BP Oil Well Capped, But Trauma Still Flowing Seven months after BP's oil well exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, researchers say more than one-third of coastal residents are experiencing symptoms of trauma. Aaron Hofer, an unemployed shrimper and crab picker in Bayou La Batre, Ala., and his wife, Lena, are bouncing from relatives' houses, surviving on food stamps -- and trying to save their marriage.
NPR logo

BP Oil Well Capped, But Trauma Still Flowing

  • Download
  • <iframe src="https://www.npr.org/player/embed/131667797/131687832" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript
BP Oil Well Capped, But Trauma Still Flowing

BP Oil Well Capped, But Trauma Still Flowing

  • Download
  • <iframe src="https://www.npr.org/player/embed/131667797/131687832" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript


It would be easy for many of us to forget the BP oil spill earlier this year. It was all consuming for months, and then it simply disappeared from the headlines, but it has not disappeared from the minds of people along the Gulf Coast. Researchers say more than one-third of Gulf Coast residents are experiencing symptoms of trauma. As part of our series The Disappearing Coast, NPR's Debbie Elliott looks at the emotional toll the spill has taken on one family.

DEBBIE ELLIOTT: These are hard times in the hardworking town of Bayou La Batre, Alabama. It's known as the seafood capital of the state, and struggled to get back in business after Hurricane Karina.

But once again, the processing plants and shrimp boats lining the bayou are mostly idle.

So when Feed the Children trucks arrive at the community center, the turnout is huge.

(Soundbite of crowd)

Ms. LARIE WOODYARD(ph) (Volunteer): 615, I need a box for the 615.

Unidentified Man (Volunteer): Right here, ma'am. I'm getting ready to...

ELLIOTT: Volunteers like Larie Woodyard hand out big cartons paced with food and household goods. Residents had to sign up in advance, so some are reluctantly turned away.

Unidentified Woman (Volunteer): We're out. We only had 800 cards and 800 boxes of groceries. I'm sorry, we just don't have any more.

ELLIOTT: No one makes a scene. This is not a place where asking for help comes easily.

Ms. LENA HOFER: It almost makes you not even want to walk up and ask, you know, because of how many times I've had to do this and everything. It's really hard when they send you away after you do, especially when you need it like I do. I'm about to cry. It's hard.

ELLIOTT: Twenty-five year old Lena Hofer has red circles around her blue eyes.

Ms. HOFER: I'm a homemaker. My husband was a shrimper. So it's bad. It's put us in a really bad spot.

Mr. AARON HOFER: We're very, very close on the edge of losing everything. But, you know, God feeds the birds. How much more does he love us? I have to tell myself that, like, 100 times a day.

ELLIOTT: Aaron and Lena Hofer have been on a downward spiral since the spring. He's a fourth-generation shrimper who lost the lucrative summer season to the BP oil spill. Now the shop where he worked part time, picking crab for cash, has closed down. They can no longer pay the rent, have signed up for food stamps, and are bouncing from home to home, staying with relatives.

Ms. HOFER: It's taken a toll on us. We've split up twice since this happened. We're just now starting to talk and get back together. Because we've lost our place to live, we have lost our vehicle, we have lost our phones.

ELLIOTT: They've lost everything but their children.

Ms. HOFER: I have a two-year-old and a four-year-old. They're both boys, and they're just they're the love of my life. They make me happier than anybody, and whenever I'm down about everything that's going on, I just look at them and know that I'll all right as long as they're still in my life.

Mr. HOFER: If somebody takes my kids because I can't help myself I just, I don't know. It's hard to think about things like that.

Mr. HOFER: Hey you wanna jump?

Unidentified Child (Mr. Hofer's son): No, no, no.

Mr. HOFER: Hey, don't fight. Don't fight.

ELLIOTT: Aaron Hofer is playing with his two boys, Justin and Jordan, at a public playground just across the street from the Gulf where he once made his living. He worked on his uncle's shrimp boat. They had a good week when the waters reopened in the fall, but then broke a winch that hauls in the nets.

