Surviving the hurricane is a simple feat compared to all the challenges that come after the storm. The days immediately following Ike were exciting. It was a break from work, an opportunity to meet our neighbors and share hurricane stories, and a fun test in simple living. After a week, though, the excitement wears off and people become impatient, hoping that normal life will resume at any moment. After two weeks there is frustration, hopelessness, and the harsh reality that “normal” may take a while to achieve.
I’m relieved to say that after 13 long, hot, and frustrating days I finally have power back at my house. I felt like the last person to get power, but still half the city is without power. With things returning to normal at home, things at work got out of control. The hurricane caused Catholic Charities to flood, so I was out of work for a week waiting for the power to come back on and water to drain. When I did return to work, the carpet and baseboards were ripped out and plastic bags covered they sticky floor. Everything reeked of mold and some furniture had been ruined. My office, though, was miraculously the only office on the first floor that wasn’t damaged. At least I was back at work and could begin to get my routine back. Well, that was until Catholic Charities caught on fire. Our second day back at work and a transformer behind the building exploded and caught part of the building on fire. Firemen came to put out the fire and the electric company, already busy working to return power to the city, said it would take 2 weeks to fix. So again I am out of work, until we can find a generator large enough to power the whole building.
So as not to sit around the house all day with nothing to do, I decided to volunteer at the Red Cross food distribution centers in Galveston and Baycliff. I can’t say that I saw all the destruction from Hurricane Ike because the areas, like Galveston, that were affected the most are off limits. So the distribution centers were right outside of these areas. As people drove through to pick up water, ice, MREs (meals ready to eat), cleaning kits, and baby diapers I realized how many people were affected by this storm. You hear numbers in the news, but they don’t mean anything until you see the lines of cars and meet the actual people. The people driving though the lines had lost everything. The trunks of their cars were filled with whatever items they could salvage from their homes- lamps, tables, front doors. Anything that was a piece of their past. The MREs I loaded into the cars would only feed a family for a day and they would have to come back tomorrow and wait in line again just to eat. So many people came through that we ran out of food and supplies and those people drove away with nothing. It was very sad, but we had nothing to offer.
Last night, I attended an AIDS benefit concert with my housemates. At the concert one of the event planners stood up to welcome everyone and commented on how great it was to have so many support the cause. “In times of disaster, it’s the most vulnerable in our community that are affected the most,” she said. I didn’t need her to tell me this; I’ve experienced it myself.
After the hurricane, people in the suburbs and wealthy areas of town had power within one or two days. Centerpoint, the energy company, put out a priority list of zip codes and the order they would restore power. All the zip codes of lower income neighborhoods were last on the list. Since my housemates and I live in a poorer section on town we experienced first hand the frustration of waiting for power. We don’t have much as JVs, so we also felt the pain of losing all the contents of our refrigerator and the challenges of getting to work without a car and a bus system that wasn’t fully up and running. But despite all this, we were still in a better position than our neighbors. We have outside resources that helped us survive the storm and live out the aftermath more comfortably. JVC staff gave us extra money to replenish our refrigerator. People from our agencies gave us rides to work and opened their homes to us so we could sleep in an air-conditioned room. We always had people looking out for us, but who was looking out for our neighbors? They don’t have much to begin with and then the hurricane took away whatever they had left. I went to the library the other day and it was filled with people trying to fill out the FEMA applications for help. FEMA, though, is only giving out loans and the money will have to be paid back- something that will be difficult for the people who have lost everything, including their jobs. My housemates and I have reached out the best we could to our neighbors, but there are thousands of people all over Houston in similar situations.
After a natural disaster, the country comes together and sends all types of help and support, but after a few weeks the disaster is old news and people consider the problem fixed. Whether Houston is in the news or not, things are not back to normal and they won’t be for a while. Sure, big businesses are back up and running, but the most vulnerable in our community are still struggling and will be for a long time. Stuff like this doesn’t just affect you for a week. It’s not a simple fix like turning the power back on.
