THE GREAT TRIP TO THE GLORIOUS AMERICA

Part 3 - Wounded New Orleans

by BRAHIM EL GUABLI, special guest writer
Ouazazate, Morocco

The trip to Louisiana was full of fun and jokes. Abdul, who was a member of the Moroccan Socialist Party, used all his arts in making fun to make the trip really enjoyable and smooth. Said and I were sitting at the back of the plane, and from time to time Abdul joined us and told us a joke and then went back to the join the others in the front of the plane. Some of his jokes were really funny while others were deeply blasphemous and disrespectful of religion. I told him that his blasphemous jokes would make the plane crash. I was joking, of course.

The further we headed south, the deeper the feeling of wanting to get there aroused inside me. I was thinking of this South that I had read a lot about in history books, and especially the part talking about the painful history of discrimination. High in the sky, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., Abraham Lincoln, and all the other names associated with the Black Movement, came back to my mind. I remembered Rosa Parks, and how this simple modest woman refused to give up her seat for a white person in a segregated bus in Alabama, and how her courageous action ignited the fire of public disobedience in the U.S. I remembered how Martin Luther King Jr. was addressing the public with his eternal speech: “I have a dream…” I was wondering what remained of that dream and how many people still believe in it. I wished all the people in the world had the same dream. Eternal dreams are like eternal people; they never die nor fade away. They symbolize the greatness of their bearers.

How many people today hold the same ideas and ideals of Martin Luther King Jr.? How many people today are ready to give up their freedom to defend the freedom of other, like Rosa Parks did in a segregated America? How many people are ready today to take a moment and think about how beautiful it is to enjoy the diversity that these people’s struggles and sacrifices have made possible?

The more I delved into my memory, the more questions and wonderings I was having about the painful Civil War history of this superpower. I remembered Lincoln’s saying that “a house divided against itself can not stand.” It is a very deep saying that symbolizes the importance of unity in every country and society. I was thinking of all the trenches and tunnels that were dug to smuggle slaves from the southern states to the northern ones, where slavery was illegal. How many learn that people have given their lives in order to free hundreds of slaves from the iron hand of the slaveholder farmers of the South? I was dreaming of seeing the huge green fields of tobacco, maize, and sugar cane plantations. I was dreaming of seeing something symbolizing the history of slavery and all the pains it caused to people after four decades of ‘affirmative action policies.’ I was dreaming of meeting the children of these ex-slaves and have a chat with them to listen to what they had to say about this painful part of their history.

I also remembered Native Americans and their sufferings. My guides, of course, were my readings and the long nights I have spent back home reading ‘A People’s History of the United States’ and diverse materials about American history and culture. From Edward Countryman to Carlos Castaneda, from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Tony Morrison; I have always been a passionate of American history and culture. I cannot pretend that I understand everything. Yet, what I know has helped me to see Americans in a different way -- a positive way. They represent the fruit of a lot of struggles, of a lot of civil activism and a deep belief in equality. Through this remembrance exercise I always looked from the plane, looking down at the earth. I know that my dreams always take me high, soaring in the sky.

The sky was very clear and the further we headed south, the whiter the clouds became, and the clearer the vision was. I could look from above and see how green America is. I had the impression that there is no place not owned in this country. Every inch of land is green and owned. I could not understand why until I asked a friend who told me that a land not owned in this county would be a huge loss for the finances of the state. So, the American genius made that every land should be owned either by the government or the private sector so that taxes could be paid. I was thinking of the millions of acres of land in my country that the sun is showering everyday with its tender, bright golden rays. I was thinking of all the energy this land needs to be made to flourish like these American plains. I was thinking of the human price that was also paid to make this part of the world what it is. Is my country ready to make an agricultural boom, and use all the arid lands available and plant them with trees, to at least create a lovely green space appropriate for people to sightsee and get used to green space?

Capitalism, with all the flaws that historians have discussed profusely and meticulously, is still the answer. It is the best economic system devised up to now. These green spaces and high buildings, and great infrastructure and booming agriculture would not have been possible without the free market economy and the freedom of initiative, and the sacred individual freedom to invest and make profit. Free market economy has taught people to be able to depend on themselves and think of new competitive ideas to rise from rags to riches. As long as we do not apply a real free market economy, I do not think that we would be able to see all the arid lands boom and flourish the way the American ones do. Yet, I am also convinced that the price is so high and too scary to pay.

