Happy one month anniversary NOLA

Recently, my blog posts have been a bit emotional--OK, very emotional.So today, I've decided to write a little update of my first month in NOLA. First of all, I can't believe I've been here for one month already! Time sure flies when you're helping the homeless, and having fun doing so. This past month every single aspect has changed about my life, literally: my form of transportation, new apartment, new friends, new roommate, new way to obtain food, new job, new city, etc. It's been a tough adjustment, but adapting to it all at once has been such a beautiful struggle.

Let's start out with the roommate. If I could describe her in one word it would be "wonderful." After just knowing each other for one month, Steph and I already make each other breakfast, pack each other lunch, cook each other dinner, share inside jokes, have the same passion for helping people, and most importantly, enjoy exploring the nightlife in New Orleans! Adjusting to the city and the job and all of the aspects that come with it would have been much, much harder if I was by myself. Knowing that someone else is enjoying it with me makes it all the more exciting.

Speaking of the nightlife. Unreal. There are so many treasures in the city. I've been trying to go to as many parts of town and as many streets as my limited funds will allow. On Friday, Steph and I ventured to Frenchman St. and hit up a reggae bar there. It was probably one of my favorite bars, ever (as most of you know, reggae holds a large part of my  heart). I also encountered some nice Canadians who bought me some beers and tried to give me their beads from Bourbon St.--but I assured them they needed to hold on to those as a keepsake.

There's no other way to explain it than the city comes alive at night. Yes, New York City does too, but this is entirely different. Just last Thursday I went to Bourbon St. for drinks with a friend. In the middle of the street was a band playing saxophones, trombones, drums, etc. People were dancing together, drinking together (legal to drink in the streets!), and putting their cares to the sides as the music swept them away in the city lights.

Despite all of my fun, I have encountered some hardships, though. Being away from my friends is definitely the hardest part (call and say "hi" sometimes guys), and being away from my family is up there too. There have also been some difficulties that have come along with being a VISTA: applying for food stamps, making the salary work, and the emotionally draining aspect of the job. But honestly, I wouldn't change a thing. If they paid me more, I wouldn't be getting as much out of it as I am. And if it weren't this emotional than I wouldn't be doing it in the first place.

For those of you who have already committed to coming to visit me (Des and Cait), I can't wait! For those of you who haven't, book a flight! The costs aren't too bad, and the experience I can show you will be fantastic. I promise. Plus, you get to see me, and I just decorated my room, so you're in for a fun snuggle session with great scenery.

Grandparent of the year

This week it's been hard to look at the positive. With Vinnie dying, I began to question a lot of things. I tried to stay positive, but when tears overcome you, it's hard to listen to the age old saying, "everything happens for a reason."

Today, I got to sit in on a focus group at work that consisted of formerly homeless individuals who have been housed in the past few years. There were two particularly talkative women in the group that wanted everyone to hear everything they had to say--and rightfully so, their stories were filled with sorrow, survival, and triumph. As the meeting went on, they continued to talk, and others started slowly sharing their stories.

About a half an hour went by, and a man in the corner hadn't said anything yet, except for his name in the beginning. Suddenly, he said "My story's a little different." And we all turned to him.

A veteran, this man did a tour in Afghanistan a few years back. Upon his return, he was diagnosed with PTSD. But additionally, he has endured seven heart attacks.And that's not all--he also has Diabetes and high blood pressure.

He was praising the program that housed him, which I need to keep confidential."Those guys saved my life," he said. Since he started the program two years ago, his case managers continuously have provided medicine for him for both his mental and physical disabilities, helped him out with his rent and utilities, and checked on him regularly.

There's a common misconception that people who live on the streets are lazy, and choose to live on the streets. However, from what I've learned here, it's just the opposite. Either these people work long hours for minimum wage, or they're incapable of working. In America, there are more employed homeless people than there are unemployed.

For this man, working is not an option. Because of his multiple disabilities, he called himself "100% unemployable." Although he landed a job as a chef a few years after he returned from his tour, his workplace had to reluctantly let him go: "You're a great chef, but you're sick," his boss said to him.

After going over the options, he decided he needed help. "You have to humble yourself in order to get help," he said. After going back and forth with Unity for a few months, they hooked him up with the program he is in now.

