Disclaimer
The views expressed, and observations made here are solely those of the author Dwijendra Nath Guru and do not reflect those of the groups or organizations he is associated with.
In Jackson
ETAs are meant to be estimates and the events of the day exemplified that. From 10 in the morning to 2 in the afternoon to 5 in the evening - our arrival time in Jackson required quite a few revisions. But we didn't repent a minute we spent off the main freeway - the 3000 lbs of apples, the corn, squash and watermelons, and the 10 or so gas cans more than m! ade up for the multiple revisions.
If one didn't notice the long lines near gas stations, or the high ratio of trucks and heavy vehicles on the highways, Jackson didn't seem be any different from any other city of its size. Pastor Jeff and Dr. Stacy met us off the freeway and after the initial pleasantries, we headed to a gas station nearby. There were 10 or so vehicles waiting as we drove into the gas station and the cops maintaining order seemed to identify us and asked us to drive straight in. Filling up our gas guzzling, fully laden trucks, we were surprised to see that Pastor Jeff had paid the bills for not just the refills but also for the reserve fuel in our gas cans.
Further south the landscape started revealing scars from the hurricane - bill boards ripped into pieces here, blown down there;! a direction board here and a huge tree there; and of course, the increasing density of shrub and chopped tree limbs that lined the highway.
The drive I know least about
Pastor Jeff and Dr. Stacy led us at the front while Lynn and Aria rode in the truck with the trailer and Diana and I made up the tail in the 26' Family Project truck. Having made a conscious decision not to use the a/c in order to save on gas, we drove with windows rolled down, feeling the humid air as it cooled down. About half way to Biloxi on US highway 49, I thought I smelt vapors of gasoline. Realizing that I had been handling the barrels and gas cans, I was about to relax when Diana had the same look on her face. There wasnt much doubt about the source of the smell - a black round thing seemed to be hugging the back of the trailer grill above one of the barrels - apparently the top had come off one of the barrels carrying gasoline! When flashes of high beams and a few honks didn't get the attention of Lynn, Diana decided we needed to pull up alongside and ask her to stop. A burst of speed with signing from the truck and a minute later, we had secured the lid on the barrel and I took the wheel of the trailer truck from an obviously rattled Lynn. We were still about 50 miles north of Biloxi and I was back at the wheel. It had been a long day - about 15 hours of non-stop action from packing things in the truck to driving it for most of the day. "I am within the lane", "no vehicles coming up", "I see Jeff's truck", shake myself awake - this was the sequence of events repeated multiple times with different intervals over the next hour. Nothing to beat the feeling inside when the sequence was broken by the realization that we had reached our destination.
A late night surprise in Biloxi
I did not expect to be hosted in a house that was as well furnished and as big as the one that awaited our arrival. Councilman Bill Stallworth, Pastor Jeff's brother was up to receive us. After a few minutes of unloading the supplies from Pastor Jeff's truck, we moved into the house for a much needed shower and sleep. To get 6 hours of sleep on a luxurious king sized bed in the heart of the hurricane affected area - that too after a small peg of good old whiskey - now that is a surprise !
The day begins with reality in the face
The Missionary Baptist church in Biloxi was about 10 minutes from our night's rest stop. The smell of dead fish and moist everything reeked through the Monday morning air - it wasnt hard to associate it with death. Rows and rows of damaged or flattened houses, the slush that had dried off all horizontal surfaces and the pervasive smell that I was slowly getting used to hardened my resolve to note the destruction only after I met with the tenacious people who were fighting it out. It was difficult not to notice the many trees that had snapped, the destroyed bridge across the Bay of Biloxi, or the many many houses that were flattened. There were a few houses here and there that seemed to be untouched, and it was only after talking to the locals did we realize that almost all the these were either less than two years old or built of brick and mortar ... three little pigs and the big bad wolf ?
