Surviving the storm: An islander’s experience

Courtney Brodbeck

The Signal Staff

The power had gone out and the sounds outside were like the sound track to a bad disaster film. My mother and I, along with three others, hadn’t evacuated very far from our home on the west end of Galveston Island; we were in Santa Fe and about to use every ounce of strength our bodies possessed.

We were all downstairs in our friend’s home when the water started seeping in through the cracks of the French doors. The wind was beating ferociously at the house and it was only a matter of minutes before the doors would blow open, letting the chaos outside rush into the haven we made inside.

We all scurried to find anything to barricade the doors. First was the couch, then the chairs, and finally, as a last resort, we flung our bodies across the furniture to make sure the doors were secure.  It was man versus nature, and for a second it seemed nature would win.

All my mother and I could think about was our little beach hut we called home.

“Please let it be standing, let our neighbors be OK and let our island still be home,” we prayed.

When we were finally able to get back on the island, my mom and I slowly turned the corner to our street. Though severely beaten by the storm, we still had a house. I know others were not as fortunate, so I’m thankful that the stilts stood strong and held up our beloved home.

After assessing the damage of our home, the next step was locating my car. Since we didn’t want to take the chance of being separated, we left my car behind. A couple of days later a friend found it four miles from my house. I don’t think it would have passed a Carfax report; it would have read, “New upholstery, freshly painted, and recent work down to the exterior.”

Although one good thing did come from my car being demolished; I could pay my loan off from the bank. Oh well, at least we were home.

We were not supposed to stay on the island. Residents were being allowed in to the city on a “look and leave” basis, but we couldn’t bear the thought of leaving our home again. Besides, there was no place else to go. There wasn’t a hotel room empty for a 300-mile radius, so we decided to rough it the best we could.

The routine we had was simple:  drive into town to pick up our ice and army meals, fill our containers with gasoline so we could power the generator and, of course, get lots of water.  Since the power hadn’t been turned back on yet and we could only plug necessary items into the generator, we had to become energy savvy. Running the electric water heater wasn’t a necessity so every morning we set out jugs of water on the deck so the sun would heat them up and, once heated, we took our infamous “jug baths.”

At night we looked outside our window and waited for just one tiny glimpse of a light to come on in the neighbors’ homes, giving us hope that our community was beginning to be restored. We loathed the sound of the generator turning off, when the fan would stop and the mosquitoes would hone in and attack. Gasoline was precious and we allowed ourselves only one tank per night.
However, as time passed, seeing a friendly face and unbelievable kindness from others brought hope. A disaster can bring out the best and the worst in people, but witnessing the selfless acts of compassion after Hurricane Ike showed me the true nature of mankind.

Efforts to rebuild our lives and community continue, and the road to recovery is still being tackled, but as the anniversary of Hurricane Ike passes, we are just grateful to have each other. Though some of the possessions we collected over the years were lost, we learned a great deal about ourselves, and during a time that tested our abilities we discovered how strong we are.