The Dean Experience
Ital Rest
Great Bay District
St. Elizabeth, Jamaica


Sunday August 19, 2007

It has arrived! The first strong gust of wind has destroyed the last stand of h.d. cactus – the only part Ivan didn’t demolish three years ago (By the way, h.d. are the initials for a local appellation for the type of cactus. To discover what the initial stand for, ask any Treasure Beach resident).

In addition to the cactus, our aging but still beautiful Poinciana tree has gone down.
At this point we beat a hasty retreat into the house and remain there for the duration.
There are nine of us here in our house at Ital-Rest. We have as guests, two young German men-young and brave, or possibly foolish. They opted to stay for the show. I think that secretly they are looking forward to the experience. You know the “I survived the hurricane” thing.

Two of my friends are here from the US, they have been teaching at our annual Summer Arts Workshop at the Treasure Beach Women’s Center. By this time we all have come to the realization that our program has ended prematurely. These women are old enough not to be brave. They tried to leave Jamaica but unfortunately waited until too late. They had the choice of $800US first class seats or sticking around for the hurricane – not much of a choice when you think about it!

Holed up in one of our thatch roofed cottages, actually in the concrete bathroom as we discover later are a handsome, young Italian couple. They had come to stay with us in the previous week and returned to spend their last five days at Ital-Rest. They turned up late Saturday evening not having heard anything about the storm. Surprise!!!

These people are about the most perpetually cheerful folks I have ever met. They smiled when I warned them that they probably would have to spend the night in the 7ft bathroom (and were still smiling the next morning as they worked to dry out their bedding).

The other stowaways are my husband Frankie and his three teen aged children – Naneka, Aziza and Shaka. During Hurricane Ivan they were staying with their mother in Round Hill, so this is their first hurricanes “close up”.
Then there is me, Jeanne, veteran of several Jamaican hurricanes.

We had been carefully monitoring the approaching storm hoping and praying Dean would just take a jog to the north. I understand there was a slight change; then Dean just straightened out and headed directly for Treasure Beach.
The days before had been spent in preparation. Everyone had tasks to perform. Joan, Tiffany and I moved two cottage rooms of furniture into the small adjoining concrete bathrooms. Our German guests moved their furniture and brought their possessions to our house.
Frankie and Shaka worked to tie down our zinc roof to large marl rocks which we had expropriated.
Originally, we had put a cedar shingle roof on our house. We soon discovered to our dismay that it leaked badly and so were forced to zinc it over. A few years later, we built a two floor addition to out house with a bedroom upstairs and a bathroom downstairs. The passage way and the bathroom became secure places if the zinc came off the roof. This is where we stored our and our guests suitcases along with garbage bags full of clothes and valuables.
One of the most important “must have on one’s hurricane supply list” is candles. Since Ital-Rest has no electricity, we were already well prepared in that department.
By Sunday noon, we were as ready as we could possibly be.
I think some of us had been fantasizing – imagining us all sitting cozily around the table, drinks by our elbows, playing Scrabble with music emanating from my little Sony disc speakers. Joan and Tiffany can be excused since they had never before been in the middle of powerful hurricane. What is my excuse?? A memory problem?? How on earth could I forget the terrifying sound of zinc being torn from the roof, the water rolling in under the doors, the dreadful din of the wind and the sea?
Now we are having a serious reality check. We are sitting huddled dumbly, having long ago given up tried to stern the flood that is rolling under the doors.


Monday August 20, 2007

The wind is steadily increasing. We hear the sound of the wooden Dutch doors rattling upstairs in the bedroom. We rush up just in time to see them burst open followed by rain and a variety of flying objects. Needless to say, we made a hasty exit.
The kitchen roof starts to leak badly. Frankie pulls the stove into the hall. Other folks carry in the two beds from the downstairs bedroom. Frankie makes coffee and tea. We station two people at a time against the back door as it seems in danger of being blown in. We are constantly moving furniture around trying to put things in spaces with the fewest leaks. We institute a shift system for people we went to rest. All this time we have to walk slowly and carefully so as not to make any waves.
I pick up my guitar and attempt some lullabies, but soon gave up as the competition from ripping zinc and howling wind proves too much.
I move over to a relatively dry corner and sit with my back to the front door. I sit and survey the scene. The candle light makes a soft glow and the largest colourful oil painting on the wall is reflected in the water on the floor.
“A great photo” I think. But I just can’t seem to make myself go and look for my camera.
After a while, I realize that I am feeling a little breeze on my ankles. The wind has shifted to the south, indicating the hurricane will soon be over.
“We’re saved!!” I cry inanely.
At dawn the wind has dropped enough to open the back door. Aziza gets up and looks out.
She exclaims “Auntie Jeanne! Your roof is gone”
“No” I say, “You are just seeing the open space where the doors blew off”
“Auntie Jeanne” she repeats in a time used to slightly dense children.
“Your roof is gone”

Quickly I rush to the door and look up. To my dismay, I see that indeed the entire roof has disappeared.
Then from the front of the house, I hear Frankie shout “Here it is!”
I run to take a look. Sure enough, there sits my roof in one piece right in the middle of our cactus garden.
We look at each other. Oh well, at least we’re still alive. And after all, that’s what really matters.

Jeanne Genus

Jeanne this is something else. I have done a little reading in my lifetime, but never have I been so enthralled. Wow!! You guys did a great job of overcoming, as did everyone else. Kudos and best regards to all at Ital Rest.

PS. Frank will tell you who "Weldon" is.

Really a wonderful article. Hope someone picks it up. Glad you guys are ok.

Jeanne, thank you so much for your description of not just what happened but what it felt like. I always suffer ambivalence. I want to know what's happening but I can't really say that I want to be there in these times. Thank you for helping me understand. I hope you see you in November.

Janice (Villa Ja-Ja)

Jeanne, a great detail of our experience with Dean! I was never so happy to see Brooklyn but sad to leave all of you with so much work to be done. I hope everything is OK now. I have submitted my pictures for everyone to see.