Water water everywhere
By the time we reached, there was another truck unloading supplies for the kitchen - coal, bread, hot dogs and more. Unable to stand on the sidelines while we waited, I went ahead and pitched in to help hasten unloading. A request to use the pallet jack they were using was immediately complied with and soon we were unloading the apples from our vehicles. Unloading all the smaller items was speeded up by forming a human chain to pass on things. The elders of the church who were putting things in the right place called a halt after we had unloaded about half of the general stuff and less than a third of the water. Adding to their existing supplies, they now had enough water for more than a week and there were other groups who would be able to use! the supplies we carried.
A CBS crew was filming the operations for their program '48 hours'. With a focus on 'Where is FEMA?' Diana and I were interviewed. I tried to emphasize that we were not trying to replace or replicate the efforts of big organizations like FEMA or Red Cross, but rather, were concentrating on things they could not do - bringing in fresh produce, linking up with the coordinators on the ground and getting resources that they felt were needed.
After getting driving directions to another group that was serving a much bigger community, we waited while Diana went with the CBS crew to transfer footage from our journey so far and grab some coffee.
The Dome Church
The drive took us across town. Biloxi is a small city - about 3 miles in the north-south direction and about 10 miles in the east-west. As seen from ouside its concrete compound walls, the Keesler Airforce base seemed to have escaped with minimum damage but for the tattered roof of a barn-like large building.
As we approached the other distribution center, the first thing I noticed was the shift in the demographic of the people around the place - while the Missionary Baptist church and its surrounding community was predominently African-American , here we found just a few among the fifty or so people gathered. A short conversation with the organizers of the distribution center elicited the reply that they were a group called Rapid Hope International and that they served the neediest - especially those who could not get to a distribution center. The well setup temporary kitchen, and ! the constant flow of vans and trucks going out with food, water and a few basic supplies and returning to go out again seemed to confirm this. Saving some of our material for Camp Sister Spirit, we unloaded the apples and many other odds and ends. As we headed back to the heart of Biloxi, our truck was left with about a third of the water and other material donations.
On the Division Street
As the sun was going down, we assessed where we stood with our mission and realized that though we had been able to ascertain the location of Camp Sister Spirit, we did not have much information on what their needs were. Working on the plan that we can always go to Jackson and purchase more supplies for Camp Sister Spirit, we decided to keep about 100 Gallons of water and unload the rest with the next distribution center we come across in Biloxi.
At Division Street, the main thoroughfare of Biloxi, a cop pulled up beside our second truck and and directed us to the Salvation Army's distribution center. There we were helped by a group of soldiers from US Army reserve and volunteers with the Salvation Army to unload about 2 pallets of water in less than half an hour.
In search of Sister Spirit !
Camp Sister Spirit has been a recurring mention in the narrative so far. It is a camp in rural Mississippi near Ovett, north east of Hattiesburg. Established with a mission to spread education about disenfranchised communities, we expected the place to be a place of refuge for locals. We had initially planned to reach the camp before sundown as none of us had been the! re before. But we finally decided to drive on rather than stay overnight at Biloxi.
Curfews, driving directions and the Electric Power Auth. bloke from Ovett
Getting to Hattiesburg was not difficult - the only surprise was how far our gas was taking us now that we had unloaded more than 80% of our supplies. Like all of Southern Mississippi, Hattiesburg had a dusk-to-dawn curfew and the streets were deserted. The blown down signs didn't make our task of navigation any easier. After a few wrong turns, we were lucky to come across a man at a stop sign who took the time to give us detailed directions to Ovett. We passed Hattiesburg and then Petal before we started doubting our directions. There were 3 cars behind us when we pulled over - the man in the first car seemed drunk, but still I a! sked him how to get to County Road 42. In his stupor, he replied, "You are on 42, dude!" In the meantime the 3rd car in line, a cop car, started flashing and I stepped back with my hands raised. Both cars zipped away to my utter surprise - guess this is curfew in Mississippi...
