Eva Hershaw

On south Reynes, another house is marked with the spray paint. The signage is always the same: four quadrants filled with numbers, letters, and symbols that have little meaning to the passerby. Below the quadrants, a clearer message: A dog dead. Walking the tattered streets of the Lower Ninth Ward, it’s hard to believe that this death was marked four years ago.

The majority of houses in this neighborhood have been relatively untouched since the waters of Hurricane Katrina climbed their walls in 2005.
A mere ten meters to the west, vibrant chatter among neighbors provides a stark contrast to the silent, boarded houses. There are few residents that were able to return to the lower ninth ward in the aftermath of Katrina. Estimates range between 20 and 25% of the original population.

Leonard Fly is one of two residents that returned to his block in the Lower Ninth Ward when the floodwaters retreated. On a perfectly clear Friday afternoon, he lifts his welding mask and removes his oversized yellow gloves. After explaining my camera and audio recorder, we take an inventory of the houses on his block.
“Ain’t nothing changin’ here.” He smiles. “Looking around, you’d think these houses were worth quarters.”

Fry, owner of Fry Brothers Construction, is a seventh generation construction worker. One of the central ideas that our team has come to New Orleans to explore, or perhaps discount, is the media’s portrayal of the City as ‘recession proof’. Construction, in all accounts, is the industry responsible for such vitality.
When asked how his construction business was faring, his response was unequivocal. “Pitiful,” he says, “the thing is that we imported all these out of town laborers, sub-standard builders that are doing the work for little or no money.”

It’s a question of quality and speed, he explains, that while there is money coming into New Orleans, it primarily reaches nonlocal investors. “This money doesn’t stay within in the circulation in the City. The people of New Orleans are feeling the recession worse than ever.”

His father’s figure appears in the doorway. “Fish is done!” The smell of Cajun spices has reached the back yard, the definitive end of our discussion.
The reminders of destruction and loss are everywhere in the Lower Ninth Ward, the ongoing struggles undeniable. Yet, on a Friday evening, the smells and laughter that emanate from the Fry home are comforting. For those who have returned, this is home.