I stay a few feet from where my family had to wade through 5 feet of water, break into a grocery store for sufficient food for the elders & sleep on an interstate where a body was floating face down underneath. Today, & every year after will always feel heavy.

I am a very symbolic person. In my adult life, I HAD to come back to the 7th Ward. I can’t stay anywhere else. I refuse to move anywhere else, bc look at all we’ve lost. I can’t leave a second time. When I said I wanted to come home, I wanted to come HOME.

I lost a friend who I remember catching the galves bus home after school that Friday talking about the jamboree. He & his family are always on my mind. How they identified him by his Marshall ID. His school uniform. How they couldn’t leave the 9th Ward. We were kids.

I remember watching the water rise at my grandma house on Roman st. Me & my brother sat on the porch reporting to my mama & granny about the water, until it started to come into the house. From the back first.

My mama waded through water back to our house on Annette st. To check on things & assess damage. A tree had fallen into her room right where she slept. Countless vinyls & tambourine & fan/hunters field paper work gone.

My great grandma stayed a house away from us & had boats on her property. We took a boat & rescued an elderly lady who lived upstairs on the corner of Annette & n. Johnson & brought her to the bridge.

I think this is where I adopted being more responsible that anyone.

I remember helping one of my brothers hold my granny up while we waded through flood water bc she was short & the water was high. I was at least 5’7 at the time & the water was to my chest.

My mama & brother got into the circle food store & got food, formula & diapers bc there’s was a single mom & her young children who had joined us on the bridge. She had a baby.

We spent a week in New Orleans after Katrina. A few days on the bridge in the HEAT. A day or two in the superdome. I remember not eating or really drinking anything bc there was no where to use the bathroom.

We walked from the Claiborne exit & finally stopped near the canal exit to sleep. People were tired. Stressed. Devastated. Worried. Hurt. Hungry. Irate. Abandoned.

My mama asked me where I think we should go next. The super doom or the convention center. Me not knowing anything, I picked the convention center. We then walked the Claiborne flyover to get there but decided on the super dome instead so we walked back. IYKYK.

Hearing stories & living them are completely different. If you were there you fuckin knew.

By the time we got to the superdome it was already maxed out. Plumbing in restrooms were completely backed up. Urine & feces was everywhere. No running water. & I was not allowed to go anywhere by myself bc the time that I did, I was followed by a man. My brothers never knew.

No one knew what was happening or what was going to happen. We were sitting ducks. We were waiting to be saved. Once there was some talk about buses finally coming there was some hope.

But wait, upon arriving to the superdome we were thoroughly searched. My granny brought her insulin & needles & they took everything away from her. She had type 2 diabetes.

Once the busses finally came, thousands of people were outside the superdome barricaded with the national guard “keeping order” with their rifles. One slight disruption & they drew their guns on us. A crowd of black people, trying to get out a horrible situation.

They separated families. Elderly, women & children, then men. We couldn’t find my granny after we made it to the astrodome. My mama had to fight them to allow us to take my Autistic brother who they considered a man & shouldve been left behind to wait his turn.

We walked through the New Orleans center (now benson tower) in a straight line bc the national guard had made their own barricade to the path to the busses. We didn’t even know where we were going.

They gave us those military meals & Vienna sausage. I still didn’t eat but made sure my mama did. I knew she was going through it. She had just beat breast cancer a year & some change before.

We made it to Houston. To the astrodome where we were met with relief. They gave us toiletries to freshen up. A bathroom full of women & young girls taking ho baths. I still was not allowed to go anywhere by myself.

My mama documented the whole experience. She wanted to publish a photo book. She caught everything, even her children curled up on the bridge sleeping. In her honor & for my city, next year I’ll get that photo book published.

Fuck the government, fuck nopd, fuck the national guard, fuck the military. IF U KNOW U FUCKIN KNOW.

Reporting live from the five hundred & four.

I was only 12 when they stole my childhood away. 12 when I had to be superwoman too. 12 when I lost my sense of safety. 12 when I last seen my great grandma. 12 when I felt abandoned by my country. 12 when I was labeled a refugee when my ancestors built this country & city.

Like it’s really FUCK YALL. Fuck the people who teased us. Fuck the people who belittled us. Fuck the people who didn’t want us in their city.

If you wanna know why natives are how we are, LOOK AT HOW WE WERE TREATED BY EVERYBODY. It’s always US vs. everybody. Fuck y’all.

I remember getting into a fight with a girl bc she thought it was cute to call me a refugee & make fun of my skin rashes from dirty ass flood water. Rocked her shit. Bitch don’t play with me EVER! (She was also made her bf liked me)

I remember not feeling welcomed in someone’s home we were staying in & my mama decided to leave Houston & move to Tucson, AZ. If you wonder why I have love for that city, this is why.

She bought 4 plane tickets. We stayed in a hotel for a while then moved into an apartment. My first day of school was a lot. Luckily, the black guidance counselor got all the black kids to meet me. I told her I wanted to go back home (N.O) & they all embraced me in some way.

They never treated me badly. To my knowledge we were the only family from New Orleans. They also knew of me bc of my brother being a U of A basketball player in the late 90s. RIP Lute Olsen. Hey to my forever bf @jasonterry31

At this point I’m rambling.

At this point I feel like y’all owe EVERYTHING to New Orleans. Give us our shit back like you come down here every fuckin Mardi Gras.

& DONT ASK US ABOUT KATRINA.

Let us tell our story freely how we want.

Baptized when the levees got fuckin BOMBED

Please send love to Lake Charles! Send money to those working on the ground to help people DIRECTLY. Help in the ways the government is too broken to.

IM FROM NEW ORLEANS LOVE YOU KNOW HOW IM COMING