Now, two years later, he said his case manager is just another part of his family. "My grandkids are crazy about him," he said. The specific program he's in is a substance abuse program. When asked what the program does if they find out he's doing drugs, he responded, "If you're in the program for the right reasons, you're not going to have drugs and paraphernalia. Instead, you're gonna have your grandchildren running around."

The program advises you to set a new goal every six months, and works with you towards achieving that goal. In the spring, his goal was to be named "Grandparent of the Year" at all three schools that his nine grandchildren attend. After attending countless school events, and even going to see an "Elmo" performance nearby, he achieved his goal.

Maybe everything does happen for a reason--things reach rock bottom before you can reach ecstasy. For this man, rock bottom came and passed, and he reached his ecstasy when he achieved his two sought-after goals: "Clean and Sober," and "Grandparent of the Year." As for Vinnie, rock bottom surely came, and he reached his ecstasy in Heaven.

May angels lead you in

There's always someone you go back to--someone that if you hadn't talked to in months, and you start talking to again, it feels like it never stopped.

I met Vinnie about seven years ago. As anyone who knew me in Bloomfield knows, I was obsessed with Holsten's. Luckily enough, Vinnie worked there. However, in a case of bad timing, I started dating another Holsten's worker (apparently I had a thing for Holsten's boys). Soon enough, a month later, that relationship fizzled out, and Vinnie and I started talking again. I started visiting Holsten's so frequently, that Vinnie would start scooping lemon ice for me as soon as I walked through the door.

After a while of on and off talking, good days and bad days, complications, and bad timing, our conversations faded, and soon enough I realized instead of talking every couple of hours, we would talk every couple of months.

While I was at college we kept in touch: inquire about each other lives, update each other on what was going on, give the inevitable "I miss you," and be on our way.

However, this summer, the small talk that seemed to take over our friendship, turned into the feelings that we used to share back in high school. At the beginning of August, Vinnie and I started to talk how we used to talk: all day, every single day.

I would wake up with a text from him every single morning, and honestly he was one of the people who helped me get through moving down here, encouraging me I could do it, and that he would be waiting for me when I came back. The smiles he gave me would get me through the day, and I thought I'd share a few excerpts with you all from our recent conversations--from our last conversations--to see how indescribably wonderful he was.

Aug. 17:

Me: Getting pretty, then going to hang with some friends

Vin: Getting pretty? You don't need to 'get' pretty, your the definition of pretty

Aug. 17: 

Vin: We should do nerdy things together in the future

Aug 17: 

Vin: Wish we didn't live so far apart, tonight's a lemon ice night lol

Me: Me too, id love some lemon ice.

Aug. 28:

Vin: I know this is random but I'm really digging that picture I liked before. Your absolutely gorgeous.

Aug 28:

Vin: If we were in chilling distance, I'd make you smile a lot more, and get you a flower or something corny like that

Aug 28:

Vin: You've always been pretty as hell.

Aug 29: 

Me: I had no one to lay with me

Vin: One day...

Sept 10:

Vin: I'm glad I can make at least one person smile

Me: Me too.

Sept 10:

Vin: I'm about to pass out, g'nite angel.

Sept 11

Me: Come on down

Vin: If I had the money I'd be there in a heartbeat.

Me: I know you would, a girl can dream right?

Vin: Of course.

Sept 11:

Vin: Debating on taking a walk

Me: Walk to me, it's only like 1200 miles

Vin: I'll run

Sept. 12
Vin: Can't sleeeeeeeeep
Vin: :(
Vin: Wish I was next to you, goodnight

Sept 12
Vin: I've been feeling so empty lately Cat :(
Me: I wish I could help you fill that emptiness
Vin: :( I want to cuddle with you

The last conversation I had with Vinnie was last night.
Me: How is your weekend
Vin: It's okay so far

There's now a void that can't be filled. I miss everything about you already Vin. not talking to you every day is going to be the hardest part. Knowing you were changing your life around is also the hardest part--God didn't give you enough time. Not nearly enough time. You are my newest angel, and my most beautiful angel.

If you were with me tonight, I'd sing to you just one more time, a song for a heart so big, God wouldn't let it live.