Paz,
Stephanie
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Hurricane Ike
Being from a landlocked state, I haven’t experienced too many hurricanes in my life. So when reports began tracking a hurricane headed towards Houston, I had no idea what to expect. Houston area weather reporters are notorious for using “scare tactics” when reporting weather- that is exaggerating the situation in order to induce panic causing viewer ratings to increase and allowing the “Hurricane industry” such as grocery and supply stores to profit. On Thursday, I my agency closed early to allow employees to evacuate. This got me a little worried, but I was assured by neighbors that Hurricane Ike was a category 2 and nothing to worry about. So my housemates and I gathered all the survival essentials- water, candles, and Strawberry Pop-Tarts- and prepared to “shelter in place.”
Friday began as a fun day off from work until our landlord came by and boarded up our windows. That kind of made things seem a little more serious. Watching the news coverage of Ike we became a little more nervous as we saw Galveston drowned in waves. Still, everyone assured us a category 2 was nothing to fear and that Houston would be spared.
Around midnight Saturday morning Ike hit Houston and he hit hard. My housemates and I sat up huddled together in a back bedroom praying our roof wouldn’t fly off. The strong winds and rain lasted until 9am in the morning. Our house was relatively undamaged- only a few shutters fell off, plants were destroyed, a fan on our room blew off, and power and telephone lines were down in our backyard. Some of our neighbors fared far worse. Trees had smashed houses and cars, streets were filled with debris, a new apartment complex under construction turned into a pile of toothpicks, and 2 million people had no electricity.
The first few days of no power were fun. We got to use our camping skills to build a fire out of wood chips and used a bottle of Everclear as lighter fluid. We had dance parties at night in the candlelight and spent all day sitting on our front porch reading and talking to neighbors. As the das went on and we still had no power, things were a little less enjoyable. The tap water was contaminated and we had run out of drinking water. We had no hot water and no way to cook food. We had just made a big shopping trip to Costco and everything in our freezer and refrigerator had to be thrown away (this was very painful since as JVs we’re on a very tight food budget). Cell phone service was shaky and we had no radio or TV to listen to what was going on outside of our block.
So far it’s been a week without power. Some of my housemates have returned to work (my agency flooded and still has no power so I’m out of work for a while). We have been relying on the generosity of neighbors and agency supervisors to stay fed. We’ve been visiting the FEMA POD (point of distribution) sites to pick up drinking water and ice. Yesterday, though, our tap water was pronounced safe to drink, but still no power.
Compared to the images we have seen on TV, we are extremely lucky. The storm only inconvenienced us, but some people have lost everything. Many families (including one of my roommate’s) who relocated to Houston after Katrina hit New Orleans are again being uprooted and forced to settle down elsewhere. The other day officials allowed people from Galveston back on the island for a “Look and Leave,” which is basically a chance to survey property damage and then leave. There was a 15 mile long line of cars waiting to get on the island and they were all turned away yesterday since some people were looking and then staying. People are afraid that if they don’t try to salvage what’s left of their homes now, then things will only get worse and their home will be condemned, leaving them no place to live.
Though Ike was only a category 2 hurricane, the destruction it caused and lives it affected cannot be measured on a scale. As scary as the storm was, I am glad my housemates and I stuck it out in order to share the experience with our community. Nothing brings people together like a natural disaster. Please keep the people affected by Ike, especially those in Galveston, in your prayers. Like any city affected by a natural disaster, it will take a long time to rebuild homes and lives.
Paz,
Stephanie
Friday began as a fun day off from work until our landlord came by and boarded up our windows. That kind of made things seem a little more serious. Watching the news coverage of Ike we became a little more nervous as we saw Galveston drowned in waves. Still, everyone assured us a category 2 was nothing to fear and that Houston would be spared.
Around midnight Saturday morning Ike hit Houston and he hit hard. My housemates and I sat up huddled together in a back bedroom praying our roof wouldn’t fly off. The strong winds and rain lasted until 9am in the morning. Our house was relatively undamaged- only a few shutters fell off, plants were destroyed, a fan on our room blew off, and power and telephone lines were down in our backyard. Some of our neighbors fared far worse. Trees had smashed houses and cars, streets were filled with debris, a new apartment complex under construction turned into a pile of toothpicks, and 2 million people had no electricity.
