Voices: From New Orleans, and proud of it
If you are looking for a sob story, this isn’t your read. If you want to hear about the hard times of Hurricane Katrina or how New Orleans still has much rebuilding to do, turn on the television. I want to tell you about my New Orleans. The city that has my heart and made my soul.
Yes, we lost a lot. Hurricane Katrina affected our city more deeply than any one story can tell. So deeply that when people ask me where I am from and I proudly say, “New Orleans,” their response is, “How sad about Hurricane Katrina. Did you lose your home? Were you affected?” Let me give you a lesson: New Orleanians, we don’t like those Katrina questions and we despise the picture that was painted of our city 10 years ago.
Was I affected? Of course. We all were. We lost our families, homes, jobs and schools. Our tiny world was blown up, blasted all over television at our weakest, most vulnerable moment. My house was 6 feet under water; our family medical practice fell to pieces; my mom was displaced to a new city to work for several years while dad stayed in New Orleans living in an odd-smelling FEMA trailer to tend to his patients — those who were left. And we were some of the fortunate ones. We were drowning, and outsiders couldn’t turn away: Watching, judging and feeling sorry for us. Who could blame them? We seemed helpless.
It is pretty clear today that we are anything but helpless. New Orleans is like the phoenix. We have risen from our ashes. Yes, there has been change, no doubt, but the bones of our city remain the same. There may be a lot more restaurants, more celebrity visits, more attention from the media, but when all is said and done, New Orleans is just the same. The fabric that makes us who we are, our families, our traditions, our food; those things can never be lost or changed. In all of the pain and tragedy, we bared our souls and showed you our spirit. That spirit was never lost. In fact, it grew deeper. The bigger the mess, the stronger our fight. This spirit lives in us, shines through us, and no matter what happens there is nothing that can crush that spirit.
New Orleans has a side that only natives can see. A bond so strong, a pride so deep that it might be described as pathological, irrational, illogical. The love we have for each other, for our food and our traditions, is a bit obsessive. Some might say we are arrogant, self-indulgent, and they might even say that there is actually life outside New Orleans. While I respect their naivete, they are wrong. They don’t understand, and as sad as it is, they will never know what is like to be part of something so whole, so big and small at the same time, so unlike anything else.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I do. While I have not lived at home in 10 years, there is a magnetic force that I cannot describe, pulling me home every chance it gets. I like to think I am doing America a favor. Giving Washington, D.C., a dose of the medicine it needs. Sprinkling Cajun spice across the nation’s capitol, loosening up those ties and tossing that hair around. Saying all the wrong things at the right times. I like to take the long way home.
Most people recognize her for the creole food: Jambalaya, gumbo, beignets, poboys and muffalettas; or for Mardi Gras: Drunken days with no end, the smell of beer and king cake tickling your nose while beads are magically falling from the sky and a brass band plays Carnival Time in the distance. Maybe you think about the French Quarter, a sight you can only describe with a grin on your face, remembering the half-naked woman twirling on top of the bar on Bourbon, throwing a wink your way before moving on to the next amazed onlooker. Perhaps it is the architecture you recall, the rich history or the riverboats trolling up and down the Mississippi. A wild weekend, a “taste of the South,” or just an escape from reality. Whatever she is to you, that is yours.
To me, she is family and comfort, she is safety, she is home. My roots. It’s the place my parents grew up, went to college together, got drunk at Cooter Brown's and kissed for the first time, got married, and raised a family. It’s where three generations of my family have gone to the same school from kindergarten through 12th grade. That gumbo you dream about, that’s a family recipe that has been passed down for generations, a recipe Mom can’t quite get right no matter how many times she tries. I love my po'boys dressed and want Zapp’s crawtators and Barq's root beer on the side. Those beads? That is my best friend throwing them to me actually, even though I will let you have them since you are very clearly a first-timer. That music you hear on Frenchman Street, that is my old classmate who recently lost his mother to cancer. Those are our brothers and sisters dancing through the streets. Bourbon Street? A family tradition, strolling down the street on Christmas Eve, dining at Galatoire's with friends so close they are kin. Voodoo? Don’t make me do it.
Who are we? Well let’s get one thing straight. We are not helpless. We are resilient, we are crazy. We love tradition, music, food and dancing. We only have a few seasons: Crawfish season, football season and carnival season. Yes, we eat bugs and talk way too loud. We have no sense of urgency. We laugh a lot and we have small gatherings with 500 of our closest friends. We still don’t evacuate when told, and still bring the heat with our hurricane parties (and the daiquiris.) And despite what people may think, we don’t need any saving. Dawlin’, our souls are black and gold and we sure do love a good snowball in the summer. It’s hot and rainy and humid. When it gets down to 75, I am pulling out my best winter coat.
Why should you care? Maybe you don’t. Perhaps I have wasted your time with my small-minded, New Orleans arrogance thinking that you actually care about what New Orleans is really all about. Well the fact is, without us, without our stories, our music, our food and our people, the world would be a much more predictable, boring place. We will keep our spirits up, let our light shine, and while you keep talking about how much we have left to do to rebuild our city, we will continue to let the good times roll.
Terrell Murray is the publicist for USA TODAY