The axes are gone

"If terrorists had achieved this result, it would have ranked as the greatest terrorist success in history."

Sure, storms and hurricanes happen frequently. In fact, we just endured one hear in New Orleans. The power went out, the streets flooded, trees fell, and evacuations occurred. But come this week, all is back to normal--not more than two weeks later. Seven years ago, there was a storm named "Katrina." I know everyone has heard of her: she was a psychotic bitch. But days, weeks, or months after you heard about Katrina on the news, she probably slipped your mind, unless you live on the Gulf Coast. Here, seven years later, residents of NOLA refer to Katrina as "the storm." And she certainly was the storm that changed everything.

The rate of homelessness in New Orleans has increased 70% because of Katrina. Prior to the storm, 5,360 people were homeless in the city. In post-Katrina New Orleans, 9,165 people are homeless.

Although I obviously was not here for Katrina, I've learned a hell of a lot about her since I've been here. The day the levees broke was one of the worst, if not the worst, engineering disasters of all time, and the city is still in the beginning stages of recovery. There are 38,382 abandoned buildings in New Orleans, of which 4,700 homeless people reside in. The storm also brought about the nation's largest housing disaster of all time: 51,000 rental units were lost.

For a nation that has moved past the storm, this city is only starting to mend its wounds. As I've been traveling around the city, it's easy to see which houses haven't been rebuilt, which neighborhoods still suffer, and which neighborhoods clearly drowned under water as people lost hope--some of those people are still left entirely hopeless.

As I lay comfortably in my bed, I know that seven years ago, this same bedroom I'm in right now was under six feet of water. I went to dinner with someone last night in an area where the levees failed, and he told me the neighborhood was under 15 feet of water. This kind of flooding is unimaginable, and I want to make sure that the rest of the nation starts to realize that this city still needs your prayers.

I've been told that in order to save themselves, a lot of people in the city had to break through their attic roofs with axes, only to be stranded on the tops of their houses, begging for somebody to come save them. As I encounter many people still suffering from "the storm" at Unity, I realize that these people are still begging for somebody to come save them, just this time they don't have an ax in hand--they have nothing.

Rest in peace to the 1,833 who didn't make it out.

Lunch time cell phone photography

I'm going crazy without my camera down here! All of my possessions are either still in Jersey or at the post office for me to go retrieve! So in the meantime, I've been snapping some photos on my cell phone. It definitely doesn't do New Orleans justice, but I promise when I get my camera, there will be PLENTY of photos for you all to see.

My new angel on earth

This morning was a pretty slow day at work: my supervisor was out for the morning, another person I needed to talk to was out sick, and no one was answering my emails. After keeping myself busy for a few hours, I decided to take an early lunch, hoping that by the time I finished my supervisor would be back. I walked through the city for a half an hour and then traveled back to Unity.

I walked through my office door to find a man sitting at my officemate's desk. As I walked through the door he said "good afternoon," with his back to me. I responded with a cheerful "good afternoon." As I did, he turned around and extended his hand to me for a proper greeting. It was clear he was blind, but in case I didn't catch on, the next thing he said was, "I'm blind if you haven't noticed." He went on to tell me his story.

He was a veteran. Shot in the side of the head with a pistol, the doctors warned his family that he only had a few hours to live. Four and a half months in a coma, a full frontal lobotomy, and twenty years later, he's still going strong. Well, kind of strong. He is homeless and struggles with easy tasks due to his blindness and struggle to walk well. However despite his physical disabilities, he had the most beautiful mind and insights I've ever encountered.

"I see more clearly than people that have seen their whole lives," he said to me. And quickly enough, this became apparent. He started making jokes about blind people, and although at first I felt a little guilty laughing, he insisted that he kept going, and I'm glad he did.

"I've made people laugh when they have been crying for two straight weeks," he said. "I have everything: ADHD, PTSD, lmnop... you name it, but I live my life through making people smile."

He then went on to talk to me about people who pretend to want to change the world, and feel better about themselves for putting five cents in a jar on the weekend. "Five cents doesn't buy happiness," he said. He described these kinds of people as "weekend lovers." "God doesn't want a weekend lover, he wants a full-time spouse," he said. "It doesn't make you a christian if you put change in the cup one day, but you're a bastard the rest of the week."

