Over fall break, Guilford’s Campus Ministry sent a group of 25 students led by Campus Ministry Coordinator Max Carter to Bogulasu, Louisiana, a small town still recovering from Hurricane Katrina. Accompanied by an elite cadre of the North Carolina Friends Disaster Service (FDS), we drove south into a clear sky, on our way to the heart of the wounded South. Early on Sunday, Oct. 16, three vans lumbered away from campus with a cargo of semiconscious Guilfordites. “We had no idea what to expect,” said Catherine Terhune, a first-year and Bonner Scholar who was on the trip.

The drive down was punctuated by meals at McDonalds (you’ve gotta eat somewhere) and such local color as The Giant Fiberglass Peach. When we reached Louisiana, just after nightfall, you could see signs of damage in the tattered tangle that the forests had become, and by the camps of government temporary housing – endless lines of shiningly white trailers, lit by halogen, each identical and crammed with refugees.

When we finally arrived in Bogalusa, we could see that we were needed. The streets were lined with fallen trees; there were trees through buildings, collapsed roofs and porches, and everywhere rooftops plated with blue FEMA tarps – temporary measures installed by the government that were not meant to last more than a month and had already been in place at least that long. Approximately one of every three houses needed repair work. One in ten were so damaged they could not be repaired.

Late on Sunday night, we arrived at the United Baptist Church, where we’d be sleeping for the next week. The reverend of the church had agreed to direct us to houses that needed our help. We turned-in early, knowing that the weirdness would begin early tomorrow.

We awoke at 6:30 a.m.. By 8 a.m. we were at the work site, and we didn’t quit till 6 p.m.

It bears mentioning that roofing has a peculiar Zen to it. The first part consists mostly of tearing off the existing roof with shovels and hammers (my favorite part, naturally). Then you lay down new tarpaper, to keep the water out, and then hammer down new shingles. The process is very simple and requires: hammers, nails, a tape measure, roofing materials, and a willingness to work on a screamingly hot tar-covered surface in the full heat of day while the merciless sun roasts you like a turkey. But in general, the work is simple and rewarding, and not difficult to learn at all.

We went to several houses recommended by the reverend to do repair work for two days. Then several members of the team began to speak up. We had worked on six houses so far, and each of them had been for elderly white people who were prominent members of the United Baptist congregation. Two of the houses that I personally worked on had not had any visible damage whatsoever, and were within sight of FEMA roofs and fallen trees. We had done good work, but it was becoming clear that we weren’t where we should be.

There was a lot of arguing that night in the church. The FDS men, led by Wiley Shore, finally spoke to a black man who cleaned the church. He told us about the poorer section of town, how much damage it had suffered, and how much work needed to be done.

The next day, we went there instead.

Just driving through the neighborhood, we saw that it was in much worse shape. The first house we went to work on was unlivable: its porch had collapsed, and the front door was blocked by 200 pounds of debris. We went to work with a will, demolishing the fallen timbers, clearing the roof, and rebuilding the porch.

During this time, many of us would occasionally take breaks and take walks around the neighborhood to see the damage and see where we could help. We also had the pleasure of meeting Miss Joyce. Miss Joyce was a middle-aged black lady who actually worked as a cleaning lady for some of the people we’d worked for earlier in the week. Everyone we spoke to in the area mentioned her as a kind and gentle soul, and her house as one of the worst damaged. We all met her and talked with her, and it was true – she was a wonderful person, generous and kind, and nobly putting up with her situation.

That day a lot of very good work got done. We had hit our stride. As Charlie Routh, one of our FDS companions, put it, we went at it like ants, tearing off damaged shingles, laying new ones, hammering them down, cutting out damaged rafters and replacing them.

The next day we put in as much work as we could. It was Friday, our last day on the job, and we wanted our best work done. We finished three roofs that day, and found ourselves eating Popeye’s chicken and congratulating ourselves on a job well done.

Our time in Bogulasu was done.

We set out for home, and said our goodbyes to the FDS fellows about halfway through. The trip back was meditative, mostly because the physical cost of a week of roofing was beginning to catch up, and because we all had a lot to think about.

This trip was beyond our ability to really understand. So much was done and seen, so much achieved, but we had not even scratched the surface of what was needed. We had come to help and realized that we were only a drop in the bucket.

The world has turned since Hurricane Katrina, and we have new disasters for everyone to worry about: earthquakes, more hurricanes, and war. America’s attention has been distracted – never a tough trick to pull – but the people of Louisiana still need our help.

Miss Joyce still lives in her mortally wounded house. Guilford and FDS are setting up a fund to build her a new home, and will be going to start work on it in January. I heartily encourage you all to come. Even if you have no skills – God knows, I don’t – you have hands. You can stack wood or pound nails, lay shingle or carry boards. Your strength and time are needed.