Story and pictures by Peter Roren
See part 1: The Art of Getting Wrecked. Part One of this story ran in the September 2024 issue of Caribbean Compass.
On Bequia, a dazed and tired population swept and tidied their properties. Everybody seemed to be in a “why worry” mode — it wasn’t so bad — it could have been worse. Bequia hasn’t been directly hit by a hurricane over the past 100 years; the occasional tropical storm has been the norm, a natural part of life in the tropics. Yes, it could have been worse, and current will soon be back — praise the “electric-city” company!
The older generation was used to cooking outdoors over charcoal and could cope, and had no need for air-conditioning with the return of the gentle tradewinds. Plenty of water had been stored in overhead tanks; no problem there either. The biggest problem, especially for the younger, phone-addicted generation, was that of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), and the difficulty in charging smart phones with no electricity. There were also problems for quite a few expats in their luxury villas designed by North American and European architects; many were unable to access their copious supplies of fresh water because the houses feature electric pumps as opposed to gravity fed, and some were forced to flush toilets with buckets of swimming pool water until electricity was restored.
I take back all the bad things I have said about VINLEC, our local electricity supplier. An energetic army of men wearing yellow helmets and vests were here, there and everywhere, digging holes for poles and hooking up the fallen grid. Two small supermarkets in the harbor with freezers, air-conditioning and electronic cash registers received a temporary link to the nearby power station so that people could shop for food. During the week after poles had snapped and cables were down, Mount Pleasant miraculously had power; we mountain dwellers were quite surprised to have been given priority, but as the communications towers are at the top of Mount Pleasant it made sense. Three weeks after Beryl the majority of the island’s power had been restored, although in some of the more remote areas it’s taking longer. There are a few privately-owned generators, but not where it was most needed — at the petrol station!
There was nobody behind the closed doors of Bequia’s two telecommunication network offices, and no answers as to when the island’s telephone and internet services would be back on track. However, work would evidently start immediately after the carnival celebrations. Yes, you read correctly, Carnival on the mainland had to be celebrated — so be it! Ferry services were up and running as soon the vessels that had fled to safety were back, which meant people could get to work again on the mainland, and, of course, get across the channel to celebrate Carnival!
The Prime Minister, Comrade Ralph, had cancelled carnival during his radio address to the nation, but after a hurricane-of-popular-demand he cancelled the cancellation due to the ongoing arrival of flights filled with Vincentian party animals from Canada, the States and Notting Hill! He added (exact quote!) that the world had to learn that a Vincentian does not allow himself to be broken by headwinds. The party animals had a good time but the Prime Minister was subjected to some harsh criticism; the front page headline of the Times read in huge bold lettering: “MAINLAND PARTIES ON WHILE SOUTHERN GRENADINES SUFFER.”
In his radio address, the PM thanked all the heroes in the emergency services and finally the Guy Upstairs, who had surely heard the peoples’ prayers and had protected them from the worst imaginable.
The extent of damage on Bequia (not to mention the southern Grenadines) is going to cost the already-deprived treasury a fortune. Power lines and broken utility poles ended up as tangled jumbles in the gutters. The main roads from Port Elizabeth to the airport, Spring and Mount Pleasant, resembled a long and narrow garbage dump. This “road of refuse” was covered with galvanized roofing, bits of plywood and lumber, mattresses and miles of snarled fiber-optic cable, along with an interesting mixture of broken personal belongings. It’s all been shoveled aside until it can be transported to the real dump, making the good old potholes of Bequia visible once again and the roads passable for vehicles and pedestrians.
During my sightseeing walkabout in Port Elizabeth, I noticed a local pastor hanging out on the steps of his modest house of worship. I know and like the dude, and have had many interesting discussions with him in spite of our different opinions regarding certain issues. Churches are notorious for losing their roofs under stormy conditions, but his looked intact and still operational so I stopped to offer congratulations. The pastor claimed that the reason his fragile building was unscathed was, of course, due to the fact that it had been divinely protected. I couldn’t help mentioning that the impressive Catholic church in Kingstown had lost its roof.
I asked, “Why couldn’t the Good Lord protect his much grander house in the capital?”
“Maybe it had to do with it being Catholic,” answered the Evangelical pastor.
I recalled talking to the same pastor previously about his congregation’s habit of praying for incoming hurricanes to go north of the Windwards to the French islands. What about Christian devotion and empathy? Doesn’t it read somewhere in the Good Book that Thou Shalt Love Thy Neighbor as Thyself? The answer to my query was the usual platitude — “God’s ways are unsearchable.”
