The Intersection of Land and Water
Nijah Narcisse narrates the stories of farmer and artist Utē Petit and The Water Collaborative’s Jessica Dandridge-Smith as they navigate climate change in Louisiana.
By Nijah Narcisse
Over the years we’ve kept silent about our losses, hoping to bury them deep and never to be found. Today we reflect on the past and recognize the future. We are thankful for what the storm taught us, about life and death. The cycle of life is eminent at our expense even when what we need most is out of our grasp.
I’ve come to see life as a path. A journey leading me down a road where the destination is unknown and will only reveal itself in that present moment. How shy.
This is for the Katrina Babies who were just getting started. Who were beginning to feel and who felt so much at once. Who can only bare the happy memories, if there are any. Allow me to share this part of me that has been kept silent for so long.
Katrina Eclipse
Days before Hurricane Katrina, my parents and I packed our suitcases and drove up to Jackson, Miss. I was only a month into my fall semester of third grade at Eisenhower Elementary and I remember hearing the words hurricane and evacuate for the first time. I walked from door to door of my apartment complex seeking someone to play with before we left.
But each time I knocked I was told, “My mom said I can’t play, we’re evacuating for the hurricane!” before they shut the door.
Eventually I walked back to my apartment discouraged, thinking “What did they mean by evacuate? And what’s the big deal about a hurricane?” It wasn’t until we made it to my great aunt’s house in Jackson, after sitting in the back seat for hours in evacuation traffic, that I would witness a storm surge undertake my city from a TV screen.
After over a month in Jackson, we finally drove back to New Orleans. The aftermath of the disaster meant the city was in shambles. I still remember the eerie ambiance as we drove past shattered homes, fallen light posts, and worn-out buildings, followed by days gutting our apartment of molded furniture and water-stained toys and clothes. I felt my innocence dwindle as I flung trash bags, filled with my most cherished childhood memories, into the garbage bins.
Before long I was back at the same elementary school, seeing new and old faces and galavanting about the halls like nothing happened, feeling safe and secure.
But that feeling didn’t last too long.
Wake of the Storm
Throughout middle school I went through the same pattern of storm preparation, evacuation, and repairing after storms passed. I thought nothing of this sporadic routine. It felt normal to me until, three major hurricanes later, I was sitting in my high school science class when my teacher explained the term coastal erosion. She went on to explain that the Gulf Coast loses a football field of wetland every hour and the increase in sea level combined with coastal erosion puts the city at a higher risk for flooding, causing irreparable damage. According to scientists, we have about three decades until parts of New Orleans and the coast of Louisiana are likely to be submerged underwater. This could displace over 500,000 families, homes and businesses. I sat motionless in my seat, but my mind was swimming with thoughts.
Ever since then, I avoided all thoughts about climate change and bypassed all avenues of potential solutions. I was suppressing emotions of anger, sadness and continuous grief for the city and the community within it. But the intensifying climate emergencies can be hard to ignore.
One typical rainy day in April, I went to work Uptown, where after 30 minutes of (pouring) rain, I witnessed inches of water cover the sidewalk (despite drainage). Nervous by the rate and heaviness of the rain, I told my coworkers to keep an eye on the street because of how easily it floods in the Lower Garden District. As suspected, by the time I went outside, the water was up to my ankles (forced to take off my shoes and socks) and I moved my car to higher ground. As I trucked through the flooded streets, panicked, other locals began transitioning their vehicles to the neutral ground. In that moment, I made a choice: To get to high ground, literally and metaphysically. Instead of drowning in my worries I reached out to resources in my community to help funnel solutions.
In the words of James Baldwin: “Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
A conversation about water
This spring I reached out to local environmental advocates for solutions to combat climate change in New Orleans ethically and efficiently. Jessica Dandridge-Smith, executive director of The Water Collaborative of Greater New Orleans, specializes in urban water management with green infrastructures. We spoke about the saltwater intrusion last fall that threatened the old New Orleans infrastructure, causing corroded pipes to poison the water with lead.
Dandridge-Smith expressed frustration with the Sewerage and Water Board’s slow action plan of removing lead pipes in the city.
“We actually helped the city get a grant paid for by Google to map out all of their lead pipelines,” she said.
Dandridge-Smith added that historic areas like the French Quarter, Marigny and Treme have been more likely to avoid lead pipe removals because of the governing laws of the Historic District Landmarks Commission. Despite the challenges of climate change in New Orleans, Dandridge-Smith highlights how progressive the city is compared to other states that border the coast.
“I don’t think people should count New Orleans out,” Dandridge-Smith said. “We have a lot to offer moving forward in ways that other places can’t.”
The Water Collaborative started as a response to Hurricane Katrina, originally founded by engineers and architects who advocate the need for nature-based solutions and water justice. The grassroots movement values collective design, building trust and inclusive networks of communities. Since becoming an independent 501(c)(3) organization in 2020, TWC has spearheaded the analysis of the proposed Federal Flood Risk Management Standard, established by Executive Order 13690, and explored potential strategies for lowering community flood insurance rates.
Under Dandridge-Smith’s leadership, the organization pursues its mission: to “live and thrive with water.” That means exploring multi-solutions to water affordability, access, and equality. The organization’s primary approach to doing this is through policy analysis and advocacy. The second is wholesale education, Dandridge-Smith said. “Educating the masses about climate change and environmental justice will encourage folks to be more involved in the political process,” she added. This method invites the community to not only understand the issues the city is facing, but also to find solutions that benefit our livelihood. Dandridge-Smith said the third approach is ensuring equality by asking the question: “How do we create spaces that ensure local residents and community members have a seat at the table?”
