Life Post-Gustav

  Kingston, Jamaica
Thursday, September 4, 2008

Dear Friends and Family:

Life post-Gustav has been eventful. As many of you already know, power and water came back on August 29th. By the 30th, we lost water again for another three days. Though Gustav never became a hurricane, the torrential rains and winds of the tropical storm hit the island very hard. Several rooms in our house (including my bedroom) were flooded and we spent the waking hours, mopping up and wringing out towels in our home and later, in adjoining flats. Following the winds, the rain fell for nearly 24 hours straight. In the end, $3B worth of damage occurred and ten Jamaicans lost their lives in the storm.

When the storm was over, the people in the neighborhood pulled the pieces of plywood off of their windows, called in for power lines to be reconnected, and opened up their homes for the sunshine to pour into and to dry their floors and walls. On Saturday, Karen and I asked our host mom if we could assist any further, and Eloine responded that though she sincerely appreciated our offer, there wasn't anything left for us to do at that point. So, we headed for Hellshire (a beach community about an hour away), appreciating the chance to be out in the sun and wanting to see how another part of the country had fared through the storm.

Looking out the bus window on our way there as the city swept past, amidst greenery thick on the sides of the road, power lines hung slack, drooping, snapped.

Coconut at Hellshire Beach

Muddy, drowned fields appeared as coffee lagoons with too much cream. Stop light poles were upended. A Burger King sign lay broken on its side. When we would stop to pick up more passengers, the yelling of street vendors could be heard on the divider curbs between traffic, "PINE(!)apples. PINE(!)apples. SWEET GUNips. SWEET GUNips."

Our fellow travelers included a man with a tray of cotton candy, the pale blue and pink clouds balanced on a wide sheet of plywood; a business man talking loudly on his cell phone, several school-age children, an elderly woman and a man with an interesting sales pitch.

(Tap, Tap, Tap)

I turn to find above-mentioned salesman, grinning wide and holding up several Hanna Montana DVDs.

"Wannna buy DVD's"?

Smiling, "No, thanks."

I turn back around.

(Tap, Tap, Tap)

I turn around again. The same man is holding up his cell phone, indicating the international sign for "Can I have your phone number?"

Smiling again, "Tempting, but no. Thanks." He got off the bus at the next stop with a cheery wave, and we moved on towards our destination.

After taking a bus to Half Way Tree and another to Portmore, we took a two dollar taxi with an elderly woman and her son to Hellshire. Ten minutes into the drive, David, the cab driver, parked at a bus stop and pointed towards a road that ended at the lapping of a brown lake.

"Hellshire. Straight Away. Walk through," he said. Without a beach in site, we responded, "Walk through? The lake? The beach is...?"

"No, no." He smiled. "Road washed out. Beach. Straight away."

Entrance to Hellshire

Both the elderly woman and her son smiled and nodded in agreement. Karen and I looked at each other, looked at our shoes, and shrugged our shoulders. Okay. Let's go. Leaving the taxi, we asked the driver if he could come back later in the day to pick us up. Exchanging numbers and fares, we turned to approach the entrance to Hellshire Beach.

As we walked past the blown-over Hellshire Beach sign, several teenagers offered to ride us on their handlebars over the lake for an exorbitant price. Despite that ¾'s the length of a football field lay in front of us, we "pshawed", declined their offer, thanked them and rolled up our pant legs.

Respect appeared gained. "Okay, stay in line with the telephone pole," they responded. "The rest is too deep." We trekked across, slightly amazed at the situation. Drivers, more daring than David, crept across, the reddish-brown liquid rising up their doors and flowing past us in miniature wakes around our calves. Waving and smiling as they inched by, we responded similarly and continued across.

Dry land finally reached, a winding road led us through a lane of make-shift houses, their thin sheets of wood and aluminum siding painted in alternating turquoises, reds, and greens. Now able to hear the waves crashing, we guessed a left turn at a crossroads and were ushered through the carcass of a bar to the sea.

Huts at Hellshire

In front of us, the ocean churned with the nearby mountain run-off. Bamboo huts stood cockeyed, their thin dry leaf roofs stripped bare. Chunks of a merchant's wall lay in a pile, its awkwardly bent rods of steel the only indication of where it once stood. An uprooted tree (origin unknown) lay on its side in front of a restaurant.

Still, business was happening.

