Arrival in Omaha

Thanks to Delta Airlines, I got to Omaha a day late, so the reporting was a scramble. I picked up Bobby at Florence Tower and headed to Native Omaha Days, a biennial homecoming for African-Americans who have left North Omaha for new homes all across America. Bobby had teamed with an old case manager to put together a food stall and concert, and he thought if he got a big enough crowd down there, he could get on the mic and tell everyone about how much help the evacuees still need.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite happen that way. The stage was several blocks away from the main festivities, and Bobby never got on his plan to have some old-school step dancers lead a second-line-style parade down to his site. Plus, he had a falling out with the other organizer--Bobby seemed to think he was getting a cut of the money he raised for the event, and he thought there would be a big "Katrina Survivors in Nebraska" banner flying prominently in the middle of the field. Neither happened, and hardly anyone came.

The other evacuees there weren't happy either--they were volunteering their time to serve food and raise donations, and with no people...no donations. And no people also means no getting the message out, and no hooking up with the local business community.

Bobby and I left early, and I took him to the grocery store. I dropped him off around 9 p.m., and, with Delta-derived sleep deprivation kicking in, decided to go back to my hotel room and crash.

By the next day, Bobby had pretty much written off Native Omaha Days as a way to help the evacuees get help. But he's got bigger fish to fry. Like the United Nations. More on that to come...