Due to the threat of a major disaster, the Bequia ferries had evacuated many of Union and Mayreau’s inhabitants. A small group of stragglers had stayed on, seeking refuge in the tiny stone church on Mayreau. When the roof went “gone by de wind,” when timbers and stones started to fall on the congregation, they panicked and tried desperately to get out, but the door was jammed by debris on the outside. The quick-thinking Nigerian pastor managed to calm his flock, then led them through the back door to his tiny and safe dwelling adjacent to the church. His brave action probably saved many lives, but, when a local member of the press reported the story, it was said that the Lord had heard their prayers and protected them. The brave Nigerian pastor who had performed the friggin’ miracle wasn’t mentioned.
Admiralty Bay was a mess. Six indifferent and currently shipless seafarers had left their yachts for Beryl to deal with. A sloop hugged the sand high up on Tony Gibbon’s beach with its sails up, evidently the result of a desperate and optimistic mariner trying to escape the storm’s fury at the last moment. Another yacht, wrecked and stripped of its mast and rigging, was beached right outside the Dockside Boat Chandlery. It was befittingly situated a short distance away from a shop selling boat equipment, but unsuitably miles from the insurance companies’ boundaries. A Norwegian-owned million-dollar yacht that had been ripped loose from the dock at Bequia Marina drifted off on a “flying Dutchman” voyage, presumably breaking her mooring lines when the dock got “mash up.”
A 50-foot ketch lay wrecked halfway up the road outside the marina with major damage, and the final three vessels have disappeared. A reliable witness reported that while looking through a hole in his bedroom wall (which had been a window with shutters before the storm), he saw two yachts pass by sideways with no man at de helm. Looking out to sea half an hour later he said, “De yachts were done gone, as visible as a fart on de horizon.” Together with a number of drifting vessels from farther south, an entire unmanned convoy is heading for the Dominican Republic, and, judging by the current and wind conditions, they’ll probably end their voyage there if not commandeered during their passage.
Evidently Bequia’s Hairoun outlet sustained material damage; rumors were flying around that they might soon run out of beer, a calamity that would pile insult on top of injury. Sailor’s Bar, Bequia Marina and the sailmaker’s workshop need repairs, as well as a number of homes constructed with plywood and galvanized sheeting. There’s work to be done, and it will be a slow and painful process for many.
Twenty years have passed since hurricane Ivan ravaged the region, causing extremely strong tropical storm winds on Bequia. I had taken refuge in a friend’s wine cellar when my dinosaur flip-up cell phone rang; the person calling had dialed the wrong number, but took the time to ask where I was and if I was all right. She apologized for having dialed incorrectly, an apology that made my heart go out to her. We talked for nearly an hour about wind, the weather, the meaning of life and so on. We agreed to meet up after the storm, but her credit ran out before we could agree on when or where. The tiny display on my cell phone read “unknown number.”
My point in mentioning this single incident is how threats and disasters serve to create an aftermath of bringing people together, changing how we interact in a different and better way. The people of New York changed after the Twin Towers fell, and Norway wasn’t the same after a terrorist murdered 69 teenagers. I noticed the change in Grenada after Ivan, and I’m noticing it here on Bequia after Beryl. Strangers to me, people I have never interacted with before, are stopping me on the street to ask if my house is okay, and if I myself am all right. There’s a stronger empathetic awareness on the island, a sharing of emotions and ideas rather than selfies and silly video clips, and it’s rather heart-warming. Foreign aid has been flowing in, and the PM announced that “his citizens” may receive barrels from overseas duty-free until December 31.
The climate gurus tell us that this year is going to be a record for hurricanes due to ongoing climate change. Therefore, switch to an electric car! No more oil or gas extraction! Let the forests live! Recycle! Eat chicken and fish and forgo red meat! I hope it will be a long time before I have to write more accounts of volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and hurricanes. Beryl was quite the experience and I wouldn’t want a repeat performance.
I can only finalize this report by asserting that natural disasters don’t necessarily need to be a big deal and the end of the world. The big deal is how great a privilege it is to live on an amazing tropical island — the natural place to be.
Peter Roren is the author of The Art of Getting Wrecked. Part One of this story ran in the September 2024 issue of Caribbean Compass.