The first few days of no power were fun. We got to use our camping skills to build a fire out of wood chips and used a bottle of Everclear as lighter fluid. We had dance parties at night in the candlelight and spent all day sitting on our front porch reading and talking to neighbors. As the das went on and we still had no power, things were a little less enjoyable. The tap water was contaminated and we had run out of drinking water. We had no hot water and no way to cook food. We had just made a big shopping trip to Costco and everything in our freezer and refrigerator had to be thrown away (this was very painful since as JVs we’re on a very tight food budget). Cell phone service was shaky and we had no radio or TV to listen to what was going on outside of our block.
So far it’s been a week without power. Some of my housemates have returned to work (my agency flooded and still has no power so I’m out of work for a while). We have been relying on the generosity of neighbors and agency supervisors to stay fed. We’ve been visiting the FEMA POD (point of distribution) sites to pick up drinking water and ice. Yesterday, though, our tap water was pronounced safe to drink, but still no power.
Compared to the images we have seen on TV, we are extremely lucky. The storm only inconvenienced us, but some people have lost everything. Many families (including one of my roommate’s) who relocated to Houston after Katrina hit New Orleans are again being uprooted and forced to settle down elsewhere. The other day officials allowed people from Galveston back on the island for a “Look and Leave,” which is basically a chance to survey property damage and then leave. There was a 15 mile long line of cars waiting to get on the island and they were all turned away yesterday since some people were looking and then staying. People are afraid that if they don’t try to salvage what’s left of their homes now, then things will only get worse and their home will be condemned, leaving them no place to live.
Though Ike was only a category 2 hurricane, the destruction it caused and lives it affected cannot be measured on a scale. As scary as the storm was, I am glad my housemates and I stuck it out in order to share the experience with our community. Nothing brings people together like a natural disaster. Please keep the people affected by Ike, especially those in Galveston, in your prayers. Like any city affected by a natural disaster, it will take a long time to rebuild homes and lives.
Paz,
Stephanie
The Joys of Bus Riding
Since I don’t have a car here in Houston, I’m completely dependent on public transportation- a.k.a. the Bus. After living in New York, I’m no stranger to public transportation and usually enjoy and prefer it to driving myself. Houston, though, is the exception. In my short time here, I have had quite a few bad/strange experiences on the bus.
During my first week of riding the bus to work, I quickly realized there is no set schedule. Buses arrive 30 minutes late or change routes mid-trip. This just makes things a little more exciting since you never know where you’ll end up.
Two weeks ago my bus crashed into a parked car on a straight road (only a skilled driver can manage this feat). As the bus driver talked to the angry car owners, everyone had to get off the bus and wait for the next bus. Everyone, not wanting to be apart of the accident chaos, quickly dispersed, leaving me and a woman standing alone in the projects. The woman started to chat with me and it didn’t take long before I realized this was no woman, but a transvestite. Always a colorful group of people on the bus. After about an hour the next bus finally came. The next day on we way home the same driver who crashed was driving again.
The following week as I rode the bus home a girl’s cell phone was stolen out of her hand while she was talking on it. The kid who stole it ran off down the street and a dramatic chase scene ensued. Again everyone on the bus had to get off and wait for the next bus since the original bus couldn’t leave the scene of the crime. As I waited an old man gave me a lecture on how I was in “the ‘hood” and need to watch out for punk youth. He also demonstrated how to walk around corners to avoid getting shot or stabbed. This was all very reassuring for me as I stood in a not so good part of town waiting for the next bus.
A few days later, I met Pat- a man who told me how he’s been sober for 7 years and now takes Prozac for his schizophrenia. As he was telling me his recovery story, a woman on the bus overheard us talking and offered her recovery story. She’s been sober for a year and no long does crack cocaine. Then another man on the bus started talking about how he hasn’t had alcohol in a few years and is now sober. Why everyone felt the need to tell me his or her drug recovery story I don’t know, but it did make for an interesting ride.
