Where am I?

After spending a couple days at our neighbors, my family and I finally headed back to our house in order to assess the damage that had been done. While Skeet continued searching for China, everyone else began the long tedious process of cleaning up the debris that had been created in Katrina's wake. But as I went to drain the murky water that had pooled in our kitchen, I suddenly found myself somewhere else. The tan color my mom had painted on the wall was replaced with a pale blue that was peeling at the edges, the air around me turned humid and sticky and there were sounds of commotion outside. The two feet of water remained, however, and it seemed to me as if I had somehow gotten to a house down the street, which had also been devastated by the hurricane. I began wading through the water towards the window hoping to be able to find my way home, but as I climbed up into the counter all I could see were roads, all of which were unfamiliar to me. Men and women with skin the color of golden sand shuffled through the remnants of their houses, unaware of the panic that had flooded my body. My heart raced as I splashed to the door and out into the outside world. The sun bore down on me as I ran, but I didn't care. I needed to get help. One girl passed by me and I grabbed her hand, "Do you know where I am?" I asked. She immediately shook me off and walked away. Unable to stop myself, I ran up to a group of men who were chatting as they loaded their belongings into a small boat. I was about to ask for help when I heard them. No wonder the girl didn't understand me. They were speaking Spanish, just like everyone else. I had never heard anyone speak Spanish in Mississippi, outside of the classroom. Hoping that one of them had learned English in school, I tapped the tall one on the shoulder. "Can you help me, sir?" He quickly turned around and looked at me with a confused expression, but I guess, eventually figured out that I didn't speak Spanish. "Yeah, sure." His accent was thick and his smile, caring. "Where am I?" I inquired. "You don't know? Maybe you hit your head." He laughed. "You are in Puerto Rico, my friend." Sensing my confusion, he continued. "Maria hit a couple days ago. Don't you remember?" I slowly backed up. How on Earth did I get here! I decided that I might look like a lunatic if I told him where I was from, so instead, I asked him if everyone was okay. The man, who introduced himself as Adrian, told me how all of their belongings had been destroyed and due to the lack of help from the government, things weren't getting much better. No one had electricity, running water or access to any sort of aid. Back in Mississippi, I heard my father cursing about how those politicians didn't care about us, as they didn't prepare for the storm at all. But compared to Puerto Rico, it was nothing. A thousand people had died already, just from lack of aid. Looking around it was easy to see why. A mother holding her baby caught my eye. The young child was fussing as he was covered in a layer of dust and gravel. What if that was me? I touched my protruding stomach and rubbed my child. She gave me strength. But I didn't understand why the government would just turn their backs on these people when they needed help. Who else would they have to turn to? Some people weren't as lucky as I was, I had my family and friends. Who did they have?