A Night in a FEMA Trailer

Mundy's cousin Peggy surveys the ruin her home has become in the long aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Photo: courtesy of Marcus Mundy

It is April Fool's Day, and I feel as if someone has played a horrible joke on the city of New Orleans.

My first, and probably last, night spent in a FEMA trailer was odd, eerie, still and slightly surreal.

After driving around a battered New Orleans last night, my cousin Peggy brought me to her and her husband's current home, which was a small FEMA trailer nestled in front of what used to be her home on Wingate Street, three blocks from the London Avenue Canal - a canal which, during Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath, breached in three separate spots.

The breach flooded their home; the water rose to a level just six inches below her ceiling. It sat there for three and a half weeks, and then receded leaving a destroyed home and neighborhood, mold, shattered memories and a 19-months-and-counting administrative and financial nightmare.

I slept in the lower bunk of a narrow bunkbed near the bathroom. The toilet in the bathroom was so close to the tub that one needed to turn sideways to use the facilities.

I stand well over six feet tall, as does my cousin's husband Ellsworth, and my head was slightly poking through the vent in the top of the shower when I cleaned up in the morning. There is hot water, heated by a propane tank, which must be heated by flipping a switch for quite some time before you need it in the morning.

Taking a walk

I had a short night's sleep, arising at 6:30 because I wanted to walk the neighborhood. As big as I am, my cousin didn't want me to go alone, so she got dressed and away we went.

It was very quiet. There were only a few street lights (we are lucky: their trailer is right under a light). We walked and she proceeded to tell me which neighbors had left, which had come back, which were working on their homes, and which nobody had been back to since the storm.

She showed me house after house that was now being rebuilt, usually on foundations that elevated them from 8 to 15 feet higher than they were originally. She shared with me that because there is limited (or no) flood insurance for homes below a certain height anymore, as a result of the hurricanes, that that will now be the rule. Most of the cost of these structural changes will be borne by the residents.

We toured her neighborhood, walked on the bridge overlooking the canal, looked at the buildings on the University of New Orleans campus, which is a stone's throw from her home, and passed house after decrepit, destroyed or demolished house with few signs of life save for the odd trailer here or there.

What struck me most about this tour was her lack of defeatism, her positive attitude. She is resolute, as are many of her neighbors, to rebuilding.

A small FEMA trailer, home to Mundy's cousin and her husband, stands in front of the still-damaged house. Photo: courtesy of Marcus Mundy

A new reality

Peggy shared with me how overrun her parks were, so they could hardly enjoy even that small getaway. There are more animals - including rodents - proliferating in the neighborhood because of the overgrown vegetation. Safety issues abound. For example, she must chain her propane tanks to her trailer because they are routinely stolen, and "the club" is seen inside of most cars securing the wheel.

We toured and talked, and walked. There were some hopeful signs: a neat house with the statue of the Virgin Mary carefully enshrined on the front lawn. Cleaned out, cleaned up, manicured lawns amidst the desolation, raging against the dying of the light. I finished the walk knowing that these folks will not go gently into that good night.

Despite all, and as dawn was coming into its fullest light, my cousin made a delicious breakfast of grits, sausage, eggs, and waffles for me on one of their two plates, and orange juice in one of their two glasses. I sat at their table, where only one person can sit at a time because of the lack of legroom, and watched the morning news.

This was the beginning to a long, wonderful, enlightening day.

Touring with the Flight of Friendship

We toured the wetlands of this region, acquiring a sense of both its natural beauty, with its unique flora and vegetation, and wildlife. We also got a sense of the power of nature, as we learned about the erosion of the wetlands and the coastline, buffer zones that, when fully formed, protect the Gulf Coast from the ferocity of hurricanes like Katrina and Rita.

During this tour we were able to get pictures of both a governor (Oregon's Governor Ted Kulongoski) and a gator (name unknown); not your usual combination.

We had a po boy lunch, and then began to tour levees. There are parts of the city whose destruction you wouldn't believe, passing a memorial where we learned that the flood waters in that part of the city - the 9th Ward - topped 18 feet deep at times during the event. As we safely traversed the city on an air conditioned bus from a lovely hotel in the largely unfazed French Quarter, the contrast between our accommodations and those of many, many New Orleanians was both stark and unfair, even though our task her is to help.

In fact my hotel room, a single bed room, was far more space than Peggy and Ellsworth have in their small FEMA trailer, a trailer which at one point held six folks, including children and grandchildren.

We toured a neighborhood, Broadmoor, that fought back plans to wipe it from the face of New Orleans and turn it into greenspace, learning what determination and the power of collective effort can do.

Finally, we convened back at the hotel, had dinner with two mayors - Portland's Tom Potter and New Orleans' Ray Nagin - among a host of other focused Oregonians and New Orleanians. We heard stories of both despair and hope, heard pleas for help and requests for direction, and firmed up our resolve for the next phase of this effort.

Tomorrow portends more tours and hard work, but tonight, goodwill and good intentions reign.

You can read Mundy's previous entry, "The Need for Truth and Understanding," by clicking here. You can also Mercy Corps' efforts to help New Orleans recover by making a generous donation to our Hurricane Katrina Rebuilding Fund today.