DEFINING STRENGTH
How Mother and Daughter Find Relief in Service
JULY 19, 2018
When I first met Kimbra Baynes I was struck by her choice of lawn ornaments. At the front and back of her home she had nesting mother ducks which she fed bread sticks brought from her temporary apartment in the Third Ward, almost 15 miles away. She said they were part of the family, too. As we walked inside, Kim spoke about what work had or hadn’t been done on her home, trying light switches before remembering that the power was still off. It was mostly gutted, but not sanitized of mold and the assessment team found further damage and mold that needed to be addressed. Among plastic tubs of books, nonperishable food items that had, indeed, perished, and assorted other housewares, a piano stood in the living room. I wonder if she still played.
Our team assessed what areas could be in need of further gutting and what all could be saved with sanitation. Just telling her that we would be able to start the work within a month brought her visible relief, tipping her head back with eyes closed as if she’d finally tasted fresh water instead of flood.
Mother and daughter stand in the hallway, hands absentmindedly grazing wall studs exposed from a four-foot gut. The only working light is in that hallway. Power now runs to the house, but nine months of disuse and three feet of water makes one forget to change the burnt out bulbs. Kim rifles through a cabinet over the washer, finding an open box of bulbs, but they are spent as well.
Fifteen year old Tori describes her bedroom, smoothing the corners of where her bedspread once was and stepping around the footprint of her bookcase, moving as if her shoes were still piled on the floor. “I always thought it was small, but you’d think it’d be bigger without anything in it,” As she returns to the doorway, facing her mother who watches and leans on the bathroom threshold, she starts to recount her birthday; she recounts Harvey.
“We were preparing to leave and we put food and some clothes in the car, and it was in the garage, but when we lost the power, we couldn’t open the garage door. And the waters had come through the floor because we had a porch on the back, the water came from underneath. It didn’t whoosh in, it just started filling from the sediment underneath. And there was no way for us to go.”
From a strikingly young age, Victoria Baynes-Lopez has had the bleeding heart of an activist. Attending animal cruelty rallies, cancer walks, and political campaigns since three years old, she has continually fought for what was right for the little guy. She spends her time focused on giving a voice to the voiceless via radio shows and city council meetings. Her main passion now is Harvey and the disarray that still infects the community long after the flood waters have receded. Tori and her mother live in Unincorporated Harris County meaning that though they pay taxes, they are unable to vote for mayor nor have a local library or bus system. This was the most difficult obstacle when applying for aid after the hurricane.
“…BUT TO GET A ‘YES’…”
“We pay taxes to Pearland and Houston but don’t get any of the benefits and the money is used for external areas. For the greater good, but we don’t see it. They can’t tell us how many people are in our community because they keep building in our area but there’s no information. What was frustrating for me is that when I called for any assistance they would say, ‘You don’t fall under Harris County or Pearland,’ so they would never come. All the benefits, no matter who you called, they all said ‘We cannot help you.’ But to get a ‘YES’ from All Hands and Hearts meant so much because we had felt so helpless.”
“I THINK YOU JUST FIND LIKE-MINDS IN DISASTER. PEOPLE WHO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD.”
Regardless of the unincorporated quality of their community, Kim and Tori are constantly seeking out ways to serve it. I visited them at the Pan-African Festival at the S.H.A.P.E. (Self-Help for African-People through Education) Center one Saturday to find Tori happily serving food to patrons of the festival. Later, I walked and talked with Kim about her volunteering at the center, stopping every few feet to greet someone she knew from her community.
Almost immediately after the storm, Kim and Tori were already asking what they could do to help. Transportation was a major issue in the wake of Harvey, and getting information, food, and medical attention to residents was of paramount importance. Kim was still on borrowed shoes from her sister when they began doing supply runs to homes of the elderly.
“I said ‘God if you give me this car I will help out as many people as I could.’ There was only one car on the lot and they gave it to me. So, me and Tori would get food and drive to those homes and feed those elderly people that hadn’t left their homes. Even when you don’t have anything, when you do for others, your life doesn’t seem as bad.”
“ANYBODY CAN EXPERIENCE A LOSS, BUT IT’S HOW YOU COME OUT OF IT.”
The way that Kim speaks about Tori is almost a perfect reflection of how her daughter speaks of her mother. They contest that the other is more inspiring and where their strength comes from, their light in the dark hallway. “She told me, ‘Mom you have shoes now! We made dinner at home and not in a hotel microwave! We’ve made it so far from having nothing!” When defining strength, Tori immediately names her mother. “With everything that happened she has been able to put a roof over our heads, food in our mouths, to do everything that we’re still doing, and that’s strength to me. Even with something as horrible that has happened she is still able to stand on her own two feet and provide for us.”
“THAT IS WHAT BLESSED ME THE MOST: EVERYBODY ELSE WAS GONE, THE MONEY WAS GONE, BUT YOU GUYS WERE THERE.”
All Hands and Hearts began work on Kim’s home on April 25th, 2018, finishing mucking, gutting, and sanitizing two days later. The piano still stands in the center of the room, the debris pile is gone, and the bare bulb in the hallway still burns on. Her rebuild is under another organization’s care and Kim is anxious for the ink to dry. “There’s a bird called the phoenix, and it rises from the ashes. That’s how I felt when you guys came to us. Because everything was total destruction. We lost everything, you know? And we’re not talking materialistic things. It was my dad dying, right before the storm, then losing everything in the storm, and then the mold taking over the house. So when we say we’re rising like the phoenix, you guys empowered us. After three companies came in and couldn’t finish, you guys came in and just loved on us. And it was like ‘Ok, we’re gonna get it done.’”
FOOTNOTES
Photography and Story by HR for All Hands and Hearts
