Reflections on Hurricane Gilbert

The days were dreary for sure after Monday, September 12. But those nights in 1988 were straight from a hellish horror movie with families enveloped in clouds of blackness, barely able to see each other after sunset because the nights were so dark. And for years after Hurricane Gilbert, I kept a commemorative can of corned beef to remind myself of the only joy there was during the days and weeks after the storm.

Like many other youngsters, I had never seen a real hurricane before so when RJR and JBC announced the approach of Gilbert, I too was excited. We had all heard of the devastation of the mighty Hurricane Charlie in 1951. However, this was decades earlier and building structures had changed from corrugated zinc and ply board to solid concrete and steel. So we awaited Gilbert with idle curiosity, wondering what dramas he would bring.

On the Sunday evening before Gilbert's Monday arrival, there was an eerie calm across Kingston. A few people scurried around to pick up flashlights and batteries for transistor radios that were popular then. But, generally, the preparation was no big deal as we had grown accustomed to hurricanes changing course just before landing, and there were few people alive who were old enough to recall the horrors of Charlie.

I drove around Kingston that Sunday evening checking on friends, leaving home near Long Lane to Cooreville Gardens, then checking on other friends in Stony Hill. There was no overwhelming unease among the folks I knew. The winds started picking up before dark and I was able to make it safely home, dodging a few fallen tree branches on the Stony Hill backroads.

Showtime started in the early hours of Monday morning, about 2 a.m. Heavy rains for sure, but that was the least. The real horror was the intermittent howling of 160 MPH winds making a frightening sound like you've never heard before. It was apocalypse on steroids, like ten jumbo jets landing on the roof of the house. It got worse. You could feel every new gust of wind trying to divorce the roof from the house. Then the lights went out and never came back for weeks. No night had ever been so long, knowing the next second or minute could place you in the hideous nightmare of riding out a big Category-4 hurricane from the front row view of a roofless house.

Two miracles unfolded – the hurricane eventually came to an end the morning after, and the roof lasted. But the world changed for many Jamaicans overnight. As I looked through my kitchen window, for the first time ever, I could see a clear view of Kingston Harbour. This meant that an entire cluster of vegetation across Kingston and St Andrew had been wiped away by the hurricane. No lights, little water but we gave thanks for the abundance of corned beef that kept many of us alive for the weeks that followed.

When I felt it was safe, I left home and walked down the street to survey the neighbourhood. The first person I saw was my New York-based work colleague Tony King who, by sheer coincidence, was visiting his elderly mom in Kingston. Him being there was a huge blessing for his mom, but they lost their roof, and the living room had become a rectangular swimming pool. Gradually, stories unfolded about flooding, landslides and massive destruction islandwide. We later learned that Hurricane Gilbert with its 15-mile wide eye was the deadliest hurricane to have hit Jamaica in over 30 years, and the most destructive in the country's modern history.

However, humour has a role to play in the cure for every adversity. Lovindeer's devastatingly funny smash single Wild Gilbert quickly became the post-Gilbert anthem and a part of the restoration and the healing of the nation.

editorial@gleanerjm.com