Returning to a Different Place

Mercy Corps' Chris Rooks (left) discusses relief efforts with Malcolm Jones, acting mayor of Pass Christian, Mississippi. Photo: Sarah McLaughlin/Mercy Corps

Before boarding a red-eye flight last night to join my Mercy Corps colleagues in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, my most recent trip to this part of the United States was three years ago. My wife and I took a journey through Mississippi and Louisiana back in 2002 to visit family and friends, and just wander.

Our ten days or so on the road were mostly spent rambling along back roads and making unexpected, yet happy, discoveries. We sampled fried dill pickles and crawfish pistolettes. We listened intently to Cajun radio broadcasts, deciphering them like code. It was a carefree, seat-of-our-pants voyage through bayous, woods, countryside and fascinating towns.

Today, I’m returning to a much different place.

Slidell, Louisiana, where we bought sweet, hot beignets and strong chicory coffee, looks like a battlefield. Biloxi, Mississippi, where we spent a night or two at a local casino, is unrecognizable.

While my memories have been tinged with sorrow from the rapid-fire of disastrous images over the last week and a half, I can’t imagine what the families who lived here and lost everything must be going through. Their memories – photographs, letters, keepsakes and heirlooms – are buried by floodwaters or swept away forever.

The sorrow and suffering along the Gulf Coast is unfathomable. The challenge to somehow make these families’ lives whole again is enormous.

That’s a big reason Mercy Corps is here in this battered but proud region: to help families find a starting point to begin again, stronger than ever.

The magnitude of this situation became abundantly clear several times while I was traveling today. I saw it in the faces of the dozens of relief workers who packed the plane to Baton Rouge with me. I experienced it in the volume of traffic when I got on the road in that city, which has swelled to twice its normal population with the influx of displaced families.

When I arrived on the outskirts of Baton Rouge at the makeshift Mercy Corps office, a nicely-furnished space above a garage that was generously provided by the He family, I sense the commitment from the team I’m joining here. Half a dozen colleagues are deep in cell-phone conversations with other humanitarian agencies and partner organizations. Another couple of folks are departing to meet with school officials to see how they can help provide assistance and encouragement to distressed children. Three of the team members left early this morning to conduct assessments in the shattered towns around New Orleans.

Around the tiny office lay sleeping bags, some bottled water, a few laptops and other equipment: not only is this place an office, but also the meeting space and sleeping quarters for many of the dozen-strong team members. The atmosphere is charged with commitment, buzzing like strong chicory coffee.

Tomorrow, the team is splitting up in yet another configuration: one team is on its way to some hard-hit towns in southeastern Louisiana, another is headed to set up a base in devastated Gulfport, Mississippi and a third team is continuing to coordinate emergency efforts with other organizations here in Baton Rouge.

These next several days will bring all new memories, I know: of teamwork, of help and of hope.