In the path of Katrina - reporting from the scene.

Story and Photos by Naeem Randhawa
Additional photos by Imran Randhawa

See Katrina Photo Gallery here.

You are free to use these images and story on your website or print. I only ask that you provide credentials and a link to the site. Also please let me know naeem@justsaygo.com.

My brother and I just got back from tracking devastation left in Katrina’s wake in New Orleans and other areas. We left on Friday from Dallas, and returned Monday night - 1600 miles of travel in 2.5 days - and the sights and sounds of what we saw will be remembered for a long time.

We started in Baton Rouge, went to New Orleans, visited several parishes (counties) in that area and then drove into Mississippi towards Biloxi following Katrina's path of destruction.

Neither one of us has ever witnessed destruction anywhere near this magnitude. As we got closer and closer to the city, we began to notice river streams under the highway, filled with water, where they would usually be empty and dry. When we got into the city's center, police and military were in full force blocking all access to the public. Trees on the side of the highway snapped in two - like you would snap a twig between your fingers.

Closer in, we began to see some structural damage to building, roofs missing, doors and windows blown away. Toward downtown, the devastation was on a grander scale. Streets still flooded, we would often have to back out from a street filled with water, when it would reach above the bottom of the side doors of our jeep. In the water-flooded streets, we could see cars floating, debris and personal effects, a necklace here, papers everywhere, toys there... things you wouldn't expect to be floating on a street.

At one of the evacuation points, we came across tons and tons of debris littered for miles and miles. Piles of debris, MRPs, clothing, water bottles, wheel chairs, and baby strollers and so many personal belongings..., so many things abandoned by people, forced to leave behind everything they owned. We couldn't help but stare at a child's doll, or at some family's pictures strewn into the mounds of garbage and refuse..., all left behind, with what we could only assume - reluctance and hesitation.

We made our way to the Superdome..., we again had to turn back from the main road, as the water level rose around us. We took an indirect route, parked at the shopping complex adjacent to it..., and walked past the dozens of soldiers and medics still clearing out the last of the victims. The victims walking out were as variant in their moods as the surreal environment around us, some somber and quiet, some laughing and smiling, others just staring in grief and shock. We continued and made our way into the main hall of the complex - I can't quite explain how odd the contrast was, of walking past the glamour-filled clothing stores like the Gap, and Neiman Marcus, with army cots and make-shift med centers set up in the haute-couture store fronts. An army medic treating an old man with an IV running from his arm, while a mannequin sporting a $2000 wardrobe behind him in a store window stares over him. Surreal!

We made it past the mall, and entered the Superdome grounds, covered with thousands of chairs, more debris, and personal belongings. This is where the thousands and thousands of evacuees spent their 5 days. At this point the sun was out in full day, and we were both working up a real sweat - we had plenty of water on us, and as much as we drank - we still felt scorched. Later on, Imran caught some rough sun-burn just from the short exposure out there. Although we had been in the mall and outside the dome for only an hour - it was hard to imagine how families, with their babies, and elderly could spend five whole days here in this hell. The smell.., it's the smell that was most unbearable, the smell of waste and garbage.., and other things better left not to dwell on. How many people died here? How many people died here for no good reason?

We left this rancid and rotting place - and moved to the downtown convention center. At the center, we ran into more of the same thing. Wheel chairs abandoned, hungry dogs searching for morsels of food - these were obviously pets once, now left to fend for themselves, with disheveled, matted fur, and the urgency of hunger in their continuous scurrying. There was not much anyone could do for them. The convention center was another evacuation point, military rescue operations were still underway when we got there - helicopters were still scooping the remaining victims. We made our way to a highway ramp close by to get a better angle for filming - as we proceeded to set up on the deserted highway - a man walked toward us from the distance on the highway. Walking with a hesitation in his step, he slowly walked past us, holding a bag against his chest towards the rescue team below us. We watched, as one after another, military rescue helicopters would touch ground, be loaded with waiting evacuees, and quickly take off with thunderous sounds from the propellers, only to have another chopper immediately take its place.

In the face of all this – hope brings together folks that under ordinary circumstances may be passing strangers. Christians from the Zoar Baptist Church hand over the keys to their worship house to the IAFF (International Association of Fire Fighters), who turn the building into a make-shift operations center and service center for the search and rescue teams.

I see the firefighters who are coming in from the heavy-hit areas – themselves rescued by other firefighters. Upon arrival, they are “deconned” – shaved bald, given treatment showers to avoid contamination. Some have yet to find out the fate of their own homes and families – but not now, now it’s time to continue to cycle back into the epicenter to continue their mission. I see one of these guys, break down into sobs and tears – a closeby comrade grabs hims and hugs him, letting him know “we’ll get over this – I love you, man!” It’s my job to observe and report, at times, it’s hard to maintain the rules of side-lining.

Across town, at the Islamic Center of Baton Rouge, Dr. Hassan, executive member of the Islamic association, shouts above the din of an overcrowded office to someone across the room – providing instructions to one of the many volunteers. He is running on adrenaline, routing the streams of evacuees and their families coming into the Mosque. Someone needs shelter; someone’s looking for his brother, someone’s looking for medicine, everyone’s looking for something. He goes home at the end of the day, only to change clothes, and is called back by the never ending calls of emergency. He gets a call from one of the field hospitals – a Muslim man is dying, the caller wants to know, if he should be allowed to die in the hospital, or is the Mosque’s coming to pick him up, so he could die with his family.

ICNA, Islamic Relief, and others lend a hand – bringing in money, volunteers and supplies. Outside the mosque a Christian mission from Dallas arrives and pulls the doors of a supply truck open and offers medicine to the needing vistims at the mosque. And so it goes, Christian shelters, Muslims shelters intermingle their support.., intermingle their Faith. When it looks like everything’s falling apart, little miracles appear everywhere – the Muslim who was supposed to die, decides to hang on and lives. The firefighter finds he’s lost his home, but found his family.

We eventually drove out of New Orleans, and the next morning headed out to Mississippi to Gulfport and Biloxi. The size of this hurricane was immense - having driven for over an hour, we still had not crossed the eye of the storm. In the coastal areas, we saw more of the savage power of the winds and water. Entire buildings wiped away, with some foundations or just piles of brick to serve as reminders of their previous presence. Large billboard structures left mangled in bizarre curved balls of steel and wiring. Highway 90, which runs along the coast, had been transformed into a path of sand - a result of the beachfront moving up over the land. Again, people's effects everywhere, a Christmas ornament here, an AOL CD here - I thought to myself that I should tell the AOL folks that their gazillion CDs that they mail out everyday can survive hurricanes (funny what you think of, when you see all this stuff), I decided that this was probably not the message their marketing department was aiming for.

Overhead more military helicopters whirled past us, and on the road, military humvees and jeeps crept along on their mission. We walked on the beach - quietly pondering all this "sensory overload" - as one of the survivors referred to it. Walking on the beach, between the calm blue water on one side and the ravaged landscape on the other side, I couldn't help but think about the fragility of us all, the helplessness against nature, and its angry fury.

Yes, we will build again, as we always do. New Orleans will be again, but not the same. The government promises a "quick inquiry" to figure out who's to blame. People argue over whether the victims should be called refugees or evacuees, and in the midst of all this, there's a land that is left with a deep scar and gash from Louisiana to Florida, and people survive and prepare for tomorrow - let us not forget how fragile and tender we are in the scheme of things.

- Naeem Randhawa