I wish I could claim ownership of the witty title of this blog, but I’m afraid that honor goes to someone else. It’s a statement I’ve seen on dozens of bumper stickers over the past year in this city. La Nouvelle Orleans. Nueva Orleans. The Big Easy. My adopted home. On the day I first arrived, roughly 90% of its inhabitants had been evacuated for Hurricane Gustav, which they had been warned would make “The Storm” (that’s what the natives call Hurricane Katrina) look like child’s play. We know now, of course, that that didn’t happen; Gustav lost strength as he rolled through the Gulf of Mexico and slammed into the mainland, causing far more damage north of here in Baton Rouge and Shreveport. New Orleans lost power for some hours, but came through largely unscathed. Its inhabitants returned home as if nothing serious had taken place, and picked up life where’d they’d left off. This is the dominant attitude among the denizens of this tropical port city – put the bad behind you and move on, living life as if there’s no tomorrow, because there may NOT be a tomorrow. I think few people know this better than natives of New Orleans.
The Storm is still a dominant discussion with visitors, even four years after it struck. Three days after I arrived, having yet to find suitable housing, I used Craigslist to connect with the woman who would turn out to be my roommate for the next 11 months. On my way to her house, I stopped a 20something couple in a pickup truck at the corner of Claiborne and Jackson, asking how far it would be for me to walk to Carrolton Avenue. Without hesitation they said, “Oh, that’s too far to walk! Hop on in; we’ll give you a lift.” It shames me still to admit that my first reaction was to draw back and think, “are you NUTS?!? I don’t even KNOW you!!” Such is the mindset of a Yankee. We Northerners are a rather self-focused lot, and rarely express such open friendliness. But I’d already demonstrated courage when I moved here having no place to live, so I accepted their offer. I shared that I had literally just arrived in New Orleans and had yet to know much about it. The young woman looked out the window at the houses passing by and said sadly, “I just don’t think this city will ever be the same after The Storm.” I didn’t realize at the time just how deeply those words are felt by natives of NOLA (another local term). Of course I’d already heard and seen bits and pieces – a member of the Southern Louisiana Presbytery whose home was destroyed told me that if it had been built on ground just nine inches higher she would have been able to save it. The Garden District branch of the NOLA Public Library, a big beautiful home on St. Charles Avenue, is indefinitely closed for repairs, with a big sign about ‘recovery’ on the front lawn. Gradually I’ve learned more: my boss has food supplies stored in her office in case another relief effort is needed. After The Storm my roommate’s church had to borrow space from the oldest Protestant congregation in the city’s history, First Presbyterian of NOLA, because their own sanctuary was virtually destroyed (they are still rebuilding). My own church is a blended congregation: the oldest “White” UCC in NOLA (St. Matthew) has merged with the oldest “Black” UCC in NOLA (Central), because Central’s sanctuary was destroyed – and is still being rebuilt. During a small group meeting of several of my church members, one of them (who is a NOLA transplant, having lived here only 15 years) summed it up perfectly: even if New Orleans as a city exists for another thousand years, it will always and forever be divided into two phases: Before The Storm, and After The Storm.
Though The Storm dominates discussion, what stands out to me is the genuine friendliness of Southerners. My roommate’s next door neighbor is her closest friend, and I have warmly been welcomed into the fold. I am family by adoption, which never fails to amaze me. It’s not a generational thing, either – everyone considers me family. Yesterday, while walking down Carrollton Avenue eating some coffee flavored gelato from Gelato Pazzo, I passed by the neighbor’s son by adoption (because his mom is neighbor’s other best friend), who was on his way to Subway to buy a sandwich. He’s typical of guys in their early 20s – drooping jeans, goth design tshirt, and three metal studs in his lower lip outlining his goatee and making him look remarkably like a devil, or a latter day General Beauregard in hip hop attire. A smile stretched across his face as he greeted me and gave me a hug (that’s another thing unique to the South – you won’t find Yankees hugging or kissing each other’s cheek!). Such treatment never fails to warm my heart. In her final evaluation of me at the end of my first unit of CPE, my supervisor wrote of me: “community is what she most longs for, and simultaneously fears.” I thought of that today, as I reflected in this blog, and realized even more strongly why God chose to bring me to New Orleans. Here, my hunger is fed – and I in turn have gained the trust necessary to be part of the family. I didn’t have to make the effort from the start, because in NOLA, friendliness is always extended toward others. NOLA natives are the very definition of community.
My ex-roommate in Phoenix was very unexcited by the idea of my coming here. One of my bestest friends from high school recently signed on to Facebook, and asked me, “What the HELL are you doing in New ORLEANS???” as if it were something filthy. They don’t know the NOLA that I know, though, so I can only pity them. It’s not all about Bourbon Street and bare breasts (for the record, the genuine natives of this city, to a person, all stridently claim that it was drunken Yankee co-eds who began this tradition, not the locals), or the looting scenes that national TV just had to show repeatedly in the wake of The Storm. It’s about community. Heck, I’m even learning that making eye contact is the NORM here. In Chicago, if you do, you’re expected to look away instantly or it’s taken as a challenge. Here, if you don’t acknowledge someone it’s seen as a slight. More to the point, it goes beyond simple acknowledgement. One of my patients, a transplant from Ohio 19 years ago, put it perfectly when he explained why he loves this city: “because here, when people ask you how you’re doing, they actually want to know the answer.”
Sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy, loving this place….especially now that we’re into August. This is my first August here, which has inspired countless warnings of “Oh, just you wait – you haven’t felt humidity yet, ‘til you’ve survived a NOLA August!” (hint to the locals: it’s not exactly something to brag about). Sometimes it feels as if I’m swimming through the air. I open my front door and feel damp in less than 60 seconds. I have learned to disregard logic when it comes to direction, since from my house’s vantage point the sun rises in the south and sets in the east (that’s why they call this the Crescent City!). The diet is not exactly what one could call healthy, unless you eat mainly raw fruit. But the people have made me welcome in a way I’ve never felt. When my residency ends in six weeks, I’ll be staying here.
Yeah, the local phrases are a little different (I knew I was truly an adopted daughter of NOLA when I looked at some gathering clouds a few weeks ago and said, ‘looks like it’s fixin’ to rain’) and groceries are still far more expensive than they should be, but this gem of a city has been healing to me in so many ways that I can only turn around and offer to assist in its own healing from The Storm. After all, that’s what family does - and it’s a strong family. This afternoon on my way through the parking lot of Robert’s (pronounced Row-BEARS, since this is NOLA) Grocery, I saw a late model Toyota with the following bumper sticker: ‘drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was gone’ and laughed out loud – just like a good NOLA native would. We came through alright, and though a tremendous amount of recovery work STILL remains, we’ll continue to rebuild, while enjoying life to the fullest because you never know what lies around the corner – or how long the levee will hold. Laissez les bon temps rouler!
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