Diaspora U.S.A.

Does anybody really know what time it is?
I don't
Does anybody really care?
--Does Anybody Really Know What Time it Is?, Chicago
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Waiting at the meat counter recently, I overheard the butcher proudly giving instructions to the concerned customer before me: "Now I'm from N'awlins, ma'am, and I can tell you how to make a scampi." Enrapt, I listened with pleasure to his bravura explanation.

After he filled my request, I said simply, "I'm sorry about what happened in New Orleans." I told him we wrote a web log, and had addressed the issue. This genial man then came out from behind the counter, and it seemed the words would not stop.

"I've lived here since 1992, but my parents have lived in New Orleans 55 years. They are 76 and 78. They have been living in a FEMA trailer for over two years. They thought they'd be back home for Thanksgiving, but the tile and carpet floor had to be ripped up because the piping laid by the second contractor wasn't done right. So they're still in the trailer."

"The problem isn't money. My father was in the Army, and then retired from the Postal Service. Two contractors have taken their money so far without doing the work. Friends here in town have offered them land to build a new home on, but New Orleans is their home." Not your typical media image of 9th Ward down-and-outers.

"Why didn't the government have some sort of provisions for people, some sort of oversight to have reputable builders in the area?" he asked. Each new statement came after he'd turned to walk away, but something compelled him to return. This time, he stood before me, hands outstretched in an imploring gesture.

I like to think I know what to say.