I didn’t expect to be writing about my experience of a hurricane this month but then none of us expected it. Officially Grenada is below the hurricane belt although there have been hurricanes here, the last ones being Hurricane Ivan and Emily about twenty years ago.
On Saturday 29th June we were due to go on a local walk and as the rain increased the WhatsApp messages changed from it’s only a bit of rain to it’s a tropical storm to this is being declared a hurricane coming our way. By the time Hurricane Beryl arrived on Monday morning, 1st July, it was a category 4 on the North of the island where I live and sadly the highest level of category 5 in the neighbouring Grenada island of Carriacou.
I was impressed with the regular government updates giving clear advice as to how to prepare and information about the hurricane's status. I heard that the shops were crazy with people stocking up with food and water bottles, refueling cars and buying plywood to board up windows. As the weather was already bad and I felt I had enough supplies I stayed at home and moved important items into a back bedroom downstairs. I was grateful that this bedroom had just been decorated with my last visitor which meant that I had moved a bed into there. I could have asked someone to put up plywood but everyone was so busy sorting out their own houses and especially trying to secure smaller wooden houses that I didn’t like to ask. Instead, I moved furniture against the windows facing the sea and prayed around the house. I couldn’t put the car in the garage because I had a large pile of tiles delivered by crane in front of the garage doors. And so I tightened the car cover as much as I could to prevent it from being caught by the wind. I’d conveniently cleared some rubble from the garden and so I weighed the car down with the bags of collected rubble. Everything that was moveable from the garden and balconies came inside and I moved what large stones I could away from the car in case they flew up and hit the car. We were advised to put important documents into a waterproof container in case of flooding so these went into a plastic cake box. I filled every kitchen container I could with water because this was turned off on the evening before the storm. Then Cosmos the cat and I moved into the downstairs back bedroom and into camping mode.
Originally Beryl (it’s so ironic that these sources of destruction get such friendly names!) was due at 2am at night and we were so grateful that she came during the daytime. I was also grateful for the constant messaging amongst a few WhatsApp groups that I’m part of here. Some of us were on our own and we debated about getting together but we each wanted to stay to check our own houses and be with pets. However, there was a sense of solidarity that remained even when we lost power and communication.
At first, it was a bit like giving birth and wondering if this is an early contraction or the beginning of the process and then as the weather intensified I learnt the difference between a storm and a hurricane. The windows shook and a couple of times I felt the whole house shake. I could hear loud ‘booms’ like explosions which I later learnt were the waves pounding over the small cliff edge and throwing sand and debris across the road. However at the time I wondered if it was my car banging against the house or the roof coming off. I also heard windows cracking a few times which I assumed were mine but later found out they were my neighbours. As the hurricane began we all got a government text for the people in Carriacou to move inland and I pictured young families and elderly folk trying to struggle in the veracious weather. The wind swirled the lashing rain in circles and trees cracked.
Despite the unnerving noises, I felt a sense of peace and a knowledge that it was all out of my control and at that stage my goal was to survive. At one point Cosmos moved into the corner of the room and I trusted his animal instincts to not be on the bed opposite the window and I joined him sitting on the floor, in the corner. One of the hardest things was not knowing how long it would last and whether the worst had passed. The intensity would ebb and flow as Beryl circled around so I would think that she was done and then she would come back for more. I couldn’t focus on the reading or crafts that I had planned to do because the intensity of the weather took all my attention.
The word I use to focus on when I meditate is the word’ shalom’ and when the power went out and it was quite dark even though it was mid-morning, all I could do was pray and wait. That word for peace took on such meaning as I prayed for shalom amidst a raging hurricane. The whistling wind swirled around as it grabbed the house with large fingers of force and I thought of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. Not a helpful image and so I switched to thinking of Jesus calming the storm and I related to Noah in the ark. I realised why Noah used birds to determine if the flood was over because birdsong was the first thing that made me realise it had finally finished, despite ongoing rain. Later when I opened the back door I was amazed to see butterflies dancing around and wondered how such light and fragile creatures had survived – or perhaps the storm had brought them out of their chrysalis. I thought of the resilience of the animals left outside in the storm and even the little nest in my courtyard had survived.
