Hurricane Katrina: Thanks to Katrina, My First Apartment Lasted a Week

Black Collegian, Oct 2005 by Roussell, Rebecca K

The pictures of me moving into my first apartment are still in my apartment.

I lived at 4500 Elysian Fields Ave., Apt. 112, in the Gemilly area of New Orleans. What did it matter that my first apartment did not involve monthly rent, and included a meal plan through Dillard University, where 1 was a senior mass communication major. It was still my own. My first.

Notice the past tense: "lived."

On Aug. 29, I had been in my new apartment for only a week when it was damaged by Hurricane Katrina and the lloodwaters that came when the levees were breached a clay later, destroying it. These, and later fires, ravaged the campus. The hurricane caused wind damage to my parents' home and my wonderful, sweet New Orleans, where I was born and raised.

Now I am supposed to make a list of everything I lost in that apartment to prepare an insurance claim. I tried, but I had lo stop. I would write three things, and then I would get frustrated, and then I couldn't write any more.

I am frustrated because I have to start all over. I could not remember every single detail in the apartment, to make sure all was accounted for. The value of everything in my apartment surpassed $6,500, a hefty price tag.

Sure, money from FEMA and the insurance claims helps, but it doesn't replace my picture albums and my special mementos.

It's not just the things that 1 lost. It's the feelings; the places I remember from childhood. The walks on Dccatur Street to go eat my favorite powdery beignets with my family. The Saturday nights hanging out with my friends on Bourbon Street. Just being able to walk in Harrah's Casino after 1 had my 21st birthday this past summer. Visiting my aunt's authentic home located in the Ninth Ward. New Orleans was a city that was riddled with crime and poverty, but 1 still called it my safe haven.

1 moved into my off-campus apartment, not five minutes from Lake Pontchartrain, on Aug. 18. 1 was decorating my new pad, room by room. Everything had to match. My plan was to work from the back of the apartment to the front. I had already completed my bathroom and bedroom, just in time for the first day of school on Aug. 22.

I kept thinking, "Man, I have my own place and I am so excited about it." Really excited.

The next week, I settled into my cozy bedroom with its red and khaki curtains. I had two twin beds when I moved in, so 1 pushed them together to make a bed that was even larger than a king. When king size sheets did not fit the bed, I bought two sets of twin bedding, and it worked out fine. The bedding was white with a khaki comforter. Three pillows in red pillowcases, and my brand new Delta Sigma Theta afghan, with my sorority's crest and Greek letters, adorned my bed.

I was proud because my room colors reflected my bold and outgoing personality.

Then on Sat., Aug. 27, about 8 a.m., my mother called to tell me that I should come home and ride out the storm with the family. I jokingly told her that I wasn't going home until they kicked us out of the complex.

And about two hours later, it was like Paul Revere when the British were coming. Our apartment manager knocked on every door in the complex, warning the students of the hurricane. There was a mandatory evacuation of the campus and its housing. We had to be oil campus by 5 p.m.

Having gone through this drill many times before as a native of the area, I honestly did not rush out of my apartment. Sure, I knew there was a Category 5 monster headed straight for the place 1 called my new home for a week, and for my permanent home of the past 21 years. But I never fathomed what would happen in the coming days.

So, I warmed up some dinner rolls from the night before to snack on, and sat down in front of the television. I watched mainly BET and MTV (my favorites), and then realized that 1 should turn on the local news or the Weather Channel, so I could see where Katrina was headed.

How did it become so powerful in such a short time? The day before, I realized the storm had entered the Gull, but 1 was not really paying attention to the weather. I just knew it was the typical Louisiana, hot weather. It never dawned on me that it is always calm before a hurricane hits.

I thought I should get some gas and swing by Popeyes to get my favorite three-piece chicken strip dinner with a large order of green beans. Well, the lines at the gas stations were ferocious. I was third in a trail of cars that overlapped onto the highway with motorists waiting to gas up. Still, after 1 filled up, 1 went to Popeye's and everything seemed normal.

I went back to my apartment and visited with my best friend from Sacramento, Calif., who lived on the second floor. I stayed there with her for the longest time, talking about last year's mandatory evacuation for Hurricane Ivan, which turned away from New Orleans at the last minute. That time, my family did not evacuate. We were out of school for only two to three days.

Frustrated, my friend and I did not want to leave our apartments.

Some of her boxes were unopened still. She threw a raincoat over her television to protect it. 1 chuckled at that.