Carnage and Cashless out west

I left St Andrew on the morning of Monday, November 3, for familial and professional reasons – all because of Melissa, who had turned our lives upside down, quite literally, and for some, into a living hell.

Poor or nonexistent telecommunication between loved ones, friends, and associates intensified the anxiety and stress caused by the unspeakable devastation of this unprecedented Category 5 hurricane. There was no significant damage in the Corporate Area, so utility services remained operational. I spent much time watching videos and viewing photos online, which ended up traumatising me.

Knowing it would be wise to travel with cash, I attempted on Sunday to withdraw some from several ATMs in the Corporate Area, but was unsuccessful. Thus, I left St Andrew on a Knutsford Express (KEX) coach, for many reasons, intending to get cash upon arrival in Montego Bay, where a driver would pick me up.

I looked forward to the trip – to see for myself what the situation in the west was like, and to reconnect with my folks, with whom I hadn’t communicated for three days. I fell asleep shortly after the bus departed and woke up during the St Ann leg of the North-South Highway.

Unimaginable Carnage

I pulled the drape aside. All I saw were trees – some looking battered, but nothing worth staring at. As the bus progressed deeper into the parish, things began to look off. But after we passed through the Mammee Bay Toll Plaza, the revelation hit with full force.

From there until I arrived at the Sangster International Airport (SIA) KEX depot, the carnage was unimaginable. It was a vast and poignant scene of mass destruction – far beyond what social media visuals had prepared me for.

Yes, those visuals had shown total annihilation of houses and other structures, roads, fallen trees, and utility poles – caused by flooding, ferocious winds, and angry waters rushing through uncharted paths. But they hadn’t captured the miles and miles of broken, naked trees exposing previously unseen structures; destroyed buildings; endless shattered utility poles; wrecked tourist accommodations; fallen giant palm trees; dismantled vehicles; damaged golf courses; roofless churches; and completely demolished shacks in swamps.

It was exactly a week after Melissa had bared her teeth and claws and torn the place apart. Who had scorned her, and why? Objects – big and small – still lay scattered, exactly where they had fallen in her fury.

Too Much to Bear

Some of the structures were clearly ‘chaka chaka’ and ‘chamba chamba’ before mad Melissa arrived. She simply grabbed and tossed them, breaking them into smithereens. At one point along the Falmouth bypass, I pulled the drape to block out the unsightly scenes – it was just too much to bear. Yet, I couldn’t shut them out for long.

Questions upon questions, stories upon stories, shocks upon shocks swirled in my head – my mind a whirlpool of its own. I pulled the drape again, wondering where the people were during Melissa’s wrath. What went through their minds as trees and utility poles cried out in agony, cracked, and fell onto houses and fences; sheets of zinc sailed; leaves flew in a frenzy; water rose; windows and doors shattered; roofs lifted, exposing them to torrents of rain; and the wind – called Melissa – screamed, whistled, moaned, and groaned, all while they cowered without cover.

I was jolted from my reverie by the driver’s announcement that we were approaching Sangster International Airport. I looked outside and saw that even the airport property hadn’t been spared. The entrance to the ‘Departure’ section was crowded. People – some stranded for days – were fleeing the land over which Melissa had come, seen, scarred, and conquered.

Little did I know that I, too, would indirectly become one of her victims.

editorial@gleanerjm.com