Barataria, sweet Barataria

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.