The next stroke of luck occurred when we met an employee of the Mississippi Electric Power Authority returning home after an excruciatingly long day. He knew where Camp Sister Spirit was and advised us against trying to find it in the dark, especially in a 26' truck. His detailed super-survey maps convinced us and we followed him to Ovett, where we parked the truck in a gas station. With the detailed instructions to the camp, the small pickup left to find the camp leaving the trailer behind under the truck with me on guard.
What not to talk about in Ovett !
Waking up Tuesday morning from an uncomfortable nap, I heard 2 women at the gas station. I got down and talked to them as a few men joined the line for gas. The conspicuous truck with its colorful photographs dominated the conversation and I didn't see any reason to withhold information about my destination. I began to notice that the women were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and silent. A guy selling chain saws attracted the attention of the menfolk - in the meantime one of the women pulled me aside and adviced me not to talk about the camp. "We realize that everyone's human and should be treated equally, but not all men agree. In fact, one of these men was part of a group that tormented Camp Sister Spirit during its early days by leaving dead animals on their driv! eway," she said.
By this point, the owner of the nearby general store came to inform the crowd that the gas station would not open till afternoon. However, the gas station 12 miles away was open for business. The women talking to me didn't have much gas, so I jumped in with an offer of 5 gallons from our reserve. She thanked me and, as we were filling her tank, the other woman came up and advised me to drive the truck elsewhere for safety. Just then Diana, Lynn and Aria drove up - they hadn't located the camp and spent the night in yet another parking lot. Hitching the trailer as fast as we could, we got into our vehicles and followed our guide to the gas station 12 miles away. She then guided us to Camp Sister Spirit and thanked us for all the kind work we were doing - true sister spirit at work !!
Long lost friends
The reception from the people who run the camp, as well as their neighbors, was unlike anything we had experienced thus far. We chatted as if we were long-lost friends - it did not feel like we were meeting them for the first time. Within a few minutes, I was bouncing on a trampouline with a 3-year old kid. The camp had suffered extensive wind damage - a blown roof and many broken trees - and was without electricity. Running water had been restored, though it was not potable. After a refreshing shower and over a hearty breakfast, we met some of the people at the camp. Shawnee, a tough-looking woman in her late 20's, recounted her experience of swimming out of her collapsing house in Gulfport with her dogs and cat. She had been to the camp before and knew she could find refuge ther! e. 2 women had come down from Philly to help manage the camp, which was now serving as a food shelf for the neighboring communities.
Because houses are so scattered in rural areas, it is not easy to go to a distribution center, especially with fallen trees and gas shortages. Though the local gas situation seemed to be improving, requisition of supplies by FEMA for use in the harder-hit areas along the coast put a question mark on future supply. So the folks at the camp were preparing food and hygiene packages and delivering them to people in need. They have been here for the past 12 years and, inspite of being targeted by some elements, have earned the confidence and trust of the local communities. While providing recuperation and relaxation for individuals and groups, the camp also serves as a shel! ter for abused women.
The postal service was back in action, opening a much-needed channel of communication. We met Andrea, the current caretaker and daughter of the camp's founders - she was in tears seeing us and couldn't stop after finding out we had come all the way from Minnesota. We unloaded the rest of our provisions and began planning our return. Diana and Lynn decided to stay on for a few days with the big truck to help transport supplies locally from areas north of Hattiesburg to the camp and the folks in the Baptist church at Biloxi. They also offered to take Shawnee back to Gulfport, search for her cat and begin the process of insurance claims. Aria and I decided to head back in the pickup truck.
The long haul back to Minnesota
Aria and I took turns driving th! rough the evening and night and reached home Wednesday evening. Hours later, we went to a local fundraiser co-organized by North serves South, Mission from Minnesota and Minnesota Coalition to aid Hurricane Survivors (MNCAHS). We showed photographs from our trip and spoke briefly describing our experiences. After that, it was time for some hard-earned sleep!
Earlier reports, photos and related info at
http://northservessouth.com