Though it's not listed on my job description nor an explicit requirement of my job, I've discovered during my time in Houston that a large part of my job consists of listening to people tell their stories. Having always been a fan of oral history, I'm learning that I'm smack in the middle of millions of oral histories. Everyone has a story- where they were during the storm, what happened to them, what sort of damage they suffered...and I find myself fascinated by them. Having been through a few tropical storms myself, I have a pretty good feel for what sorts of things people endure during a hurricane, but I have to admit that this is SO far outside my normal frame of reference that I cannot begin to understand what happened. I listen, I look around, and every day I see something I simply cannot process. I've lived and worked in three different war zones, and I still can't come to grips with much of what I'm seeing and hearing.
Perhaps the most difficult thing for me thus far was the story I heard from a woman in Crosby who has friends in Galveston. For some reason, these maroons decided to remain on the island despite the mandatory evacuation. They found a warehouse that they thought would be strong enough to withstand the onslaught, they wrote their social security numbers on their arms, and they waited. Apparently, the worst part wasn't the water, which came up far higher than they'd anticipated. No, the worst part was dodging the snakes and the rats trying to escape the rising water. Nice...and I. HATE. RATS. Man, I could have gone my entire life without having to be subjected to that mental image. Of course, I have no way of independently verifying this story, so I have no clue as to it's veracity...or lack of same. Nonetheless, it's not out of the realm of possibility. Given some of the other stories I've heard from people, the unbelievable seems anything but.
I suppose the point here is that if you listen to people, you begin to get the idea that this was one hell of a story. For many, this is (and will hopefully remain) a once in a lifetime experience. The collective stories of the people I come into contact with paints one helluva picture, one that I even in my wildest imagination couldn't have imagined. The death toll from Hurricane Ike is now up to 29, and as the cleanup continues, that number will likely continue to grow. Lest anyone think that I've been exaggerating my experiences here, that number ought to put a halt to any doubts. This was no run-of-the-mill tropical storm system that dumps a bunch of rain, rips up a few trees, and then departs stage left. No, this sucker packed a punch, and it leveled a good portion of southeast Texas. No exaggeration intended, implied, or stated.
I haven't taken a lot of pictures during my time here, mostly out of respect for those dealing with the aftermath. The last thing these folks need is another turista with a digital camera recording their suffering for posterity. The pictures I have in my head, though, are the ones that I don't imagine will EVER go away. If I live to 105 and never see or experience anything like this again, I will die a very happy man.
And here's something that you might never have expected to connect the dots to. With all of the reconstruction work that will need to be done in southeast Texas, where do you think the workers are going to come from? Yes, that's right; say hello to the latest chapter in this nation's ongoing immigration debate, legal and/or otherwise. It would appears that a lot of the cleanup work is being done, and will continue to be done, by undocumented workers. Gee, undocumented works in southeast Texas; whodathunkit?? When did this happen??
While some folks are bleating that those impacted by the storm should get preference for reconstruction work, they might want to face up to the reality that companies are having a tough time finding legal local workers to fill these jobs. OK, Brown People; here's the deal: you're welcome to be here and help us out as long as we need you. When that need disappears, y'all need to do the same...'kay??
And what is up with these mosquitoes?? I haven't been this chewed upon since...well, since I left last year. Unfortunately, I'm allergic to DEET. Someone suggsted that I rub my exposed skin with a dryer sheet; mosquitoes allegedly can't stand the smell. Hell, I'd sacrifice a virgin and bathe in her blood if I thought it would help. Unfortunately, I'm wearing Milk Bone underwear in a kennel full of starving Rottweilers, and the only real solution for me is to get back on a plane and head back to Portland. All things in good time....