He then commended me for the work I'm doing: "I can tell you're a see-er, not a looker. Everyone can look, but you really see," he said. This is why I do what I do. I work for next to nothing, and people tell me I'm crazy, but hearing him say that to me was more satisfying than any amount of cash could ever be.

Despite his intellect and insights, his case was a tough one. He said he was either "too poor or not crazy enough" for most shelters. He said his chart is 3 feet thick, but he has no where that will take him. He's been turned down for being blind, for not being able to work, for having seizures from substance abuse, etc. My coworker also told him he couldn't go to one shelter because he wasn't HIV positive, in which he responded, "well, give me a few minutes and I'll go catch some AIDS real quick." And although it's not normally funny to joke about AIDS, this guy has been pitched several dozens of curve balls, and I felt it was appropriate for him to make inappropriate jokes to deal with the pain. Plus, he made me laugh, which is his self-declared purpose in life.

He is also an artist. He used to live for painting and drawing, and said it kills him he can't do those things anymore. Instead he resorts to non-visual forms of arts: poetry, rap, music. He recited my coworker and I a poem he had written back at the turn of the Millennium, and man, it was beautiful.

Although my coworker wasn't able to place him anywhere, or give him any real solid starting points, he thanked her and said "my world's a better place for you being in it," just because she tried to help. He explained that she was a real human being: "There's a difference between human beings and people," he said, "you all make the stars shine in the sky."

After all of his warmhearted joke crackings and unfathomably great conversation, I almost forgot why he was there, and that he had been so troubled, until my coworker asked him if there was some way we could reach him if we came across something. "I doubt it," he said. And I quickly came to my senses--he had no home, no phone, no email address, no sight. But despite his hardships, he still gave my coworker the only thing in his pocket that would suffice as a "thank you," an apple.

As he was leaving, he made one last joke to me and said, "you look like the type of girl I could spend the rest of my life with, ciao bella." I wished him good luck, and he chuckled a bit and responded, "sure, why not?" Which broke my heart.

As my coworker served as a crutch for him as he walked out, and opened the door for him, his last words before he left the office were, "see, chivalry's not dead."

People like this defy logic. He was told he would never see again, but he sees with his heart. He was told he would never walk again, but he walks slowly. He was told he'd never have sex again, but his son is turning twelve soon. He was told he wouldn't live, but he's full of life.

Pride is a strong barrier

"A society is not judged so much by the standards attained by its more affluent and privileged members as by the quality of life which it is able to assure for its weakest members." - H.E. Javier Perez de Cuellar

On Friday I got to do something that I've been waiting to do since I've gotten here: Unity Outreach. Essentially this consists of riding around in a van scoping out the homeless--driving around regular spots, searching under bridges, checking the benches of the French Quarter. I was nervous at first, excited nonetheless, but nervous. I didn't know what to expect, but expectations were impossible to fulfill anyway, so with a heavy heart and eager mind, I climbed into the van.

We pulled up to a common homeless dwelling spot: under a popular NOLA bridge. Under it, a lady was relaxing on top of her sleeping bag, shirtless, as cars zoomed by her, pedestrians walked by her like she was just another bench, and groups of homeless men stood near. We approached her (with butterflies in my stomach), and thankfully I didn't need to say anything, the Outreach workers took charge. The hope had been missing from her eyes, but she insisted to us that she was O.K.--that she didn't need help.

Another man we approached on the bench of a popular French Quarter street had clearly been homeless: his skin and body were weathered, his clothes had been severely worn, and he had his possessions in a bag nearby. When we approached and offered help, he insisted he wasn't homeless and that he was fine.

As we continued to drive, the more and more homeless people I saw, the more I wanted to help. But I realized one main lesson on that trip: pride. It's hard to give up your pride and vulnerably expose yourself to not just Unity, but anybody. To insist that you are not homeless, or that you are living comfortably on a concrete slab, takes a great deal of self-assurance and pride. However, I hope the people that really do need to be housed learn that to let down your guard can be the best solution, as hard as it may sound. I also need to take my own advice. My guard has been up for years, and some of the best things have happened when I let it down.