Mr. HOFER: That says game over for this year. I lost my job, the boat's broke down. I'm homeless, my wife is living with my mother-in-law, her mother, and I'm living on a boat pretty much. It's hard. They don't understand. Well, why we got to stay with Aunt Mimmy(ph)? Why do we have to stay with G-granny(ph)? Why do we have to stay with Maw Maw(ph)? Are we going to Billy's house? Or, you know... I want to go home, is what they want.

Ms. HOFER: Our kids, they stress out. Since we've lost our place my two-year-old son has started biting his fingernails. And he holds his ears whenever, you know, just the stress of life come up. Because he don't even want to hear it, you know, and he's two. He understands too much.

Ms. SHIRLEY FOREMAN (Coordinator of children's services, Gulf Coast Mental Health Center): Everything that happens with the parents, ultimately children are like little sponges. They see that, they hear that, they pick up on it.

ELLIOTT: Shirley Foreman is the coordinator of children's services at the Gulf Coast Mental Health Center in Gulfport, Mississippi.

She says more than a third of the 80 families they treat report oil-spill related trauma symptoms in their kids, such as anger, irritability or acting out at school.

Ms. FOREMAN: They can't use their words because they may not be able to identify what they're feeling, so the only way they know how to tell us is by their behaviors.

ELLIOTT: Foreman says the spill has had a spiraling, trickle-down effect that disrupts the functioning of families.

Aaron Hofer is 27 years old and an Iraq war veteran. He's in constant motion as he speaks cracking his knuckles, munching on peanuts or smoking a cigarette. His wife says she hardly recognizes the dog-faced soldier who never used to let anything get him down.

Ms. HOFER: He's taking this harder than he took Iraq and he was at death's door every day over there, at risk of death every day. And because of him not being able to make it up out of this rut, it's just taking him down further and further. We have problems. We fight.

Mr. HOFER: Oh lord, three weeks ago I had an outburst. I don't know where it came from. I yelled at my wife, her mother. And I ended up busting a window.

ELLIOTT: Psychologists all along the Gulf Coast report an increase in the kind of problems the Hofers have anger, anxiety, sleeplessness and depression.

Steve Barrilleaux, with the Gulf Coast Mental Health Center, says since the oil spill, people have been living in a prolonged state of uncertainty.

Mr. STEVE BARRILLEAUX (Coordinator of adult services, Gulf Coast Mental Health Center): It was totally unexpected, and people had no sense of control or no sense of how extensive the damage was going to be how long-lasting it was. I don't think we had that closure at all, yet.

ELLIOTT: Barrilleaux and other psychologists believe they're only seeing a fraction of Gulf Coast residents suffering from trauma symptoms, in part because in many coastal working towns, there's a stigma associated with seeking help of any kind and particularly, for mental health care.

Mr. BARRILLEAUX: Part of the spirit of being a commercial fisherman has to do with independent thinking, being your own boss, being in control of yourself. I mean these people are the last true hunter and gatherers on earth, when you think about it. I man, they have a sense of I wouldn't say invincibility but just a sense of, you know, self-reliance: No matter what, we can handle it.

ELLIOTT: Lena and Aaron Hofer have survived a lot in their seven years of marriage, including Hurricane Katrina. They desperately want to believe they can handle this crisis, too.

Aaron says he grew up hearing that you don't seek help from outsiders, but that you take care of your own. But, he says, that hasn't worked so well since the oil spill.

Debbie Elliott, NPR News.

(Soundbite of music)


Tomorrow, we compare what residents of the Gulf Coast are going through to what people experienced on Prince William Sound, Alaska, after the Exxon Valdez disaster.

(Soundbite of music)

MONTAGNE: This is NPR News.

Copyright © 2010 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at www.npr.org for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by Verb8tm, Inc., an NPR contractor, and produced using a proprietary transcription process developed with NPR. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.