Vive New Orleans!

A month ago, I went back to New Orleans for the first time since Hurricane Katrina.
My mother warned me that what I would see would not be the usual tap dancing on Decatur Street or the weekend tourists enjoying my unique city.
But this time, I was the tourist.
I had to see it for myself. The aftermath of Katrina, which was pretty pleasant compared to the weeks right after the hurricane hit.
On the West Bank, where I was born, was a community trying to get back to normalcy. You saw the occasional neighbor here and there. The one-hour photo lab at Walgreen’s turned into a seven-day photo lab. Winn-Dixies and one of two Wal-Marts on the West Bank had lines of customers that stood outside. Schools were still closed.
But still there was a feeling of courage and perseverance after Katrina’s adversity. Signs littered the neutral grounds letting residents know “We Are Open for Business,” and the cashier at the gas station had the biggest smile on her face that said “Welcome Back.”
As my mother and I traveled to the East Bank, I kept thinking of the horrific pictures that were displayed through various media outlets. And it is true. You really had to go there to see it for yourself.
Our first stop was downtown. Temporary air conditioning vents looked like mutant caterpillars in the windows of some buildings. The palm trees on Canal Street, once a trademark of “Hollywood South,” were knocked down and surrounded by dead shrubs. The wooden boards remained on some looted businesses and others along Canal Street, not a typical scene on a Saturday afternoon.
It was just awful and the neighborhoods were worse.
I began to cry as we drove through some of the neighborhoods hardest hit. I saw water lines taller than me on houses where people once lived. I couldn’t even walk in my cousin’s home on Orleans Avenue because the stench was just that bad. Her car looked as if it had been literally dropped in the muddy Mississippi River.
The crying got louder and the hurt greater as we passed Dillard University, where I had attended since 2002. The once beautiful campus now looked like the work of brutal landscaping. I was met with armed guards who would not let me in my apartment to see what actually happened inside.
As my mother was consoling me, I just began to reminisce.
I began to remember all of the good times I had in the city. Seeing this horrendous tragedy has made me appreciate what I have in a city. It showed me the true meaning of what a hometown is.
I believe New Orleans gives people the opportunity to let go and have fun; to forget about the trials, tribulations and perils everyday life can bring.
The city will be back. The clean up efforts are rapidly underway and won’t stop until the city is restored to what it used to be. The task won’t be easy, but the challenge is being met everyday.
I know what it means to be from New Orleans. I “make groceries,” use the word “beaucoup” in every sentence and I’m not ashamed to second line in public.
Katrina may have stopped the party for now, but we will continue to “Laissez les bon temps roulez.”