Sleep was hard to come by when sharing the soggy, hot air of a small trailer with seven other people, who like Hurricane Katrina volunteer Ashley Crider were resting in their bunks, clothes stashed on the floor, alert for trouble with a knife under the pillow, jarred by the endless thump of music blasting from nearby cars and tensing at the occasional staccato of gunshots echoing from an area known as “Cocaine Alley.”

There was no bathroom. Ashley and other volunteers had to walk outside and brave late-night gangs and stray dog packs to reach a port-a-potty located across the field.

This was how Ashley describes her fifth trip down south to help Hurricane Katrina victims. It was so dangerous that Glenn Locklin, the director of Ashley’s volunteer group, (a man who gave up his contracting career to help with the rebuilding in a Mississippi village) advised the workers to never go out alone.

In one instance, Ashley even remembered a dog that pursue