In many areas. For many families. In entire communities. In the scars still visible on rivers, roads, and forests. In those who couldn't apply for aid, in those who remain unemployed, in those who still don't have a home. For many of us, the first anniversary of the Hurricane Helene It is also a reminder of how far we still have to go in the recovery of Western North Carolina.
And the phrases are repeated, but they remain true. We've heard it hundreds of times: it was the most devastating and deadly hurricane in our region's history. A once-in-a-century storm. deadliest hurricane that has hit the United States since Katrina in 2005. Something none of us expected. And it still hurts.
In North Carolina alone, 108 people died; more than 2,000 landslides occurred; and economic damage was estimated at $60 billion. More than 6.000 miles of roads were severely damaged. And some 73.000 homes were destroyed or damaged.
numbers that remind us of the disasterBut how else can we name what happened a year ago and changed us forever?
The answer may lie in the stories we tell.
Families still trying to recover, like Betty and Eric, who still live in a camper in Swannanoa. And they're not alone. Or Maria and Omar, who lost their home but have to continue paying for it, even though it's beyond repair. The Ruedas, who hope to rebuild mobile homes for their extended family, are hoping to rebuild their trailers. And Beatriz, who has a camper on her land, but it's too small and cold to live in, so she rents elsewhere.
There are countless stories of Latino families still struggling to get ahead. And while the hurricane anniversary marks a milestone since the storm, the pain and recovery, the mourning and hope, continue beyond this date.
We also continue our journalistic coverage of the western part of the state, where the Latino community is growing and yet often remains invisible.
That's why, a year later, we revisited two Latino families—with mixed immigration status—who lost their homes during Helene to find out how they are doing today. Their stories are part of a reality that still affects the western part of the state: the consequences of Helene are still present.
When the river took everything away, again
A year after Helene, the house María and Omar bought in 2014 in Clyde, Haywood County, remains empty. Because of their immigration status and for security reasons, they asked to remain anonymous; that's what we call them here. The walls were bare, with mud marks up to the ceiling; the house had no doors until he replaced them to prevent burglaries.
“It's sad. I mean, it's really sad because you get up every day and work really hard to have a house… and now we have nothing left,” says María.
It wasn't the first time water had entered their home. In August 2021, during Tropical Storm Fred, it rose more than a foot, and they lost all their furniture; the county told them to throw away everything that had gotten wet. They thought it would be an exception, the same thing they'd been told when they bought it: one flood in a hundred years.
In September 2024, Helene's Pigeon River flooded, and the water reached the ceiling. "That same day, we came back in the afternoon... and the house looked like a punctured pool because it had water everywhere," María recalls. This time, they had prepared: they stored documents, clothes, and photos; they moved some furniture to a storage unit; they evacuated to a nearby trailer, where the water also rose several inches. "In the end, everything went to waste," Omar admits.
With the help of volunteers, they cleaned the main house "against the clock": "They gave me about 30 people... and they left it like that, bare bones inside." With no doors, the burglaries began; they also broke into a storage room and stole tools and large pots. He replaced the doors so "it would be a little harder for them to get in."
Life went on with the contract in tow. “We bought it to pay it off. In 30 years… We've been here for ten. We have 20 more years to pay off,” they say; they tried to return the property to the owner, but “she wants her money.” Going back is no longer an option. “Imagine… remodeling so it happens again? No, I don't think so,” says María.
They work as much as they can. Omar maintains his small gardening business in the area; María alternates between a vegetable garden and a McDonald's. The question that comes up repeatedly, she says, is whether it was worth all the sacrifice to see him go with the floodwaters: "So I'm saying, is it really worth sacrificing so much for the floodwaters to come and take him away? It's very sad."
At home, the children learned too early what it means to lose a home: toys, yards to run around in, the spacious living room they remember by heart. Between debt and uncertainty, they cling to what's left: "But hey, thank God we're alive and together, right?"
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A year living in a camper
A year after Helene we returned to the same ground in Swannanoa where, weeks after the hurricane, we had talked with Betty and Eric. The family lost their home in the storm and now lives in a donated camper parked on their lot.
“We are exactly where my house was before… currently we live here in the camper and we have two small wooden buildings, also donated, where we keep our things, because the camper is very small,” Betty tells Enlace Latino NC .
For security reasons, we are withholding her last name and exact location; her family has mixed immigration status.
In the early morning of September 27, 2024, evacuation alerts sounded on their cell phones at three and four o'clock. Eric and Betty got up and went outside with flashlights to look outside. But everything seemed normal.
Betty went to work very early. “The roads were clean… there was nothing rough,” she recalls. What followed is what we already know: the Swannanoa River reached almost 30 feet, a height that surpassed any historical record held until then.
Fortunately, Eric had just enough time to wake his three children and get the family to safety. He and them took refuge in the neighborhood school parking lot, on higher ground. At 7:30 a.m., he saw his truck swept away by the current. “It was swimming like a boat,” he says. Shortly after, the house was ripped from its foundation and swept away by the river.
“In the blink of an eye, you lose everything… you fought for ten years to own that house, and in a few hours, it's all gone,” Betty recalls. That morning, the only thing that mattered was that her children were alive. “The material things hurt less,” she says.
It wasn't until April, six months after the storm, that they received the camper. "I feel like we've only made a little progress... all we have is the help people have given us," says Eric, reflecting on this year after Helene.
He cleared the land himself and, with the help of volunteers, erected fences to restore some order. The Swannanoa Christian Church committed to building a home on the lot. “They told us it would be ready before winter,” they say. The deadlines kept slipping. “We’re afraid of winter,” Betty admits, looking at the camper that will hardly be able to shelter them when the frost arrives.
Unlike other families, they were able to apply to FEMA because their children are U.S. citizens. After a lengthy process of document processing, they received financial assistance. "With $20,000 or $30,000, you're not going to buy a house or a trailer," Betty explains.
The routine also changed. Eric was working at a hotel before the hurricane. Since then, he hasn't had a steady job and dedicates himself to taking care of the property, helping neighbors, and supporting the children's daily lives. Betty keeps her job at a senior center in Asheville, where they also lived last winter while waiting for the camper.
They say the experience left its mark on them. Today, they assure us that "we're prepared for any storm... we already have a suitcase with the essentials." A year later, they're still on the same land where the river swept away their house. Their plan is to stay there, raise their children, and wait for the promised construction of a new house.
*To learn more about the stories of these Latino families, we invite you to subscribe to Enlace Latino Podcast, where we will publish a two-part Hurricane Helene anniversary special.Listen to the first episode on Saturday, September 27th at Enlace Latino NC.
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