I’ve since switched bus routes hoping for a less eventful journey. Although the other day I had to wait a few minutes longer for the bus to take me home because it had caught on fire. Never a dull moment when riding the bus.
Paz,
Stephanie
During my first week of riding the bus to work, I quickly realized there is no set schedule. Buses arrive 30 minutes late or change routes mid-trip. This just makes things a little more exciting since you never know where you’ll end up.
Two weeks ago my bus crashed into a parked car on a straight road (only a skilled driver can manage this feat). As the bus driver talked to the angry car owners, everyone had to get off the bus and wait for the next bus. Everyone, not wanting to be apart of the accident chaos, quickly dispersed, leaving me and a woman standing alone in the projects. The woman started to chat with me and it didn’t take long before I realized this was no woman, but a transvestite. Always a colorful group of people on the bus. After about an hour the next bus finally came. The next day on we way home the same driver who crashed was driving again.
The following week as I rode the bus home a girl’s cell phone was stolen out of her hand while she was talking on it. The kid who stole it ran off down the street and a dramatic chase scene ensued. Again everyone on the bus had to get off and wait for the next bus since the original bus couldn’t leave the scene of the crime. As I waited an old man gave me a lecture on how I was in “the ‘hood” and need to watch out for punk youth. He also demonstrated how to walk around corners to avoid getting shot or stabbed. This was all very reassuring for me as I stood in a not so good part of town waiting for the next bus.
A few days later, I met Pat- a man who told me how he’s been sober for 7 years and now takes Prozac for his schizophrenia. As he was telling me his recovery story, a woman on the bus overheard us talking and offered her recovery story. She’s been sober for a year and no long does crack cocaine. Then another man on the bus started talking about how he hasn’t had alcohol in a few years and is now sober. Why everyone felt the need to tell me his or her drug recovery story I don’t know, but it did make for an interesting ride.
I’ve since switched bus routes hoping for a less eventful journey. Although the other day I had to wait a few minutes longer for the bus to take me home because it had caught on fire. Never a dull moment when riding the bus.
Paz,
Stephanie
Monday, September 8, 2008
A Visit to the Youth Shelter
So far work has been a little slow, mostly because I don’t have any of my own clients yet. I spend my days translating letters into Spanish, making phone calls, and manning the copy machine. I sit in on client intakes, but even that gets repetitive and dull when I’m not the one in charge. That’s why when one of the lawyers asked me to tag-a-long on a visit to one of the youth shelters I was more than willing to go.
The shelter was one of 4 shelters run by Catholic Charities where youth under the age of 18 go instead of a detention center when officials at the border pick them up. The locations of these shelters are kept confidential in order to protect the children from immigration officials and smugglers. The building was non-descript, and I walked past it everyday, but just assumed it was a warehouse or some type of office building.
Inside there were about 10 girls who slept, ate, and went to school in the shelter. They were from all different countries and had been separated from their families while crossing the border. They would remain at the shelter until lawyers from Catholic Charities could reunite them with their families.
The girl I was to meet with was a 12 year old from Chalatenango, El Salvador. This immediately caught my attention since Chalatenango was where I lived with a family for a week while studying abroad. As the girl began to tell us her story, I couldn’t help but think about my Campo family. The girl’s aunt and mother were living in North Carolina without documents. They had been in the U.S. for a while and the little girl was raised by her grandmother and another aunt in El Salvador. Then the mother sent money to the girl and told her to come to the U.S. So the girl set off with her older cousin. They walked and bused from El Salvador to Mexico, then came into the U.S. by wading through a river. Since they didn’t have papers, the girl and her cousin were picked up by border control. The cousin was sent to a detention camp since she was over 18 years old. We don’t know where the cousin is now. She could have been deported back to El Salvador for all we know. The girl was sent to Catholic Charities where we are trying to help her find her family. She’s been in the shelter for 3 months. Just like the kids I knew in the Campo, her idea of America was so skewed. In their minds America is this paradise on Earth and then they arrive and it’s quite the opposite. The girl must have been so scared. Her cousin was gone, and she was now help up in a shelter in an unfamiliar country with lawyers talking at her in poor Spanish about legal matters she doesn’t understand. The goal of Catholic Charities is to reunite her with her family in North Carolina and get her a court date to get her some kind of status, but she will most likely be deported. So when she arrives in North Carolina she will probably never go to her court date for fear of deportation and continue living under the radar with her family until they eventually get picked up by immigration authorities and deported.