I’d expected the inner courtyard of the house to be protected, not realising the swirling nature of the wind and the force had broken up the courtyard doors so that water had poured down the hallway. So when I stepped out of the bedroom I stepped into an inch of water which was running into the library and Soul Space room. I had used old pillows and rugs as sandbags outside both rooms but I rushed in to check on the books. Thankfully the books are all a few inches above the floor and so the water sat below them but had sadly wet all the new bean bag furniture in the Soul Space room. But as I walked around the house I was so thankful to still have a roof and no broken windows. As I came up to my apartment I found more flooding that had come under the door but again I was so grateful that the windows were still intact.
Standing on my balcony, it was bizarre looking out and seeing a new view. So many trees are destroyed so that on the plus side I can see Bathway beach as well as the sea but I am not as hidden as before and there are houses in my view I didn’t know existed. I was grateful for the sacrifice of those trees that protected the house and that without them it would have been far worse. As this reality hit me, one of my neighbours came to check on me and after celebrating that we had got through it lightly, she shared the news that there was another hurricane on its way which felt like a punch to the stomach. Over the next few days, I heard that a few times and with no Wi-Fi to check the weather or hear government updates I was very aware of changes in the weather. Thankfully the potential second hurricane was just heavy rain but the ongoing rain has made it so hard for people without roofs and those trying to dry items.
The predominant noise before the storm was of people hammering plywood to windows and since the storm, it has been the sound of chainsaws cutting fallen trees. My road was blocked with fallen trees (photo below) and the house was a green polka dot pattern of leaves all over the walls of the house. Those that remember Ivan say that the electricity took 4 months to return then and so we were pleased that at least here it returned after just over a week and the water came back after a few days. We had been advised to have a radio but the radio stations weren’t working and there was no phone signal so we lived in a bubble of not knowing what was happening. As we gradually emerged, we saw the devastation of flattened crops and fallen fruit trees, homes without roofs, people living in the shelters and hearing stories of the storm.
One of the local secondary schools was used as a shelter but as they gathered in the main hall, the roof blew off so they all had to run to the next building which unfortunately was the boys’ toilets. I chatted to a young man who had rescued his neighbour when his house collapsed on him and they had rushed out in the storm to get him into their house. As he recounted the story he said that he was grateful that we aren’t suffering like other countries and I heard myself reply, ‘yes we’re in pieces but we’re in peace.’ There is also the story of the flying fridge and of the child who was born during the storm that people say should be called Beryl!
Someone told me that they had read recently that the coral reef needed a hurricane to clear away the dead coral, like a serious pruning to encourage new growth. That has certainly happened and the beach is covered in pieces of dead coral and all sorts of debris. Even the iconic Bathway coral reef has changed shape with the force of the waves.
Hosten’s family in Carriacou and Union Island are returning to their devastated homes to try and salvage what they can but thankfully charities such as Samaritan Purse have already put tarpaulin over their broken roofs. Those islands have been devastated and it is so sad to see familiar buildings like Hosten’s old school that was the emergency shelter and is now just a pile of rubble along with businesses and homes destroyed. I have had such a wave of emotions of thankfulness for the survival of my own house, but that comes with a sort of survivor’s guilt and sense of helplessness when I see the devastation of others. The old mattresses left by the previous owners continue to be given to those who need them and I am planning to do a sponsored walk in aid of the hurricane relief work but it feels so small in the face of such need.
As the photo above shows, our Blue bar on the beach has been ‘Beryled’ and my body still tenses if the weather becomes stormy. I drive past buildings that have crunched up corrugated iron on their roofs and torn curtains waving where there used to be windows. The helicopters and planes flying over the house daily are a constant reminder of the devastation in Carriacou but people there are so resilient, grateful to be alive and are focused on rebuilding. The physical and emotional impact of the devastation may hit them for many years to come.
I have been impressed with how hard people are working to get things back to normal. Engineers have flown in from neighbouring islands to help to restore Carriacou’s power and volunteers are coming to help with the clear-up. There has been international aid appearing and communities coming together to support each other. The Prime Minister’s calm presence and encouragement are much needed at this time. There is also a sense of grief for a country he was leading into future development and growth during their 50th year of independence. I have been humbled by people’s resilience and self-sacrificial support for each other; Grenada is battered but not beaten.
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