The U.S. has a lot of water resources, and I am sure that the ‘grandeur’ of the country and its extended space have also helped a lot in making a green country. Wherever you go, from Washington D.C. to Oregon, and from Louisiana to Illinois, everything is green, and gardens and green spaces are an architectural must both inside the cities and in the suburbs. From the plane you could feel that the whole of America is built in a forest.

When the plane entered the aerial space of New Orleans, it deviated a little bit towards the sea. I was surprised to see hundreds of little islands popping up from a long distance. They were like little green spots inside the sea. The scenes looked very beautiful among these very beautiful blue waters. The beach looked very clean and not many houses are to be seen anywhere nearer. The plane continued its journey for more than 15 minutes before I saw the city of New Orleans appear. People started fastening their safety belts and saying their prayers again. It was such a nice thing to see people from different religions imploring their God to keep them safe. This explains why all human beings should not see each other as enemies but as brothers and sisters. It did not take me to go to America to believe in this. It has always been my philosophy and I live it everyday back home.

In front of me sat a lawyer and his wife. He was a funny man. When the plane was landing he told me that all these houses were submerged by water and that a lot of them had to be reconstructed, and that a lot of people were housed at the airport where we were landing. It was a really sad thing to hear. The lawyer continued talking to me after we left the plane and we were waiting for our luggage. He was even happier to know that I speak French and that I came from Morocco. He has been all over Europe with his wife, and a friend of his who was in the Navy told him how beautiful Morocco was in the seventies. That was a very good start. The airport was proud to have housed hundreds of people who were afflicted by Hurricane Katrina. It is a very clean airport. It looked more like a convivial home than an airport that sends people to all directions towards the world.

I was the first to get my luggage and get out of the airport. I found the driver waiting for us outside. He was a middle-aged man. The first thing that happened that day was that unlike all the other drivers we had and we will have, he did not drive the car until the entrance of the airport, and he did not greet us in a good way. Maybe he was sad or resentful, or it is just a different area of the U.S. I had no explanation except that our interpreters were mad too, and did not like the way he behaved. It was a sad start. He did not talk much. It was also the first time in my life I heard someone speak Creole. I have learnt about Creole at the university but I have never had the chance to hear someone speak it. I did hear it in New Orleans.

All the way downtown, we could see homes destroyed, cars left in the mud, and gardens looking like deserts. We passed by a university, and it looked different from what I have seen in D.C. We also passed by an old cemetery. The great thing about this cemetery is that the tombs were erected high from the ground like statues. They show how much understanding the old settlers of this area of the world understood how the area could be flooded when the weather goes crazy like Katrina did. We got to our Holiday Inn hotel. We got off the car to discover how HOT the weather was. Extremely hot -- like nothing that I had ever experienced in my life, even if I am from Ouarzazate, a semi-desert area.

What also struck me before even getting to the hotel was the number of people walking in this heat holding VERY HUGE cups of beer or wine. I saw a civilian holding a firearm for the first time in my life. I was shuddering to death. Everything looked different from what I had seen in Washington D.C. Here you could see groups of people walking, dancing, screaming, and having fun holding their huge cups of beer.

I got into the hotel, and I loved my room. I was in the 14th floor. I could see the casino, the aquarium, the tramway, and people looking very little from that height. Said called me again and asked if we could go buy some stuff to eat. I was still discovering my huge room; I had a huge suite which could house a whole family. This is the only hotel that offered huge rooms and also nice treats during my stay. I answered Said that we would go buy some food and also discover the city to know where to go later.

As soon as we crossed the street, I saw a cab with an Arabic inscription saying: “Mashaa Alla” (How Great God is). I waved for the driver and he stopped.
“Hello”
“Hello”
“Salam”
“Salam. Are you Arab?” he asked.
“Yes. Moroccans, and you?”
“Ah, Good. Iraqi”
“Marhaba.Great to meet people from Iraq.”
“Where are you going?”
“Downtown.”
“I will take you”
“Some other colleagues will join us, could you please wait for them to arrive?”

The next five minutes were a real discovery of this great Iraqi. He has come to the U.S. in 1991. He has never gone back home. He has never been assaulted nor aggressed in New Orleans and has never had any problems. He told us that Iraq was becoming better and that he was going back home for good after spending sixteen years in the U.S. He had become a U.S. citizen and now it was time for him to go back to B asra and help rebuild the country. He loved America like crazy and he enjoyed every day he had spent here, and has enjoyed every moment to the fullest. He was saying that he would always come back to see his friends. He had bought a house and his kids were born in the U.S. I could imagine all the struggles this nice man was going to have to go through back home to readapt. Yet, his home was calling him, as he said. Our friends joined. He took us downtown. It was not far. When I wanted to pay him, he refused. We wished him a good luck and he did the same for us. Maybe he is now living in Basra, the shi’i beautiful city.