Would people keep crossing the border if they knew all the troubles that awaited them when the reached U.S. soil? Living in fear is a horrible way to live, but in these immigrants’ minds it’s better than the life they were living in their home country. And there’s still that American Dream, that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance things will get better and they’ll make it in America after all.
Paz,
Stephanie
The shelter was one of 4 shelters run by Catholic Charities where youth under the age of 18 go instead of a detention center when officials at the border pick them up. The locations of these shelters are kept confidential in order to protect the children from immigration officials and smugglers. The building was non-descript, and I walked past it everyday, but just assumed it was a warehouse or some type of office building.
Inside there were about 10 girls who slept, ate, and went to school in the shelter. They were from all different countries and had been separated from their families while crossing the border. They would remain at the shelter until lawyers from Catholic Charities could reunite them with their families.
The girl I was to meet with was a 12 year old from Chalatenango, El Salvador. This immediately caught my attention since Chalatenango was where I lived with a family for a week while studying abroad. As the girl began to tell us her story, I couldn’t help but think about my Campo family. The girl’s aunt and mother were living in North Carolina without documents. They had been in the U.S. for a while and the little girl was raised by her grandmother and another aunt in El Salvador. Then the mother sent money to the girl and told her to come to the U.S. So the girl set off with her older cousin. They walked and bused from El Salvador to Mexico, then came into the U.S. by wading through a river. Since they didn’t have papers, the girl and her cousin were picked up by border control. The cousin was sent to a detention camp since she was over 18 years old. We don’t know where the cousin is now. She could have been deported back to El Salvador for all we know. The girl was sent to Catholic Charities where we are trying to help her find her family. She’s been in the shelter for 3 months. Just like the kids I knew in the Campo, her idea of America was so skewed. In their minds America is this paradise on Earth and then they arrive and it’s quite the opposite. The girl must have been so scared. Her cousin was gone, and she was now help up in a shelter in an unfamiliar country with lawyers talking at her in poor Spanish about legal matters she doesn’t understand. The goal of Catholic Charities is to reunite her with her family in North Carolina and get her a court date to get her some kind of status, but she will most likely be deported. So when she arrives in North Carolina she will probably never go to her court date for fear of deportation and continue living under the radar with her family until they eventually get picked up by immigration authorities and deported.
Would people keep crossing the border if they knew all the troubles that awaited them when the reached U.S. soil? Living in fear is a horrible way to live, but in these immigrants’ minds it’s better than the life they were living in their home country. And there’s still that American Dream, that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance things will get better and they’ll make it in America after all.
Paz,
Stephanie
Monday, September 1, 2008
Exploring Houston
Since arriving in Houston, we’ve quickly discovered we have a strong network of support. Former volunteers and people connected to JVC are all over the Houston area and they have done a great job of showing us around the city. On our first weekend we visited the Menil Museum, which has a mixture of modern art and ancient artifacts. Then we walked around the neighborhood surrounding the museum. We also visited the Galleria Mall, which is probably one of the biggest malls I’ve ever seen. This weekend we got tickets to the Astros game and then hung out of Discovery Green, one of Houston’s many parks, and signed up for library cards at the public library. As the fourth largest city in the U.S., Houston has a lot to do, but the layout of the city is not very walker friendly. Everyone drives and nothing is close or within walking distance. The public transportation is unreliable, so to do anything involves a long wait in the heat at the bus stop. Despite all that, though, we’ve still had fun exploring our new city.
Paz,
Stephanie
Paz,
Stephanie
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