After Katrina: A Teacher's Year

Printer-friendly version

Mr. Shaffer?"

Ceion motioned me over to his desk. I knelt down so we could talk at eye level. We were in the middle of a poetry activity during the second day of school in very early October 2005, little more than a month after Hurricane Katrina had hit.

"My cousin?"

Ceion said everything like a quiet question even though it was fact -- partly because that's how 6th-graders talk, partly because of what he was about to say.

"We was on the bridge? And this little boy? He was in the water? "

"During the hurricane?" I asked just to let him know I was there.

"Yeah. And my cousin? He had saved the little boy. But my cousin? He had drowned."

I froze for a second, uncertain of what to say next. I had just hit the surface of what -- as I would come to find out -- my students had gone through in Katrina's aftermath: swimming through the dirty, mucky, infested water for safety, watching people drown, sleeping on bridges, waiting without food, separated from family members, spending days and weeks on cots in the different arena-turned-disaster-relief-shelters wondering what had happened to home.

"He' s a hero, Ceion." I said. "I know it's so hard to think about that, but he is. I'm so proud of you for telling me that, and I'm so glad that you're here at this school."

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Make sure you tell me whenever you want to talk about anything. OK?"

He nodded. I patted him on the back and gave him a smile.

From Home to Houston
Less than 24 hours before Katrina hit, I awoke in my bed in New Orleans to newscasters looking me dead in the eye through the TV, "If you're still in New Orleans, you shouldn't be. You need to get out," they demanded -- I got out. I ended up in Atlanta, but I wanted to be back in New Orleans. I wanted to help, but I had no clue what to do.

As thousands of New Orleans evacuees were bused and flown all over the country, the opportunity arose for me to teach in Houston, where there had been a large influx of Katrina evacuees. I flew there thinking I would be placed at a regular Houston public school with a lot of New Orleans students. But I arrived to find generalized chaos. There were overflowing classrooms and schools in Houston, and all we wanted to do was teach and help the schools, but red tape and logistics kept that from happening right away.

The uncertainty settled when KIPP, a respected and successful national charter school based in Houston, decided to start a school from scratch. That's how I found myself walking up and down the rows of cots in the Reliant Arena, one of the largest relief shelters for Katrina evacuees in Houston. Working with other teachers, I held a posterboard sign written in colorful Crayola markers:

"New Orleans Students. New Orleans Teachers. New Orleans School in Houston."

The school we were promoting -- made up of New Orleans students and teachers starting fresh in Houston -- did not yet exist, but we were confident it soon would.

"Praise the Lord!" one of the first women in Reliant Arena cried when we described the school. "That's what these children need...a New Orleans school. God bless you!"

It was depressing at times, but motivating too to talk to hundreds of children and parents about rebuilding their lives in Houston. People who had lost virtually everything were in vital need of a sense of home

So when 400 students, grades K-8, walked into New Orleans West College Prep (NOW) in Houston on the first day of school, no one felt like an outsider.

You could see their comfort levels rise further when we tossed a ball around as an introductory game on the first day of school, and each student announced to the class the name of the school they attended in New Orleans.

Writing and Healing
As a writing teacher, I was able to get to know the students, their imaginations, and their stories better than anyone.

"Everyone was asleep until -- Boosh! -- a tree branch hit my grandmother's window," one student wrote. "My sister and I went downstairs then we peeked outside the window. Cars were upside-down on the streets. Trees were moving really fast. Then we went back upstairs and told everyone. We laid down for three minutes. I saw water coming from the door. I told my grandmother, 'Water downstairs.' She said turn it off and close the door. I said, 'NO! Not that! From outside!!' Then soon I looked and the water was over the third step. All of us kept looking out the window. We heard a car alarm went off. The water was really high. I was lucky I was with my family...."

I used topics of New Orleans and Katrina all the time -- ranging from serious opportunities for them to journal about Katrina and their transition to Houston to relaxed discussions about what makes New Orleans a great place.

Even students who did not like sharing their experiences in front of the class trusted that in their journals they could write to me honestly about Katrina and life in Houston.

"I can't have any fun because half my family is on the other side of Houston, some went back to New Orleans, some are in Colorado," one student wrote in early October. "I don't know where all my cousins are. Some of my friends I know from New Orleans I miss very much."

As the year went by, students wrote about Katrina less and less. Of course discussions would often come up about Katrina -- what could be done to fix New Orleans, life in Houston, or other topics.

I don't remember even talking about Katrina during the last month or so of school. It probably happened, but we were so focused on our academics that it kind of fell to the side. At that point, our students had gained multiple grade levels in reading and math, and we were in full stride as a focused team.

'You're Like Family'
In the end, I knew in my mind that we had achieved our goal. Our kids had found that sense of home. They would cheer each other on in class, proudly chant New Orleans rhymes together, work well together, and were open and trusting with their teachers and classmates.

One moment confirmed it for me for good.

A short, sometimes shy student had come to NOW with a huge attitude problem, lagging behind academically. By year's end, he had passed both state tests and become a positive influence among his classmates. At lunch one day, he came up to me, smiling and even blushing a bit. He looked me in the eye and said, "You know what Mr. Shaffer?" (He had that same tone as Ceion had on the second day of school, saying his sentences like questions.) "You and Mr. Lamb and Ms. Mann? You're like family."

The truth is, they became my family, too. My students taught me. I learned about what can happen when people come together, how people can persevere through amazing things and come out on top. I am back in New Orleans now, teaching a few of the same students from last year. Other students are elsewhere — maybe in Houston, maybe in Austin, maybe in Dallas. Who knows? Wherever they go, I know the past year helped, that after the chaos and devastation caused by Katrina, we all benefited from our own little bit of New Orleans in downtown Houston.