TEMPÊTE TROPICALE SANDY
The ground is shaking from the pounding of the waves – there is thunder and lightning and a general rumbling. We’re taking the brunt of Tropical Storm Sandy. Classes were cancelled this morning because of the constant downpour of rain that made the main road impassable in parts and impossible for many students and staff to travel. The storm has picked up in early evening with high winds and more rain – we heard on the radio that much of the south coast (where we are) was being evacuated. We’re staying put though in our sturdy little bungalows (we are only four teachers and two security men left on the campus) even though our internet is down, part of the electricity has failed and we have little food for the coming days – the stone walls on our northern flank prevent landslides and flooding from the mountains and farmers’ fields while our rocky shoreline on the south protects us from the sea – although the waves are ferocious and climbing more than five metres up the rock falaise. It’s a strange sensation feeling the wind wafting ashore as warm as it is – apparently from being transported by the water from mid Caribbean Sea. I can’t help but wonder how our students and their families are weathering the storm from their little houses with flimsy roofs and no windows or doors. I suppose they’re used to it – hearty people these Haitians. When we have snowstorms in Canada, even if they last for days, it’s a fluffy affair, almost fun, with a little inconvenience. Here, it’s as if Mother Nature was having a violent nightmare, sweating, tossing and rolling in her sleep – her behemoth weight crushing all manner of miniscule creatures unlucky to find themselves beneath her. There is genuine exhilaration being on the front lines of a storm like Sandy – experiencing first hand the awe-inspiring magnitude of such force is truly humbling. Upon my arrival, they said the storm season was over so this must be the final whip of the tail. It’s about 9pm and we’re throwing a few things in a bag in case the word comes to evacuate. I’m getting under my mosquito net with a book, hoping the generator keeps the power on and that it will all blow over by morning.
Awoken by the whimpering of a dog somewhere nearby followed by male voices – a good sign that there is life on the campus. Found out later that our resident dog family, the mother and her new pups were flooded out of their little shelter and rescued by the ever-vigilant security man. It’s 6am and the rain still pelts down – our bungalows are surrounded by water and the spray from the waves is now visible from our plateau on the campus – a full ten metres up from the usual water level – not a good sign. The view out my front door is not reassuring – normally the surface of the water is visible only in the distance but now it has swelled to impossible proportions – the mighty sea seems to be at our doorstep. Thankfully our mobiles work for local calls – other than that we’re effectively cut off from the rest of the world. Needless to say there’ll be no room service today, nor classes. I’d love a coffee right now – now is Thursday, the 25th, a month since I arrived.
A school representative shows up at midday to suggest we check into one of the few local hotels, but when the calls are made, we find out that all the hotels are booked. Finally we are given the key to the school van to affect our escape if necessary. The wind has abated somewhat the rain is relentless as the grey sky lightens our new day – there is nothing we can do but stay put and wait it out. Our security guy who moves about quite casually in the storm rather incredibly jumps on his moto and goes out to do a small shopping for us so we’d have some food for this evening and tomorrow morning. A man in his thirty’s with some disaster experience behind him, he sees no reason to leave the compound unless the waves breach our ground zero. We believe him.
It’s Saturday, the 27th – Sandy has loosened her grip – packed up her things and moved on towards North America. The threatening clouds have parted and the sun is welcomed back like a long lost friend.
