It’s challenging to stay positive knowing so many of my friends have lost their beautiful homes in Altadena, California, an historic Black community bordering Pasadena. Others I know who had homes on the Malibu oceanfront and in Baldwin Hills—another well-off Black community—are facing the same heartbreak. Families I know from Pacific Palisades who have also lost their homes share this physical and emotional devastation. These families are good, solid, decent people who worked hard and consistently to achieve what they had. The destruction of their homes is beyond words, except perhaps as an act of nature, although other theories—including arson—have been suggested, along with the ever-present conspiracy theories.
What I know to be true is that, no matter the reason or explanation, the experience of such personal loss leaves no one happy. Each person is living through their own version of pain and suffering. The damage caused by losing irreplaceable family photos, memoirs, and all the other pieces of a life reduced to ashes is profound. I remember when I lived in the valley off the 118 freeway. The constant threat of fire jumping the eight-lane freeway was terrifying because Porter Ranch was so close, and it connected to Chatsworth and Northridge to the south and west. Watching the news during those times was nerve-wracking. Inevitably, the newscasters would say, "The flames are dangerously close to jumping the 118." That was our signal to prepare to evacuate.
You can’t truly understand the power of fire until you face it—if the smoke doesn’t get you first. I recall living in Northridge during one of those close calls. All the surrounding communities—Chatsworth, Porter Ranch, Mission Hills, Woodland Hills, Reseda, Encino, Granada Hills, Canoga Park, Tarzana, Panorama City, Sherman Oaks—are connected, divided only by street signs and addresses. If the fire crossed the freeway, it was just a matter of time before it would spread.
The air would feel thick and heavy, and coughing wasn’t a choice—it was the only option because the smoke engulfed you. I remember turning my sprinklers on full blast, hoping the soaked shrubbery would slow the flames. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the intense heat from the fire could instantly scorch even the wettest plants. The heat is unforgiving; plant life has no chance.
When the fire came closer, I could hear it roar—a voice of destruction. I felt the burn from the heat, but when our property’s fire sprinklers went off, I felt a fleeting sense of peace. Ignorance truly isn’t bliss, though. The sprinklers did an excellent job of soaking everything, but days later, I realized all that hadn’t been burned had instead been ruined by water damage.
The things I lost in that fire—though it never directly touched my home—were devastating. I’d feel a glimmer of hope when spotting a book, only to pick it up and find its pages stuck together, irreparably damaged. This is just the tip of the iceberg for fire victims. At least with ash, what you see is final. But to reach for a precious family photo and find it soaked and unsalvageable is a second trauma, even worse than the first. It’s like experiencing a double death.
I lost all my family photos: great-grandparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, my mother and father, siblings, school memories, yearbooks, birth certificates—all gone. Suddenly, designer shoes and luxury brands like Gucci, Louboutin, Milano Blahnik, Salvatore Ferragamo, and JP Pliner meant absolutely nothing.
With that said, I hope your compassion is as wide as the ocean, because your friends, family, and fellow Americans need your empathy, passion, and conscientious support. The political bickering and blame games are heartbreaking and, frankly, pitiful. In the face of such loss, we cannot afford to point fingers. Instead, we must come together and ask ourselves: What can I do to help?
I have two boxes packed and ready to go. I’ve already sent toilet paper, paper towels, soap, deodorant, toothpaste, underwear, sheets, towels, T-shirts, lotion, and more via Amazon.
Mail donations to:
American Red Cross Stockton Disaster Relief and Recovery Office
65 North Commerce Street
Stockton, CA 95202
Thank you, and God bless.
Visionary Kai EL´ Zabar has worked as CEO of arts organizations and as editor, writer and multimedia consultant accumulating a significant number of years in experience as an executive, journalist,publisher, public relations, media training, marketing, internal and external communications. Kai currently continues her life’s work as Editor-in-Chief Of Chicago News Weekly where she has resumed her column, “E NOTES.” She is ecstatic to be in the position to grace Chicago and the world with a publication that articulates the Black voice.