When mother nature puts on a horror show, you hear tell about strangers donatin’ millions to help out if places like ‘Nawlins or some other such city of a certain stature are struck low. But ‘round here, ain’t nobody comes a runnin’ to lift us up outta the mud. S’like nothin' exists this side of the Kerner Swing Bridge. ('Course, mayhap we don't. Iffin' you're a fan of Don Quijote and his side kick you'll know what I'm talkin' 'bout.) I 'magine our houses could all come tumblin’ down off they concrete slabs and the world would never know. Fact is, they damn near did and I know yall never heard a whisper ‘bout it on yo’ favorite news program or even the last page of your local or national paper.

You could fit five of Barataria, my beautiful little island home, on the island of Manhattan. And all our people, our Baratarians, wouldn't fill half of one of those eye sores yall call 'partment buildins'. No such thing hereabouts. Just trees, houses, an abundance of water and fishin' boats. Can't beat the view come early morning, small boats takin' off just as the sun starts colorin' the sky, and I make my way to Jean Lafitte to give swamp tours.

But less than a year ago, this here little piece of paradise was nearly wiped away by Hurricane Ida. Though my mama and grandparents stayed put, I took my family to stay with my cousins up in Gretna. Howevuh, once the storm passed, I went on home to do my part. Where I come from, if someone’s strugglin’, ev’rybody comes together to lend a hand.

And we was all strugglin'.

It was us Baratarians that came out in boats to travel our flooded streets; who checked in on old Mr. Coulon, a ripe old 79, who we found swimmin' to his fishin' boat to check on his lines. “I ain’t going nowhere yet,” he hollered at us with a wave.

It was us who rowed back and forth from the mainland every day twice a day to make sure those who stayed in Barataria or came back as soon as Ida passed had food and fresh water.

Rowed back and forth from the mainland? Hell, yes. See, the Kerner Swing Bridge, the only bridge connecting us to the mainland– and the Piggly Wiggly, gas stations, schools, the police and fire station – was struck by a barge durin' the storm and rendered useless. The storm also knocked out the 'lectricity. We was truly on our own.

It was neighbors who helped each other empty flooded homes, shovel the stinkin’ sludge while dodgin' snakes, dig through uprooted trees wrapped around the rubble of roofs and sidin'. After 33 years of never floodin', I came home to an empty lot. My house not only flooded, it floated down to Mr. Wilson’s yard on the corner of Kaylee Lane and Privateer Boulevard.

Over time, my neighbors were there to help me rebuild and to rebury my dead whose remains were uprooted and tossed asunder in our family graveyard. We were lucky, though: there are still caskets and concrete vaults lining the side of the road. Damn shame.

I ain’t never seen nuthin’ like the mess Ida left behind. A nearby canal pushed ev'rythin' into some yards and clogged up the woods, so ev'ry time it rained the water had nowhere to go makin'. clean up an even bigger challenge. Some chillun' had to wade through mud ev'ry mo'ning for months to begin a three or four hour trek to school on the mainland.

Almost a year later, we are still findin' our way back. Rebuildin' is slow, but there are a few signs of hope: My favorite sandwich place just reopened last Monday.

I was first in line.

To be lost in Jakarta

You would've set your soul free. To enjoy the shopping and nightlife is how your day would be.

A freshness in the air, regardless of the high pollution state.

A mix of cultures and expertise simply makes it great.

If you have never heard the name before, and I brought it to your attention.

I would say it's the Capital of Indonesia, population 10 million In case I didn't mention.

It sits off the island of Java and Glodok is their Chinatown.

For difference and relaxation you will lose yourself, hands down.

"Hi Paul." Farrah drawled as she exited the corner store, her paper grocery bag cradled in her arms.

He rolled his eyes as he humored his sister's friend. "How's it going, Farrah?" He tapped his cigarette, still leaning against the wall, looking ahead at the open field of golden stalks in front of him. A soft breeze shifted the clouds closer to the town.

She rocked on the balls of her feet, smiling mischievously. "Did you find someone to buy the plot?"

He scoffed. "No, no one wants to move to the middle of nowhere."

She snickered.

He glanced at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes. Attempting to mask it, he took a drag. "What?"

"The new family." She teased as she shifted the bag onto her hip.

Paul stomped out his cigarette and stepped forward, taking the bag from her. They walked side by side down the dirt road.

"Why're you talking like that?" He inquired.

She ignored him. "You haven't met them yet? There are only thirty three people in this town, how have you not met them? Everyone's met them already." She skipped ahead, picked up a rock, and tossed it at Paul's feet. He didn't even flinch anymore. He stopped.

He narrowed his eyes skeptically. "What're you planning?"

She ran back up to him and grabbed the bag out of his arms. "Thanks, bye!" She yelled behind her as she ran to her house at the end of the street.

Paul shook his head as he walked down the adjacent street, hoping to get home soon before it rained.