He dropped us at Bourbon Street. I had never heard about this area in New Orleans. It was the first time to visit New Orleans and the whole of America. The street looked like any other street in the world, except that its ancient spirit was hovering all over the place. Its French name betrays its American spirit even if the architecture is still very French, and “l’alliance française” is very active there. People feel happy to know that you speak French and have some French connection. It is the magic of history. You can never forget your roots and you can never get rid of your past and you always dream to live up to it. This is what I felt in New Orleans – an American city with a French past. Everywhere you go you see the presence of French history – the name of the street, the quarter, the architecture and the symbols. The historical names and even some people’s names still have this French pronunciation in them.

We walked in this very hot afternoon smearing sun. Everyone we met was holding a huge cup or a big bottle of beer. People here seem really lazy and leisurely. We understood that we are in some place where people come to have fun. The more we delved into the quarter, the more things we saw that proved our conclusions. You cannot count the number of bars in the street nor the number of restaurants nor also the “adult stuff places.” I saw people wearing necklaces made of colourful beads and I remembered a programme I saw live about it on Aljazeera International. How happy I was to know that I have already watched the French quarter on TV. Yet, I did not know that this quarter is a nightly place.

Abdul, Said, and I decided to come back see what happens in there at night. To our surprise, the street became very busy. Hundreds of people were walking there every night in this beautiful colourful street that became like a festival place adorned and beautified by the most beautiful colours from the fingers of a professional artist. You can meet people from all four corners of the world. The pleasure of drinking and enjoying life brings people together. They forget where they are from, they forget their cultural differences, and they make a temporary truce.

Every one of us was wondering if it was really the same French quarter that we were in this afternoon. Everything had changed: the colours, the lights, and also the number of people. The swarms of people reminded me of the festival of the small city of Asilah in Morocco. It is approximately the same liveliness and the same animation except that in Asilah there is no people drinking in the streets and ‘adult stuff’ to watch. The huge numbers of people walking by the beach under the beautiful lights have their counterpart in New Orleans. People here walk and drink and dance and they pop their heads in bars and make a lot of noise. They celebrate life in their own ways. I am not judging the morally correct thing to do but I appreciated the greatness of people enjoying their lives to the fullest. People forgetting all their little problems and trivialities of life, and taken to their spiritual states of “plenitude” by their cups. Magical.

As we were walking near a restaurant called the Absynthe House, we met some Egyptian DV Lottery winners who had just arrived there. They were looking for a place to stay and also trying to find work. I apologized saying that we were visitors from Morocco and wished we could help. Yet, we had a very nice chat. Here I learnt the beauty of adaptation. They both are from “Sa’id’ from Egypt and one of them has a small beard and the other doesn’t. They loved the French quarter and they were enjoying themselves and having fun. Some days later, the one that had a beard crossed our way and I asked him where his beard was. He said that he needed to adapt and enjoy the new experiences he is starting in his life. I thought that the magic of nightlife had made him want to adapt to his new life.

The other thing that struck me in Bourbon Street is the number of “escorts” and how they try to hide from the police. Prostitution is illegal in the U.S. and yet it exists like in any other place in the world. It is the oldest job in history, but what really also surprised me is how society looks down at the women who indulge in it and who sell their flesh to make money. It is a real curse and a real social exclusion that “escorts” face. People hold no respect for them and the law is never merciful to them. Maybe this is due to the American Puritanism and also to the American spirit of searching for “virtues.” As a professor explained to me, America is made of ‘sinners’ and ‘good-doers.’ Yes, sinners are everywhere. They enjoy their lives and they do not care about the virtues that others are looking for. But the good-doers are also struggling to not be enticed by the claws of the devil and end up being sinners. There is no in-between.

Nightlife is a real business here. People start drinking from early sunset till the sundown. Jazz, blues, and all kinds of music are played in this happy quarter. You will dance here and lose your head celebrating life. Life is celebrated simply through music.

