A mission of the heart

The following is a personal account of the author of his experience as a home inspector for the Federal Emergency Management Agency during the relief operations for New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

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One early morning on the tranquil island of Tinian, I awoke and went about my usual routine, part of which was to turn on CNN. But that morning was not like all the others, as news filtered in about a hurricane that had slammed into the state of Florida and was heading for Louisiana, a storm named “Katrina.”

As the days unfolded, the natural destruction that came with the hurricane, together with the human errors that occurred, combined to make this storm far more destructive than any other storm in the nation’s history.

Because of good fortune and the blessings of God, one of the many jobs that I have is with a company under contract with the Federal Emergency Management Agency as an Independent Contract Home Inspector for the FEMA Housing Program. So when my company gave me a call that morning, asking me if I could come out and help, my answer was…YES, OF COURSE, I’LL HELP! So it began. I requested the Mayor of Tinian for my release and got on the first flight out, headed to where the Field Office would be set up: Houston, Texas.

I arrived in Houston in the afternoon and when I got to the field office I found that it was bustling with inspectors from all parts of the United States, all trying to brush up on the rules and regulations, plus the job of an inspector.

The first place that they assigned me to was the Astrodome to do interviews with all the evacuees from New Orleans to see who would be interested in going to a ship from the Carnival Cruise Lines; the company donated three ships to help house the evacuees. This was easier said than done. As I walked down into the Dome, the first thing that you would see were the huge number of people all over the place and that was just at the entrance! When you came to the stairs to go into the arena, you take in a sight you never thought you’d ever see: thousands upon thousands of people and cots all over the field. I walked down the stairs onto the deck toward the middle of the field and, once there, I looked all over the deck and the one thing that struck me were the children…so many children…it made me want to cry.

After composing myself, I commenced upon the unenviable job of interviewing, which I soon found was much harder than I had anticipated. It’s easy to understand why people would be a little apprehensive about a stranger coming up to them, especially after all that they had been through, and some still looking for their loved ones—for a complete stranger to come up to them and ask if they would like to get on a cruise ship…get on water…after they had been flooded out of their homes. Most thought that it was a sick joke, some even screamed back “Are you trying to separate my family?!” or “I never want to see water again!”

It wasn’t easy but I persevered and told the people I interviewed to just look around them, there was no privacy where they were at, their children were running around and there are so many strangers. I advised them that if they were to go on the ship, they would have their own space, their own room, their privacy, just a little something to give them a little time to get their life together, and it would be easier for their loved ones who are looking for them to find them because they would be in one spot, not drifting among the hundreds of thousands of people who are also in search of loved ones or are being searched. I also assured them that their children would be able to go to school and transportation would be provided for them. After saying that, the majority of the people I interviewed were quick to sign up. Not bad for an island boy, huh?

That continued for the better part of two days, after which I was asked to drive to San Antonio, Texas, to assist in the interviews and disbursement of debit cards, which ended as fast as it started for reasons unknown to me.

After the waters in certain areas of New Orleans receded enough for inspectors to start coming in, the call came to start the long drive from San Antonio all the way to the Crescent City. Upon arriving, the very first thing that you notice is the smell—not like any smell that I have ever come across but, you know what it was—and of course the sheer destruction of a city, with debris all over the place. Another thing that you don’t normally see were the cars that were abandoned and trashed on the side of the road, or stacked one on top of the other and some boats scattered throughout the city.

It tore at my gut to see all the damaged buildings and the neighborhood covered with a thick tan-like mud frozen in time, knowing not too long ago that people—majority of them families—used to live there, the kids running around playing, the smiles on their faces as the sun shined down on them. It was heart-wrenching.

I did my work there inspecting houses and helping people as best I could and I tell you, it was not easy. The first month I spent over there I cried at least once every day, not to mention the sweltering humidity that came with being in the south and the people who were just fed up with waiting, some showing me fists and other digits of their hand, shouting at me that they needed help. I tell you it was not an easy job but I didn’t turn my back when that happened. What I did was I stopped my car and I took the time to speak with them, letting them know that I was there to help, not to hurt. Most of the people took it to heart and soon after were my friends, waving as I worked their neighborhoods.

The one thing that I noticed while I was there was that I was the only person from the Marianas working over there as an Inspector. I made up my mind at that point that, when given the chance, I would do what I could to get more people from the Marianas involved in the FEMA Housing Project as an Inspector, hopefully getting the Marianas even more attention, and lessening questions like, “Where the heck is Tinian, is that in China?” I usually had to bring up Guam and majority of them would then get a general idea of where Tinian is (although I was born and raised on Guam).

Since Katrina and, of course, Wilma (I spent three weeks helping out in Florida also) I have returned home to Tinian, a place that I spoke so fondly of to so many people, telling them of the almost crime-free environment and the natural beauty of the island. I sacrificed so much to do what I knew I had to do as a human being. When people are suffering we all must do what we can, but alas, I came home to no job waiting for me, so it weighs heavily on me now as to how I am to support my children, how do I feed them, clothe them, all the necessities that come with being a parent.

I do not regret it, though. I would do it again. (Joey C. Charfauros, Special to the Saipan Tribune)