Rebuilding Hope: A Memoir 

Samantha Migliore 
_____________________________ _____________________________ 
 
On August 23, 2005, Hurricane Katrina left America's beloved city of New Orleans in utter 

and complete disarray. However, in the 13 years since America's most destructive natural disaster, 

Louisiana, its economy, community, and culture has yet to recover. In a city where devastation is the 

norm and hope is rare, a strong sense of community is crucial. While New Orleans may still lack in 

resources, infrastructure and funding, its overwhelming sense of community compensates for what 

Katrina has stolen.  

Colonized by the French in the 18th century, much of Louisiana’s culture hails from France. 

As part of the Louisiana Purchase, Louisiana was officially admitted into the Union as the 18th 

American state in 1812. Although it is technically part of the Southern United States, many 

Louisianians choose not to identify with Southern culture as the state is notorious for its original 

music, cuisine and festivals, unlike any other state.  

Unfortunately, in August of 2005, tropical hurricane Katrina ripped through Southern 

Louisiana, greatly affecting New Orleans and the Lower Ninth Ward. The category 5 hurricane was 

also responsible for breaking the poorly engineered levees, causing a massive flood throughout the 

state. Areas near the Lower Ninth were flooded with more than 20 feet of water and citizens were 

stranded in their attics, on their roofs, and in shelters for days. Thousands of lives were lost, most 

being elderly people or those with special needs. The disaster cost the state of Louisiana over 150 
billion dollars in damages. To this day, New Orleans has still not fully recovered. As of now, the city 

contains over 134,000 fewer residents, 40,000 fewer homes, and 2,000 fewer businesses since 2005.  

In the weeks leading up to our trip, my group and I prepared by reading “Zeitoun” and watching 

documentaries like trouble in the water and when the levees broke. from these resources, I 

witnessed just how devastating and drastic Katrina truly was. The storm and the flooding that 

followed was powerful enough to change thousands of lives all within a matter of days. After weeks 

of preparation, my group and I were finally ready to head down to New Orleans. 

On June 11th, myself and 21 other members of my community made our way down to 

Louisiana, where we would be staying in Kenner, just minutes outside of New Orleans. Stepping out 

of the airport, the humidity of Louisiana's atmosphere engulfed our bodies, we swiftly loaded our 

vans, and drove through the city en route to our base home. Initially, New Orleans and its highways 

looks much like Massachusetts, a familiar and welcoming setting. But as we continued to drive, small 

aspects of the city stuck out. On any given street, each house varied greatly in architectural style. 

Palm trees lined the roads, porches held rocking chairs, and sidewalks transformed into playgrounds 

for running children. However, it was not what I had expected. In my mind New Orleans was a city 

chocked full of lively people, buoyant music, endless parties and joyful faces. Even venturing into 

the city a few days later, I would notice aspects different from my community in Massachusetts, but 

not as stark as my mind had made them out to be. However, I knew the culture was there, but it was 

muted. I suspect it had been out on pause since the demise of Katrina.   

 
 As part of our service, my group and I intended to focus our attention on the Lower Ninth 

Ward, a neighborhood that had been hit the hardest by Katrina. Driving through the city, an eerie 

and empty feeling ran through my veins. Houses were spayed thousands of feet from each other, 

plots of land remained untouched as the grass was overgrown, and houses were abandoned from the 

storm that took place almost 13 years before. It was clear this neighborhood was left to fend for 

themselves.  

For the entirety of the three days we spend working on Caffin Street, we worked through 

with the non-profit organization “SBP”. They were founded in Louisiana directly after Katrina and 

have been working to “shrink the time between disaster and relief” ever since. For our project, we 

were set to work on an “opportunity house”, meaning after our work was done SBP would be able 

to sell this house to a displaced family for discounted price. This of course is part of both SBP’s and 

Rustic Pathways mission to bring back displaced families and restore New Orleans sense of 

community.  

On the first day the entire group transported over 50 sheets of drywall from the front yard 

to the inside of the house. Each piece required at least three people to hold it, and support it so the 

piece would not snap. This was my first taste of true teamwork. Because our group was not 

accustomed to the hot weather yet or the degree of hard work required, many people isolated 

themselves from the group. The initial day was unarguably the most difficult, however it was 

necessary as a lesson to prove to our group that without everyone's contribution, no work would get 

done. On the second day, we were split into small groups to work on drywalling the ceiling. I was 
placed in a group with people whom I did not have very close relationships to yet. However, 

through our time together I was able to get to know each one of them and form new relationships I 

would have never created had it not been for this project. My group guy quickly separated the work 

as we saw fit and collaborated when needed. Once we found our flow of work, labor became fun. 

Therefore, on our third and last day working, my group and I were able to finish our assigned ceiling 

and begin installing drywall on the walls of the closet. No other group had begun drywalling the 

actual walls, so this was an accomplishment for my group in particular.  

Driving through the city, interacting with merchants at the market, and being placed directly 

into the upbeat atmosphere of the Rock n’ Bowl alley, it is clear to see that the community of New 

Orleans is anything but hostile. Music filled the streets wherever we went and people were 

constantly singing, dancing and chatting. Coming from such a notoriously fast paced, bustling city 

such as Boston, it is easy to get caught up in stresses of everyday life. As the college application 

process rapidly approaches I find myself scrambling to join extracurriculars, raise my GPA, and seek 

out leadership roles within my community. However, my time in New Orleans has not only proven 

the importance of giving back, but the importance of community. As I rush through life, anticipating 

my every next move, I often forget to slow down and value those around me. The slower paced, 

relaxed atmosphere of the South was refreshing in that I was able to experience first hand a worry 

free environment. Next year, and for each after that I aim to slow down once in a while, and not let 

the stresses of life consume me. While life becomes increasingly hectic with each passing day it is 

important to cherish the things most important to me; the bonds I share with those around me. 
Above all, my time in New Orleans has allowed me to value what I have been given, for I never 

know when it could be taken away.