New Orleans

There is a good part of New Orleans, and a bad part of the city I was told by those “in the know” at our next stop. Racism is thinly veiled. I feel, incredulously, that the people that I am speaking to would be astonished and very hurt to be labeled in such a way. They make allusions to the “darkness” and exclaim that in the area we are staying they feel like “the cream in an oreo cookie.” I don’t want to ruffle any feathers, so I mostly nod and smile- the idiot from New York. These people are, obviously, white. They vary in age, shape and gender. They all tell me the same thing- “for your own good.” It makes my stomach hurt. They talk about us and them as if involved in a secret war. Maybe they are, but I am not.

We park the van in a not so great part of town. There are houses that have been abandoned since the flood. The sidewalks are cracked and overturned, covered in broken glass. There is gate to the camp we are staying. The gates are topped with spikes and one must have a code to get in. It’s a cramped and awkward space. Everyone staying here is white. An aged housewife gossips with me from the stoop of her multi million dollar home. Her hair is bleached blonde and she has the face of a pack a day smoker- too old too soon. She also has three yappy designer dogs that go with her everywhere. I speak with a demolition worker in the laundry room. He tells me that he was one of the first outsiders in after Katrina. He says that everything was the same color, mud gray. He remembers clearly the silence. There were no birds and there were no ants then. He repeats this several times, there were no ants. He is responsible for taking down houses that have been condemned. The work has gone on for years. He recalls that when he first arrived he wasn’t able to the place he was supposed to be, because everything had changed. He suggests that we head out to the “heap” on the outskirts of this part of town. This is the place, he says, where everything that was destroyed goes. All the debris, houses, cars, buildings that were left are dumped in the heap. He is very concerned about the right and wrong parts of town. He tells me not to walk anywhere, even in the day.  I smile and nod and do what I please.