Swimming Through Gumbo

It’s been four days since New Orleans—but I’m not slacking I swear! New Orleans has been on my mind everyday, it’s just taken me a while to gather my thoughts on “the Cajunland.” In my mind, it’s just like cooking or eating a good bowl of gumbo, it just takes a while. But after letting it marinate for some time, my thoughts on New Orleans seemed to boil down to the juxtaposition of the beautiful and the grotesque; the glorious and the decayed.

Walking down the streets of the French Quarter, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the architecture was. I had talked with Rashina earlier, and she told that there were certain parts of New Orleans that looked like Europe, but I didn’t really understand what she was trying to tell me until I saw it for myself. The buildings were tall and brightly colored, with big elegant windows and columns that ran across the front and the sides as well. The streets themselves were much narrower than I was used to and they seemed to go on forever, lined with canopies and official flags. In absorbing the environment I was completely on sensory overload—but I loved it.

However on the converse, I’m sad to say that there were several parts of New Orleans that were not so beautiful, like the more impoverished parts, which were almost grotesque. As our class drove to St. Bernard’s Community Center, we past so much desolation that it was almost unbelievable. I had heard that Katrina devastated New Orleans, but I could clearly see it with my own eyes as I looked at the blocks of houses that were boarded up and abandoned. Some of these houses bore the mark, the infamous “X” that belonged to National Guard, and some did not. These homes looked like they themselves could have once been architecturally interesting, but now they were ruined, and it seemed that even four years later no one was going to fix them. As we continued deeper into the Ninth Ward, we reached the cemeteries and to find that no one had fixed them either. In New Orleans, the land actually sits below sea level, so body caskets are not buried, because the water would cause them to float up, but they are buried above ground. This particular site seemed as if it may have once been beautiful, but because of water decay and basic neglect, I wondered if it ever would be beautiful again as we rolled on. And honestly, my first reaction of St. Bernard’s Community Center was that it would be the same way. As soon as we got there, we were greeted by some terrible odor that smelled like a mixture of dead crawfish and feces, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this smell was another ugly effect of Katrina’s violence. Based on first physical impressions, it should have been clear which environment I would most enjoyed, but then again, things aren’t always what they seem.


After looking the past the physicality St. Bernard’s Parish, I actually had a great experience working in the Community Center. I met several awesome people who engaged my colleagues and I in conversation about hope, loss, American life, and Katrina while we worked. There was Jason the supervisor. He was quiet, but he was also assertive when he needed to say “No” to a patron. And there was Steve, who lost everything he had including his house, his car, his cats, his dogs and his wife. Listening to his story was hard to hear at some points, but it was also has a happy ending. He informed my group of his recent news that his home was going to get rebuilt for a serious discounted price. And there was Thomas, the Scottish man who had volunteering at the center since Katrina’s aftermath. The three of these of guys were totally different but I think everyone in our group enjoyed talking to them. We also enjoyed working—I know I did. As I was restocking shelves in the grocery section the center, a feeling of satisfaction came over me. I thought about what I was doing and what I was doing it for, and I thought to myself I could do this all day.


However, I’m sure if I could spend a whole day in the French Quarter experiencing what I did that day. One of the main things that really bothered me was the blatant objectification of women. As I walked with my class (which is mostly young women) I heard men make all types of cat calls in their direction. And it bothered me. These women were great people. They are smart, funny, kind hearted, and have a lot of potential to do good things, but that didn’t matter to these men, because their focus was on a body. Bourbon Street itself was uglier to me than it was pretty. As we walked down street, I couldn’t help but notice that we passed through several districts on Bourbon Street: the honky tonk district, the urban district, the LGBT District, and the XXX District. As we walked through the XXX District I was shocked to find strippers standing outside of strip clubs asking guests to come in. I had never seen this before, and this wasn’t just one club. Every strip club had a stripper standing outside of it, and something about that didn’t seems quite right. I mean I haven’t been around too many strip clubs in my lifetime, but I do know that strippers are supposed to be inside of the club and not outside. I soon noticed that they weren’t alone either, as they were accompanied by an owner or a bouncer at times. This combination of the two reminded me a slave being sold on the auction block and I was immediately sick to my stomach. To make matters worse, as I was walking by one of the clubs with my class, one of the dancers grabbed my arm trying to entice me to come in. That sent me over the edge, because I was being objectified as well, however not for my body, but for my wallet, and it wasn’t fair. I wondered if that was how Rashina felt when the man dressed in gold reached to touch her chin remarking on how beautiful she was.

As I continued to walk throughout the French Quarter, I began to realize how different it was from St. Bernard’s Parish, and how much closer the two areas were physically to each other but financially far apart. It bothered me that there was such distinction between the two areas. It bothered me that the City of New Orleans would neglect the lower class of the Ninth Ward when they were in desperate need, in favor of the upper class and the French Quarter. I understand that money makes the world go round and that the French Quarter and Bourbon probably bring in a lot of revenue for the city, but what ever happened to the value and quality of human life? What happened to the pursuit of happiness? New Orleans has helped me to better realize the extent of which America is not an equal or a fair state.
More than this, what bothers me is the idea that New Orleans has such strong potential to be a great city. But because of the ignored poverty, the capitalism, the classism, and the objectification I doubt it will ever reach this potential.

The French Quarter is physically beautiful, but it’ ideologies are completely grotesque. St. Bernard’s Parish is physically decayed but the atmosphere created by the people is beautiful beyond words. This juxtaposition is complicated and frustrating; but it may also be why it is so culturally fascinating. Whatever the case, I left New Orleans with a bad taste in my mouth, and I’m not sure when I’ll go back.