Along the beach, merchants like Norma (a large Jamaican woman with a bright red dress and flattened pink hat) sold peanut pies, dried beans and fruit-topped cakes. Another man sold multi-colored necklaces and bracelets. The beach lifeguard introduced himself as the local masseuse and Tai Kwon Do specialist. And, then, there was Bamboo Bobby.

Inflatable Rentals at Hellshire

After a couple of hours in front of the water, a light rain caused us to retreat to a seemingly unaffected café. Bamboo Bobby stopped in to speak with us and over the course of a 20-minute conversation (revolving around Gustav, his trade, life overseas, barracudas, piranhas, how I was crazy for swimming with Great Whites in Northern California and the comparable friendliness of Nurse sharks), he deemed it appropriate to carve a bamboo bank as a gift for me. When a passing merchant saw him working on the decorative piece, she stopped and asked how much he was charging me for it. Bobby bent over as he finished the carvings and responded, "She is my friend. No charge." I was touched by his gift. Both Karen and I promised to visit him when we returned, and committed to telling our friends about his craft, in an effort to encourage business for him.

Washed Up at Hellshire

When asked about Gustav, the Hellshire locals respond that, though there was a lot of damage, the storm did not compare to the havoc caused by its distant cousins: Ivan and Dean. That said, because of the amount of rain, the storm is noted as a hurricane here. Regardless if it isn't deemed as such by meteorologists, to Jamaicans, it was a hurricane.

I went to my first movie in the country a couple of days after the storm. The ticket counter sign indicated that seats for the film "The Dark Knight" were $500. Though we knew that the price was in Jamaican dollars (and that the equivalent price in US dollars was about $7.50), it was still comical to see the sign and determine what such a ticket price would provide (the movie, a cameo in its sequel, unlimited popcorn and concession stand candy for life, and a date). ;) When inside, Jamaican snacks and drinks (banana chips, Ting grapefruit soda, and tropical fruit juices) were available alongside the Nestle and Pepsi products. For a medium corn, medium pop and package of Raisinets, it cost $335 (or about $4.75). That, in and of itself, was worth the price of admission.

Though the movie had been showing at the theatre for several weeks, the auditorium was still packed with people. Following climactic scenes, the audience would applaud, and midway through the film, an intermission allowed a pause for soda, banana chip or popcorn refills. My cohorts and I had a good time, and my sister later added (over Google Talk) that the experience would have made a great MasterCard commercial:

Ticket to See 'The Dark Knight" - $500
Popcorn, Soda and Raisinets - $335
Sunday Night Movie Showing in Post-Gustav Jamaica: Priceless

It is inching towards 10PM in Jamaica. A choir of crickets has taken up residence outside of my window. Later tonight, they will undoubtedly be upstaged by the local dog pack. Typically, at around 3 in the morning, a canine gang from our 'hood finds great enjoyment out of teasing their gated-in friends across the way. ;)

There have been a lot of "firsts" since I last wrote. On Monday, I met my dissertation advisor. Highly respected by both IPSL alumni and Jamaican faculty, I was excited when I first learned that she would be my advisor and had been looking forward to meeting her. First Impressions: I like her. :) Following our meeting, she too gave a preliminary "green light" for my dissertation idea (which just added to my previously mentioned affections). We will be meeting every Thursday until I depart Jamaica. From that point, my advisor will change to the British counterpart.

A decision has been made regarding my service placement. I will be working with the agency, Dare to Care, a home for orphans living with HIV/AIDS, in their downtown and Spanish Town locations. I met with the Executive Director today, and was asked to create promotional videos for their facilities (for current donors, community partners, etc.) and one for the agency as a whole (to encourage outside interest).

Following my meeting with the Executive Director, I was provided with a tour and was introduced to a group of 20 of the agency's children during their dinnertime. Most ranged in ages between 3 and 10. Staring out above their plates, some waved, some loudly pronouncing greetings, while others hung back shy. The production of the videos (mentioned above) is going to be intense and is going to require a lot of hard work, but I am very much looking forward to having a chance to get to know these kids.

I hope this finds everyone well.

Love to all of you,
Heather

P.S.
A Special Shout-Out:
Please keep in mind Kim Pistey at 1:30PM PST today (Thursday), if you can. She is a wonderful mom of a good friend of mine and she's undergoing a lumpectomy at that time/date. If you pray, please do. If you think good thoughts, please do. If you can keep her and my friend close, I'd really appreciate it. Lots of love to you, Kim and Daisy!