Personal Narrative: Hurricane Katrina

I was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, a city whose history is rich and whose food is richer. My grandparents and their parents all lived enchanting lives in the Crescent City. As a young girl, I always imagined what it would be like to spend my teenage years baton twirling in Mardi Gras parades with my high school marching band just as my mom did. I rode my bike around the flat city, void of hills. I visited with my grandparents on weekends while they took me to second lines and jazz festivals. I loved the city I was growing up in but I failed to appreciate it until I was faced with a hasty departure.
We all remember the American Natural Disaster known as Hurricane Katrina which took place in August of 2005. Some remember hearing tales from local survivors, reading accounts published in the media, or simply by watching the news. However I remember, from the personal account of a nine year old child. I can recall exactly what my mom and I had planed on the day before the storm hit. We did some grocery shopping, then my mom planned to take me to Audubon Zoo, so that I could play on Monkey Hill (one of the city’s two man-made hills). When we arrived at the zoo, we found it to be closed for inclement weather. Most would take this a sign to get out of town, but after spending years of false alarms, my family decided to stay in the comfort of our home, until of course it was no longer comfortable, but flooded with water three feet deep in our living room.

That night, we returned home and went to bed as the storm outside began to flare.

Late into the night, around 2 AM we were awoken when our power clicked off. My mother found an old battery operated radio and tuned it to a local weather channel and heard that people were being told that evacuation was critical. After a peek out of the door to our car which whose tires were no longer visible due to the depth of the flooding, we realised that evacuation had been eliminated as an option for

us.

As the sun rose, the flood waters did the same. By noon, there was flooding to my waist, and the ceiling had caved in my mothers bedroom. Because our home was a straight path from the living room to the kitchen bathroom with a kitchen and two bedrooms between, it was difficult to navigate. Another night pass and since my room was the most pleasant of every room we choose to spend the night there. On the second day, our plumbing was backed up and the flood waters were giving off sickly fumes.

I was able to find humor in the tragedy as we stood on our porch and watched our neighbours float around on mattress trying to find dry land and shelter. Eventually we did find a way out of our home and to safety went someone from the neighbourhood with a boat came and gave us a ride to an intersection where flooding was limited. From there we walked to an elementary school and claimed the nurses office. There were all types of activities going on at the school. There were spiritual people who As were those who were stealing from stores that had been abandoned and leaving merchandise everywhere. Some opted to steal achool and throw wild parties which only added to the chaos. During our stay, someone died and there was a small funeral service filled with strangers. I remember being a nine year old girl and telling my mother that I was not ready to die.v

I can not explain the traumatic experience that tore me from my home town of familiarity of my family and what was becoming my life. I was separated from everything that I once knew, all expect my mother, who remained a solid constant during this time and always. Because of our untimely departure, the circumstance in which I had my first plane ride that transported me from the place of my childhood to Birmingham, Alabama were not the best. I remember telling my mom that I did not want to die, and making child-like promises to God that if he could help us out, I would keep my room clean for the next year.
If we were to fast forward one month from the night of the storm, we would be found in Birmingham where my mom had obtained a new job and I had been placed into a third grade classroom where I was, “The new girl from New Orleans”. I adapted to change quickly with my new popular status. My classmates, as well as my teachers all wanted to hear the account of my story. I welcomed their attention, I found it exhilarating.
From this experience, I have become the type of person who comes alive when things are happening; rather those happening are perceived by others as good or bad, for me I am always thrilled to be kicked into motion.
Even today, as I write this essay trying to fit my story into six hundred and fifty words, I cannot help but to wonder what my life would be like if the storm had never occurred and I had spent my entire life without ever experiencing my new life in Alabama. I am happy with the products my life has rendered so far, so I think that it is safe to say, that on the night in 2005, my life was changed for the best.