TWC has started over 14 projects to date, including Brackish, an artist residency cultivated by TWC that focuses specifically on the “complex and disconnected relationship with water in Southeast Louisiana.” The annual cohorts educate artists, “through a diverse curriculum centered around infrastructure, local government, and history.” Their mission purposely includes creative sectors to act as a vehicle to widen climate resilience and awareness for Louisiana residents.
As we got further into our discussion, Dandridge-Smith didn’t shy away from the challenges she faces from the system; those who want their movements to survive have to keep one eye open for saboteurs. Corporations like oil and gas companies have “a vested interest in ensuring Louisiana stays easy to utilize and extract from when they deem necessary,” said Dandridge-Smith, knowing that these interests often come with unscrupulous dealings.
The same goes for the state. As she put it: “Some government officials tend to take land from those who need it, and don’t really allow us to utilize the resources that we have.”
The lack of attention to the overall wellbeing of minorities in the United States of America (and worldwide) exposes the extent to which power is fueled by profit. (Pay attention: A January 2024 federal court ruling dealt a big blow to efforts to ensure environmental civil rights are enforced in our communities here in Louisiana.)
“The country’s theme is economic power at all costs.” Dandridge-Smith said. “That includes… the risk of other people’s lives, particularly Black and brown individuals in this country.”
For me, witnessing these injustices only further contributes to a feeling of cynicism towards climate change.
A conversation about land
The fight for land development is similar to the challenging work of water infrastructure. Utē Petit, land stewardess and artist from Southfield, Mich., is in the process of rebuilding her great-grandmother’s land into a community garden in the Lower Ninth Ward, a part of the city that was deeply neglected after Hurricane Katrina. Petit shared in detail her battle with the New Orleans Redevelopment Authority, who undervalued the land during the rebuilding process. While she stewards the land, she relies on her ancestry to guide her and is abundantly supported by community members of all ages.
Her journey began in Nagoya, Japan. Petit remembers growing up in the countryside, and the peace she felt while galivanting through the fields. At the age of 7, she continued her childhood education at Nagoya International School, during recess she would run to the fence to pick fruit off the trees. She learned to harvest sweet potatoes and bamboo, and when she moved back to Michigan, she volunteered at urban farms. She remembers taking summer trips to Louisiana and Mississippi to be with family and her father would take her to pick watermelons and blueberries.
However, it wasn’t until college when she realized that farming was more than just a passion, it was a potential career. More than that, it was a path to rebuilding her great-grandmother’s land.
I called Petit on another rainy afternoon in April. She began telling me about her great grandmother’s farm, affectionately known as Popsie and Vivian’s Lowland Garden.
In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, Petit’s great-grandmother fell ill, but Petit returned to take responsibility for the land. “I always knew that I wanted to come back and try and do something there,” Petit explained.
Petit’s great-grandmother was one of the victims of the Road Home Program, a program funded by the U.S. government which has provided federal grant money to help Louisiana residents rebuild or sell houses severely damaged by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Though federally funded, the program is administered by the state of Louisiana, which chronically undervalues land in communities like Petit’s.
In Petit’s eyes, her great-grandmother’s land is invaluable; she accepts the work and challenges it takes to rebuild it. “Farming is a heavily subsidized industry because we need it, but it’s generally not profitable,” she noted.
The land stewardess shared her experience living in Louisiana and what it’s like facing such obstacles as a lack of support from the city and low wages. She points out the neglect of specific BIPOC green spaces and lack of unutilized land in New Orleans. “I’m grateful for the lessons, but the things I’ve been aspiring to do have just taken a lot longer… because of the different obstacles, whether [it was] my garden getting cut down or not having the financial resources to do what I wanted to do,” she said.
Community members have come from all over Louisiana after finding out about her work through her social media posts about the garden and its financial needs to continue the building process. Since building the garden, she has received many volunteers from Grow Dat Youth Farm in City Park, a community greenspace that earlier this year faced possible displacement by the City Park Conservancy which had proposed building a road through the property. (Grow Dat and City Park Conservancy reached a new agreement in August that will allow the farm to remain at its current location for the foreseeable future.)
“Grow Dat feeds families that can’t afford food or who don’t have access; food deserts, you know, particularly like the Lower Ninth Ward,” Petit said.
Our land is in distress — a planetary crisis caused by the greed of power and profit. “If you remove the people, the land suffers, you know — the same way we’re watching what’s happening in Palestine,” Petit observed.
“In the same way you try to displace native New Orleanians and people who have ancestry here and something to give and contribute. The land suffers. The marshes die. There’s flooding. I don’t think all of this is just a coincidence.”
Final devotion
The city of New Orleans, from the beginning, has been a port; a symphony of cultures infused by many people over time. The city’s character stands out, from the yearly traditions of Carnival season and second lines on Sundays to the warm embraces of passers-by who act more like long-time neighbors. We look out for each other and support each other; in turn we are able to navigate adversity and celebrate with a nice cold drink. The natives and locals of this city have fought and are continuing the fight to protect and heal our land. We are the resource to healing our community by alliance with community green spaces like Utē’s garden in the Lower Ninth Ward or Grow Dat’s Youth Farm. We have the power to create policies and unify against corporate giants by supporting organizations like The Water Collaborate. Together, we accept the responsibility to rebuild and reconstruct our lives to live in this city.
On land or in water we keep New Orleans alive.
Nijah Narcisse (she/they) is a New Orleans storyteller with a focus on non-fiction storytelling of BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ community experience.
This piece was edited by Holly Devon with support from Jennifer Larino. It was fact-checked by Delaney Dryfoos. Photography captured by Rhone Sama.
This story was produced as part of the Lede New Orleans Fellowship 2.0 reporting fellowship program, with support from Internews’ Listening Post Collective and Earth Journalism Network programs.
