The Aftermath - 3 months later

The Aftermath

Now comes the hard part. The next months will be difficult.  They will be difficult because the shops are empty and savings have been used up and we are tired.  Jobs are scarce, few tourists are expected.  Most people are still living under leaky tarps and there will be no mangoes, bananas, or citrus this season.  Also the building materials, and the builders needed to withstand another force 7 hurricane, are way too expensive or simply not available.  

For the weeks following Maria there was so much to do.  We were overwhelmed. Just drying out was a big deal.  Although the days were warm and sunny, every last thing was wet and getting moldy.  Whatever Maria left for us was sodden, grimy, muddy, tattered and ugly.  But that is what we had and it became treasured. Keeping clean was a challenge. I was constantly amazed at how well turned out, pretty and well presented the women were.  How did they do it? I was always frumpy and dishevelled! Then there was the frantic scramble to communicate with family and friends, around the Island, in the other Islands, in the UK, USA, Europe and Canada. We managed that as best we could.  Messages were sent with people leaving the Island.

I have no home, but I am here

15% of the population left quickly. Ross University evacuated 2000 people within 3 days. Hundreds of children have been sent to Antigua and Barbados to go to school .The Sister Islands were quick to respond.  We had drinking water right away.  Relief food packages began to arrive soon (distribution was so badly organized it was almost not worth the effort, here in the North).   The international aide people were here, mostly medical personnel, I think.  The Jamaican army and the Antiguan police were here as looting and malicious vandalism were rampant.  Keep in mind that the local police also lost everything in the hurricane and were in no shape to do their jobs as they would have liked. They too had families, homes, aged parents to look after.

The memories I have of those days are of lines of drying clothes everywhere, helicopter noise  over head, the Bar over loaded with drunken men, hard physical unending work, no music, what's for supper, worrying about those with no roof, staying safe and long lines everywhere.  And it was ugly. My life became very small and preoccupied with work, cleaning and standing in line.  However, not once did I lose heart because I knew Anthony was on it, organizing, trying to make contact, doing what needed doing, and I knew my friends were behind him, and out there behind me too.

Portsmouth found itself quite quickly. Clean up started right away.  We had running water (not potable) and central Portsmouth had electricity by mid October.  By early December we had internet!  Portsmouth is busy and a happening place.  It is not what it used to be, but it is in amazingly good shape all things considered. The small 'mom and pop' shops were (are) the sustaining force. 

I rarely go into the old house that was once our pride and joy.  The art gallery and gift shop were devastated, the house is gloomy, damp, dilapidated, smelly, leaking and now serves as storage for cases of empty beer bottles.  It's just way too distressing.  The patio has been cleared and I have managed a small garden.  Spring and Doug sent some seeds and the tomatoes are growing in an old chest freezer!  I see baby animals all around; the post-hurricane generation - baby iguanas, chicks, lizards of all varieties.  The parrots, hummingbirds, banana quit (sikiye), bullfinch, and the ubiquitous brown pelican  and the magnificent frigate birds are fishing.  I saw a flock of egrets the other day.  I haven't seen any moorhens.  They tell me that the corals suffered but not as bad as it could have been.  The ocean is still dirty, but certainly clearing up.  I am continually surprised at what was left standing, what small thing was spared and what succumbed and was lost.  The bouganvillaea, oleander and hibiscus are blooming!  I can't find any poinsettia, but I am sure they are there.  Among other things, we lost our sour sop tree, but the sour orange, right beside it, stood the battering, and even hung on to some fruit.  Amazing.

Maria's Patio

The Patio

Dominicans like to use the word 'resilient' to describe themselves.  Absolutely no question: they are that in spades. But there is another dimension to this resilience and it is a bred- in -the -bone, quiet determination to survive.  Dominicans will not succumb to hardship, devastation or evil forces. 

                                                          

By Christmas it will be 3 full months.  Those who went through Hurricane David in 1979 say that Maria was worse, but recovery is faster.

HURRICANE MARIA September 18, 2017

HURRICANE MARIA September 18, 2017

I can barely remember it. The photos don't even evoke an emotion.  I can tell the story though and relate the events as they happened.