The quarter made us forget that we were in the wounded city of New Orleans. Yet, the business appointments with people brought that back to mind. The first meeting was with an NGO that gathers all the people working to reconstruct New Orleans. We were welcomed in a very warm way from all the people present. When it was my turn to talk I said: “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for this beautiful warm reception. We come from Morocco to express our deep solidarity with your wounded city. We come from Morocco, to tell you that we have been saddened by the horror of the pictures we saw. We come here to say that we deeply feel your sorrows. We come here to pay tribute to the souls of all the people who lost their lives struggling against the floods. We come from Morocco to express that human suffers are the same and that we share your pains. We come here to share hopes of a better future for humanity as a whole. May God accept the souls of all the dead and balm the blisters of all the wounded. New Orleans will stand up again like the Phoenix, thanks to the labour of its kids. Thank you for your attention.” Everyone applauded these words that I improvised. I could not believe I said them.

None could know the depth of the affliction that hit this wounded city except people who lost everything. Our driver lost his two houses, his son, and everything he possessed. He almost made me cry when he said that he had to start from zero again. How many people had to start from under zero? How many people were rich and had a secured living and ended up having nothing? How many people had a shelter and overnight lose everything and live in trailers if they were lucky to find one? How many people wished they had not lived here at all? How many people regretted a lot of things in their lives because they had lost everything?

A mere visit to the suburbs was enough to see the degree of devastation made by the hands of this strong angry woman Katrina. She had not spared anything. She destroyed the beautiful park of New Orleans, she destroyed a whole museum in that park, and she also had obliged thousands of people to leave everything behind and look for a better future somewhere else. A visit to the park was a real horror. I could not imagine the degree of anger of this hurricane. Tens of years-old trees had been put down in a second, beautiful roses were nipped from the bud, and beautiful gardens were uprooted. It was like a very resentful enemy trying to show how jealous they were and how atrocious they could be. Katrina was atrocious and jealous and very destructive.

She did not win. She could have won if she had managed to break the human will. She did not. She could have won, had she managed to make people depressed in their souls. As long as young people in projects like Saint Bernard and others are devising new ideas to rebuild, Katrina and its like will not subdue the human will. Did not the Moroccan music band say: ‘what should make us sad are humans when they perish, walls will be reconstructed again even if destroyed.” The human will is the greatest wall. If there is will, everything else will be easy to achieve. It does not take much. Seeing kids take pictures of their old houses and producing real works of art, meeting parents struggling to get their houses fixed and meeting these old people whose savings went down the gutter; made the trip to New Orleans a very insightful journey within the self. What if this sad affliction hits a small country like mine? It is a very horrific thing to imagine. America with all its might and power could not prevent it. How could a small country? God be merciful to all your creatures.

Spots of light are everywhere you go. Reconstruction is going in a high speed. People are coming back home. People are trying to unite their efforts in order to help their neighbours rebuild. Students from New York and Washington are coming to balm the wounds. Business people are building new houses. Even a new city called Canadaville was built by a Canadian company. Spots of light come beam by beam to make a huge sun whose beauty covers all the universe with its beautiful rays, and gives hope for people again.

I could not imagine that in America I would see a person sleeping under the stars. I did. During the day he was begging near the Hotel Marriot and at night slept under the building. He slept on his wheelchair. It was unthinkable for me to believe that in the superpower of our era, someone would be sleeping homeless in the street. I did not get a chance to talk to him but his image, up to now, could not leave my head. Poverty is a real issue in the world. Poor people are everywhere; the beauty of seeing them in America is that it shows that America does not hide its poor people. Hypocrite governments do that all the time. They hide their poor people when officials want to visit. When the officials leave, the poor and beggars are allowed to come into the city again.

A wounded city celebrating life is a very true story of city that was living peacefully and leading a beautiful existence until one day an angry woman called Katrina decided to destroy the house on the heads of its owners. The crisis was universal. It did not matter who you were nor what you did. What mattered was whether you were in the perimeter of the hurricane or not. If you were, you lost everything. If you were not, you were lucky. I have met people waiting and waiting for insurance companies to pay them their houses. They were waiting and waiting. On my way to Dallas, I met a lady I am calling Shelly, she is a manager of a communications company, a mother and a successful businesswoman. She had her house rebuilt just a few months after the crisis. The secret? She could afford a better insurance. But who is paying people who have no insurance?

Among all this sadness and reconstruction appears the new generation of people working to serve their communities. They represent the future and they aspire for better days for their recovering city. To prove it, they all meet to have a drink in Bourbon Street.

That way, they celebrate life and challenge all the hurricanes that life could bring.

Visit next month for the continuation of Brahim's journey!