So far in this city my guard is definitely still up. I'm adjusting, learning the ropes, meeting new people (some better than others), and trying to transform an apartment into a home. It's hard not to keep a guard up when being exposed to so many new things and experiences. But that car ride broke down my barrier a little and made me see that as important as it is to have a strong exterior, inside can be weak, and that can only change  if you loosen the reins on your pride, and simply let life happen.
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Below is a story from the Unity website that brought me to tears, and is without a doubt worth reading.

"Five hands pointed at the small woman sitting on the edge of the broken couch.  Her face beamed! We had just introduced ourselves to the six people living in half of an un-gutted abandoned double. Although all six were homeless and living in this decrepit abandoned building, the five strongest immediately identified the smiling woman on the couch as the most vulnerable among them.

Although she sometimes attempted the brusque bravado of a survivor, Darlene’s true joy-filled and hopeful simplicity was the predominant affect that we encountered over the months of knowing her. Darlene had suffered through two brain aneurysms prior to the storm, leaving her with shunts and tubes that ran from her  head and drained into her stomach.

Prior to the storm, Darlene’s immediate and extended family was able to surround her with the support she needed.  However, Katrina destroyed most of their homes and scattered her support system throughout
several states. Darlene always said all she ever wanted was a place to take a hot shower and a bubble bath.  That is all she wanted!

Darlene and her fiancé were days away from getting just such a place when tragedy struck.  As she slept one hot afternoon in the abandoned house, a man came through the un-lockable door and brutally and sadistically raped her.  After the tragedy, the entire UNITY team surrounded the devastated couple and secured a safe permanent apartment for the couple to begin their healing process.

My last image of Darlene was soon after she and her beau moved into their new apartment.  The twinkles were beginning to re-emerge in her eyes.  She thanked us for the bubble bath and girly soaps we brought as home-warming gifts, and gave us strong hugs as we said goodbye.

Two mornings later, Darlene suffered a massive stroke from which she never recovered.  She spent her final days in a coma, surrounded by family and friends."

Unknown 1, 2, 3, 4...

I've always been terrible at remembering people's names. Faces I can remember, but names? Forget it. It always takes me a good two or three times hearing it to actually be able to put your name to your face. But yesterday at work, I was assigned a task that made me realize the importance of names, and made me vow to pay closer attention to people's identities.

I was given about 20 discs filled with photos of homeless people in the Greater New Orleans area. In each photo, the person held a white piece of computer paper. On this paper was supposed to be their name. My job was to rename each file name with the name that appeared on the piece of paper. Simple task, right? Well, that's what I thought. But there was one problem, when someone couldn't say their name, didn't know their name, or couldn't write their name, the paper was blank. I had to label these files as "Unknown."

These photos were taken by Unity's Outreach Team. This team goes into New Orleans's 38,382 abandoned buildings during the day, searching for signs of life--mattresses, cans, cigarettes--and returns between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. to the places where they think a homeless person might reside. Once found, they approach the person by declaring who they are, and that they are there to help. Most of the time, the person is willing to comply, and praying for help. Because they are without addresses or phone numbers, the only way to reach them again is to take a photo of them, and search for them when housing is available.

A name helps. Matching a photo to one of 9,165 homeless people in NOLA is an incredibly difficult task, and some of these folks remain nameless in the registry: "Unknown."

As I continued to type "Unknown" over and over again, I stared into the eyes of the people in the photos staring back at me. These people had stories, they had emotions, and once, they had a name.

I thought about all of the things that I can be identified with: my address, my phone number, my name, my social security number, my college i.d., my credit score, my bank account, my license number, my birth certificate, etc. All of these numbers and letters and words I've been forced to memorize--that I've often complained about memorizing--all correlate to the name "Catherine Elsby."

I have never before thought about what is hidden between the 14 letters in my name, but it's definitely a world of information. It defines me, gives me my identity, and allows me to be located and contacted if I'm ever needed. What's hidden between the seven letters in "Unknown" is despair, hopelessness, sadness, and ambiguity.

So, next time I learn a name, you best believe I will pay attention, because a name does not only get your attention when it's called, it defines who you are in society, and gives me an easier way to find you when I need you.