Angry art on a canvas of debris

I step onto the balcony of Palm Bay Guest House in Bogue, just as dawn is breaking over the hills of Montego Bay. There are more signs of light in the skies than lights dotting the hills because four weeks after Melissa, darkness still rules in many quarters. Linemen are working like madmen to restore power, but the destruction is too widespread for the task to be completed quickly.

Pelican Grill is open and I select a hearty Jamaican breakfast from their limited menu, noting the absence of scotch bonnet pepper in my meal. It’s okay. Many others would give their right lung to be sitting comfortably having a meal they can trust right now, so I eat gratefully and down a strong cup of coffee to keep my eyes open. I don’t drink coffee, but today, I think of it as medicine and swallow hard. I didn’t sleep well last night and what little sleep I got was restless and filled with images of destroyed towns, roofless houses and broken lives in need of rebuilding.

As we make the turn at Reading to head up Long Hill towards Anchovy, I can see where Melissa carved out her exit route. Where she dug deep into the hillside, snapping centuries-old trees like twigs, demolishing old and new buildings, turning roads into moonscapes of cavernous potholes, and twisting power poles and lines into angry art on a canvas of debris.

It’s a slow, rocky, and even treacherous drive in some places as Malachi and I head past Chester Castle towards Bethel Town and Darliston, our destination for today. A rainbow has suddenly appeared above the new growth of greenery and it gives us hope. I have a cousin, Eddy, in Darliston, who I have never met and I’m eager to make the connection. My friend Pete also lives there and through a series of spotty messages, he told me firsthand of the destruction, hence our decision to go to there.

Nothing prepared us for what we are seeing as we pass through villages and towns on our way. The traditional news and social media is inundated with images and videos from Black River and other parts of St. Elizabeth and Westmoreland, but with a total loss of communication in the mountainous backbone of the cockpit country and beyond, we knew little of the terror they experienced.

At last, we’re in Darliston. The town is bustling with activity, but it isn’t business as usual. The mix of generators and hammers pounding almost drown out the cars and horns. We drive through, trying to find Eddy’s place and what we see are blue tarps on roofless houses and others with gaping wounds, stretching on for miles.

The streets are free of debris as it is piled up in places where wooden structures were reduced to rubble. It’s hard to tell what was a building from what is simply trash, tied together in messy fashion by downed power lines. It looks like angry art on a canvas of debris. We pull into the parking lot of St. John’s Infant School where the principal, teachers and 25 students await our visit. It’s hard to take in that the single building and huge stone wall represents what’s left of the school. Nearby, the ruins of St. John’s Anglican Church is a ghost of its former self.

St. John's Infant School, Darliston, Jamaica

We are happy to see smiling faces. They say children are the most resilient of us all. I read that somewhere. It seems true because they politely welcome us, accept their gifts with grace, listen to our stories and poetry with eager eyes and share their own stories and poetry with ease. I lift my hat to the staff and parents who cleaned the one building left standing and decorated it for the children.

What remains of St. John's Anglican Church, Darliston, Jamaica

The adults are a different story. Still worried about being homeless. Still trying to figure out how to move on. Still sad eyes. Still traumatized and carrying the weight of their world. I make my own promise and with the blessings of the national director of Jamaica Youth for Christ, together we pledge to adopt the school and help them get back on their feet.

I finally meet Eddy and his lovely boys. He is busy in his business supplying building materials. The demand of course is very high. But that also means his own severely damaged roof may have to wait a while. The struggle is real.

Eddy's own roof repairs wait while he helps others

The trickle-down costs are more than we are calculating. I met up with a friend last night whose security company lost more than half their fleet of cars to mud and debris. They also lost large clients whose businesses will not be reopening anytime soon. These losses translate to loss of income for hundreds which further translates to hardship all around.

The road ahead is long and arduous. The donations of food, clothing and shelter are but the start. The generosity of corporations, international organizations and everyday people is truly heartwarming but there are more needs. Schools need more than roofs, walls, desks and chairs. Entire kitchens that prepare lunches for the children were lost so consider stoves, fridges, microwaves. Individuals need more than just empty places to shelter. They need appliances, small and large so don’t be shy to ask what folks need.

Together, each one helping one, we can do this!

Selah!

Your donation can help us rebuild St. John's Infant school. https://www.gofundme.com/f/rebuild-st-johns-school