

Late this morning, my neighbor Ryan came over with his small chain-saw and another evacuee from New Orleans, Blaise, who was helping to clear big branches from both our yards. I didn’t ask them – they just came on over. I went outside to carry the pieces they were cutting. I wasn’t sure what to say to Blaise. I found out that his neighborhood probably wasn’t terribly flooded. I found out that Ryan helped him to rent the house behind us from our mutual landlord on a month-to-month basis. I found out that he didn’t necessarily expect his house to remain intact, due to potential looting or fire. He carried heavy branch parts from our back yard to the street for pickup someday. I offered our washer/dryer and bathroom if they need it until they get power turned on – which could be a week, since utilities are still not completely restored here. I felt lame and useless.

I came inside and watched more news and thought about what else I could do, besides staying off the roads as the local authorities have requested. Ron came back from his cancelled rehearsal – their director decided volunteering was more important. I would agree. Someone wake me from my air-conditioned haze, thank you. We called 211, the emergency volunteer telephone number. They took our information, but after four hours, we haven’t been contacted. Not surprisingly, medical personnel and truck drivers are needed. I told them we have cars.

We decided that if we don’t hear from 211 today, tomorrow we’ll check the website again for who needs what. It changes several times a day. Earlier today it was diapers and baby supplies, then I heard that need had been filled. Whatever it is tomorrow, we’ll go shopping and try to make a tiny dent. Tiny, tiny dent. And I’ve been staring at the boob tube, like a deer in the headlights, finishing off my 24-pack of Miller Light I bought Sunday afternoon when I figured we’d just be holed up for a day or so without power.

We have power. We have everything we could need. Others are dying in the streets of New Orleans.

I’ll save the political/social/organizational/structural commentary for our dear Ron, who has a significantly better handle on such things. I will only say that the hurricane happened Monday – it’s now Friday night, and many are still stranded, and I’m pissed…again…does it take a horrible natural disaster to make people wake up?

I’m off to languish in my air conditioning.

(Read Becky's last stint as guest blogger here.)

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