When the sea turned loud: Hurricane Melissa’s wake across the Caribbean
The morning after, the Caribbean looked as if someone had tried to scrub it clean with a savage hand: roofs peeled back like tin can lids, coconut palms flattened into tangled green brooms, streets that were once pulsing with market life transformed into rivers that swallowed cars and memories alike.
From Kingston to Santiago de Cuba, from the hills of southern Haiti to the low-lying cays of the Bahamas, people were left standing amid the wreckage asking the same quiet question: how did this happen so fast?
A violent spin across familiar seas
Hurricane Melissa roared across the Caribbean with sustained winds reaching roughly 195 kilometres per hour (about 121 mph), according to the US National Hurricane Center. For Jamaica, that translated into a storm that, by some measures, matched the ferocity of storms not seen since 1935.
It did not move like a quick visitor. Melissa crawled, lingered and punished — a slow, grinding test of roofs, infrastructure and nerves. That slowness is not incidental. Warmer seas — the very oceans that make this region a tourism magnet — are pouring extra energy into hurricanes, amplifying winds and, crucially, rainfall. The result: deeper floods, higher surges, more landslides.
Numbers that don’t tell the whole story
Official tallies are still being reconciled, but the figures are grim: at least 30 people dead or missing in Haiti, with civil defence reporting at least 20 dead in the south — among them 10 children — and 10 missing. Jamaica confirmed four deaths after floodwaters washed victims ashore in St Elizabeth, and dozens of homes have been destroyed across the island.
Roughly 25,000 people sought refuge in emergency shelters in Jamaica, and the island’s tourism sector — bustling only months ago — suddenly found itself balancing hospitality and humanitarian need, with about 25,000 tourists still in-country as the storm passed.
On the ground: voices from the islands
“We woke up to the sound of the roof being torn away,” said Lisa Sangster, a 30-year-old communications specialist from Kingston, her voice raw on a call. “My sister described water rising past her knees in minutes. We saved what we could — our medications, a few photos. Everything else is gone.”
In rural Saint Elizabeth, local government minister Desmond McKenzie painted a picture of communities underwater. “It has been a devastating event,” he said. “Several hospitals have been damaged; roads are impassable. Recovery will take time.”
“We are safe and trying to stay calm,” said Lionnis Francos, a rheumatologist stranded in El Cobre, Cuba, after floodwaters and a landslide blocked the road. “Rescuers reached out but couldn’t get across. They asked us to remain put until they can clear a path.”
In Port-au-Prince and the southern departments of Haiti, where deforested slopes and fragile drainage amplify nature’s cruelty, people spoke of sudden flash floods ripping through settlements. Emmanuel Pierre, head of Haiti’s civil defence, confirmed dozens of fatalities and appealed for fast, practical help.
Everyday compassion in a crisis
“A neighbour carried my son on his shoulder like a hero,” recalled Mathue Tapper, 31, from Kingston. “We are lucky in the city, but the people out west—out by the coast—are facing the worst of it. It hurts to watch.”
How governments and aid groups are responding
Relief efforts are already mobilizing. The United Nations announced plans for an airlift of some 2,000 relief kits from a regional hub in Barbados once flights resume. The Jamaican Red Cross was distributing drinking water and hygiene supplies even as communications remained patchy and electrical grids failed.
“We have rescue and response teams heading to affected areas along with critical lifesaving supplies,” said a US State Department statement, noting coordination with regional partners. The Vatican offered prayers. The UN appealed for calm and cooperation as damage assessments continue.
- Estimated shelters occupied in Jamaica: ~25,000 people
- Relief modules ready for airlift from Barbados: ~2,000 kits
- Reported dead or missing in Haiti: ~30
- Reported deaths in Jamaica: 4
Cuba: battered during a bitter time
Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel described “extensive damage” on an island already grappling with its worst economic crisis in decades. In eastern provinces, streets flooded, homes collapsed, and prompt community action — neighbours ferrying the elderly, locals salvaging heirlooms — made the difference between life and deeper loss.
State media reported rescue teams struggling to reach at least 17 people trapped by a landslide and floodwaters. Electricity and communications outages hampered external support, a reminder that phones and satellites cannot replace relief workers on the ground.
Why the Caribbean suffers so sharply
There are natural explanations — hurricanes are seasonal actors here — and human ones. Decades of development on vulnerable coastlines, weakened ecosystems, and, in places like Haiti, rampant deforestation, have left communities with fewer defenses against water and wind.
“Human-caused climate change is making all of the worst aspects of Hurricane Melissa even worse,” said climate scientist Daniel Gilford. “Warmer sea-surface temperatures increase the potential energy available to storms; slower-moving systems drop more rain.” The IPCC and regional climatologists have been sounding the alarm that, while the frequency of very intense hurricanes may vary, their destructive potential is rising.
Beyond the headlines: culture, resilience, inequality
Walk a street in Kingston or Havana now and you’ll see the same resilient choreography: neighbours opening doors for each other, volunteers ferrying generator fuel, church halls becoming clinics. But you’ll also see the stark inequalities — the beachfront resort with a security detail and the informal settlement two blocks away trying to bail water with buckets.
Tourism dollars can prop up an economy in good times, but in a storm they can leave nations juggling two goals: protect visitors and protect citizens. That tension plays out in airports, hotels, and shelter lines.
What comes next?
Assessments will take days; rebuilding, months to years. There will be needs that money alone cannot fix: grief, trauma, the daily fear every rainy season now carries. And there will be policy choices — invest in reforestation and robust drainage, upgrade hospitals and communication networks, rethink where we build new homes.
Will the lessons from Melissa stick? Will governments and international partners use this as a call to action to strengthen early warning systems and community resilience? Or will these scenes fade into news cycles until the next storm arrives?
How you can help — and why it matters
If you are moved to act, reputable relief organizations are coordinating immediate needs: clean water, shelter, medical supplies and cash transfers to families. Donations that empower local groups and buy locally sourced supplies often get aid moving fastest.
And as a global community, we must ask bigger questions: how do we confront the warming planet we share, and how do we make sure the most vulnerable aren’t always left to pay the bill?
Melissa will move on, as hurricanes do. The work that remains — of healing, rebuilding, and reimagining a safer, fairer Caribbean — will last long after the headlines. Will we be ready?
