Written by Alekz D. Londos....this is my story, my life lived venture, to hope that it might generate more help, money, or resources branching off across America, directed towards this disaster as well other Hurricanes in the future.

With the world’s attention, from every form of media, I was watching TV after I got off work in Santa Cruz, California. flashing through News Station. I felt deep anxiety, emotional discomfort. This was real. I made some phone calls, and decided to leave Santa Cruz a few days after the storm, the constant Hurricane Katrina conversations echoing in my head. I abruptly planned, packed, and drove approximately 2500 miles in my Ford Bronco, a long drive, a difficult drive, hot and tired, no air conditioning, windows that don’t work, overheated in the Nevada desert, with several flat tires along the way, a journey, working with and around every obstacle. After four days on the road, I saw what we now know as New Orleans. A 14-year-old boy with his shirt off, a gun strapped to his back, warning off all threats, out front of his house. In the center of this complete destruction, this visual shock, everything you grow to trust is broken, deceives the mind, you feel disconnected from life. This was close to a dream state [asleep] as wide a wake when reading a prophesized Bible revelation. The suffering, death, the worst the US has ever seen, the unimaginable pain when what you hold close is lost.

I was one person with this drastic idea I was going to leave, drive across the United States, hoping I would be able to help in some way, volunteer, not knowing I would be in a place to personally help people who were suffering after a week without the essentials of our every day life, without shelter from the heat, no electricity, food, running water, plumbing, or communication out to the rest of the world. I made, and laminated a press pass the day I left, assuming I would need authorization, permission to enter, through police and military roadblocks on the way. I definitely needed it on my second and third time back in, after returning from Raceland to refuel, and stock up on food, water, and the bags of ice, which was the request from the people. What upsets me is that I was at some of the heavily effected areas before the Federal Government. Where was the immediate help when it was most needed.

All of this was extremely mentally draining; I tried to stay strong, a test, (tired, it was not safe to sleep) constantly moving and watching every move. I accomplished most of my objectives wishing I could of stayed longer. Sometimes I would have to leave the only security I knew (confined) to make it into areas unreachable by vehicle, hiking with my back pack, a map, camera, food, water, a tent, blanket, first aid kit, clean clothes, some rope, things I packed, supplies I might need if I found myself without my ride home (without the Bronco) I did everything I could and it still felt like it was not enough.

I drove down street after street, block to block passing out the canned food and bottled water, miscellaneous beverages, fruits, snacks (that I brought and collected from different sources on the way, along with consistent help and support from family and friends, who sent me money via Western Union) I glance past this one street, near the French Quarters, where there was a lady with her dog slowly wading, splashing through the poisoned water, making her way over to dry ground, seeming calm and content like this was a day at the lake. Relatively close by, I saw another man out front of his house, walking over to me. The concrete steps from his porch leading into standing water (that connected to the flooded city) where he was cooking on a grill, I warned him of the potential epidemic, he paid me no mind. I heard a mother cry out, for the loss of her child, pointing towards where he was killed. Crossing over a bridge, lined up along the side, abandoned cars with every gas tank cap opened, I turned into a community, a family out front of their home, packed, rushed, and ready to leave the city, but out of fuel. I rinsed empty Gatorade containers earlier (flushed with clean water then a little gas) to fill up and hand out. Hopefully it would be enough to make it farther away from this place. When the silence set in, past the evacuation, riots, vandalism, arson, panic, sirens, helicopters, car crashes, fires, gunshots, and screams in every direction, I was left alone in this dead city, an empty city, completely surreal, with my vivid memories of the damage, and loss of life. Feeling the spirits leave their rotting bodies…………No words will ever depict or describe this energy.

Waking up the next morning (nightmares) remembering where I was and why I was here, making a wrought through polluted water, twisted metal, downed power lines, angled telephone poles and debris, into an empty residential neighborhood right outside of downtown New Orleans, I called over an old man to the Bronco to see if he was OK or needed food and cold water. Surprisingly, he said no. He had me follow him to the side of a fallen structure where he asked me to take this puppy from him that he hadn’t been able to feed. He’d only been able to give the dog warm water from a water heater he said. I assured him I would get the small black lab out of the city, he was very happy and thankful. We spent one night (me and the Dog) in the sanctioned news crew section in a safe zone downtown New Orleans, where I acquired a lot of information, walking into a B.Q. provided for agency.

The next day I crossed one of the only bridges to withstand the storm on the West side of Lake Pontchartrain, into Slidell, things here were worse, houses moved, buildings destroyed, boats lifted up out of there harbor. This community was handling the situation very well, now in the beginning stages of clean up. I drove for miles; you see the power of the wind, it was too late for the hope to find any survivors, Biloxi.