NOLA Journey '19: Don't Judge a Bayou by its Cover
“On this journey, we’ve gone past the powdered sugar and string quartets. We’ve opened the book.”
Juxtaposition. If I had to pick one word for this journey, it’d be that. NOLA has shown the Class of 2019 many different faces, not all of which are easy to swallow.
In the past few days, we’ve seen the sweet parts of New Orleans. We’ve eaten more beignets than one could count. We’ve traversed the bustling French Quarter, peering into the restaurants and absorbing the blend of string music. We’ve painted houses for residents, cleaned up Mardi Gras beads. Truthfully, I could cite an endless string of images; the experience most have in New Orleans fills one’s soul to the brim. Yet this is a journey. A journey isn’t supposed to always be comfortable. On this journey, we’ve gone past the powdered sugar and string quartets. We’ve opened the book.
PROLOGUE: POVERTY.
Before you can even flip a page, the word is everywhere. Immediately you’re struck by its breadth, and surprised—this is a city that reaps nine billion in tourism per fiscal year. Each sentence mentions tents, perched on roadsides and squeezed between freeways. They’re everywhere—people who might not have been homeless, but look the part.
INTRODUCTION: KATRINA
The infamous hurricane’s impact on the community wasn’t always in our face, but it lingered. Made itself apparent in the crumbling facades that echoed of the Temple’s destruction. Flip a few more pages, and one can easily draw parallels to our people: the Jews.
CHAPTER 1-XX: SLAVERY
While NOLA’s reclaimed much of African culture, and made huge strides to equality, naturally, nothing is perfect. This was most evident when we visited the Whitney Plantation. Chilling stories from our tour guide, as we stood amongst a thousand names of slaves, eventually blurred into one echo of loss. Just a century ago, the ancestors of many New Orleans denizens were in bondage. It’s shocking, coming from a part of the country where equality is dominant. Bubble? Consider it popped.
CONCLUSION
This side of New Orleans has spoken to me more than any beignet ever could. Sure, every other day of my life I’ll be worlds away from this place. A cultural divide separates me from the people here, one I was at first hesitant to prod. Fears of homophobia and intolerance plagued my thoughts, yet I’m relieved to say I was incorrect. Yes, this city has many faces, and not all of them are pretty. But I’ve learned more than anything that I need to lose my high horse the Bay Area so willingly feeds. We’re all people, and it’s our duty to help one another. I’ve learned to not judge a bayou—or its residents—by their cover. We’ve only got one more day in the Bayou, and I think I speak for the collective when I say that the Class of 2019 won’t return the same.