So, the day of September 18, 2017 was quite normal. People were talking about the approaching hurricane, but we were expecting a category 2...heavy rain, high wind.  Some preparations were being made: the fishermen were bringing their boats way up, vulnerable windows were being boarded up. We were filling buckets and containers with water and getting our candles and torches ready...and feeling snug and smug.  McDowell and I thought we were in a hurricane proof house.

The wind started to rise at dusk, 5PM. McDowell called me and asked if he should come home now, or stay until the usual 9PM.  His friend, Charles, told him to close and go immediately, and it is a good thing he took his friend's advice.  By the time he got home, an hour later, the wind had become mean and the rain fierce.  He was worried; I was nonchalant because I didn't know any better.

We lost power, almost right away.  The noise was amazing. The windows and door began to gush water, not leak - gush.  We could hear people calling and crying out. There was a strange smell to the air.  My ears were popping  from the pressure.  Then the window in the apartment next door broke and the wind threw all the furniture in there against the adjoining wall.  Everything: TV, kitchen table, chairs, over turned the 'fridge, broke the bed.  Meanwhile the water was rising in our flat and we were scurrying around trying to hide things from the water, rescue our documents, and cover books, save our digital equipment.  By 10PM it was clear that we were not going to rescue anything, and better think about ourselves. We looked up and there was a gaping hole in the bathroom. The galvanized roof had gone elsewhere and the rain was pouring in. So we sat in our sodden chairs, in wringing wet clothes and opened out our umbrellas and laughed. I don't know when the big tree at our gate came down, but I expect it was early on. Even if we wanted to get out we could not have.

The force of a hurricane is unimaginable. The wind makes the sound of a band of howling banshees.  The wind is without mercy and will find every little hole.  It sucks out windows, overturns huge cargo containers, tosses cars around like nerf balls.  The wind strips bare every stately mango, tears bananas from the ground, snaps  tops off of tall coconut trees, flattens the citrus and avocado changing the landscape from lush green to that only seen in movies about the apocalypse. People are utterly helpless in the onslaught.  Their homes come crashing down around them as they try to find shelter from the rising water and the raging wind. They huddle in terror for hours under beds, and in closets.  Children are swept away by the violent river waters.  Lives are lost.

The morning after was still, eerie really.  No birds chirping, no lizards singing, no roosters crowning, no dogs barking, no goats bleating, no people talking.

McDowell slashed our way down what was left of the stairs with my little cutlass and we started our walk into Portsmouth not knowing what we would find climbing over broken posts, wire everywhere, twisted and torn galvanized roves. Half way there a friend of McDowell's called out to him and told him his Bar was standing and had most of its roof.  He didn't mention the old house.  Somewhat relieved, we slogged on.  The Indian River complex was a mess, Jo-Jo's was flat, Simple's house had vanished, Malvin's house as bare, Maford's house only had 4 walls, sort of.  The Pik-Nik was up, but roofless, Miss Olive was standing and the Douglas building was in ruins.  We could see that the back of the Peter house was gone, but the old thing still stood.  McDowell checked his Bar and only a little flooding and wind damage was evident. But it was the back, the Patio that was shocking.  What was our pride and enjoy had been swept bare and detritus, debris, broken pipes, horrible smelly things heaved up by the sea, pieces of galvanized sheeting, rocks, wood, and who knows what else deposited in its place and hip deep. 

Then we looked in the house.  Our pretty art gallery and gift shop and its precious contents were lying sopping on the floor.  The wind had striped the paint off the wall.  But the building itself, over 100 years old stood, shaky and crooked to be sure, but together. Since we now had no place to stay, we moved in there and camped among the cockroaches and the mold for a week. 

Because McDowell had a stock of beer, rum, cigarettes he was one of the first people to open up in Portsmouth.  We cleaned up inside as best we could and opened the Bar. Business was brisk.

I found a small furnished apartment just steps away from the Bar. Clean and dry.  We moved in and that is where we are now.