Forgotten Heroes

It has been two weeks since I came back from Marsh Harbour (I know this because my roommates will be coming back to our apartment, endearingly called The Cocoon). I promised to tell some of the stories I heard there, so here they are. I wanted to write them down before I forgot.

Mr. Jim

Our team was working on Mr. Weldon’s house when a man walked up to the house. (This happened quite often, since people on the island don’t have much work and wander up and down the street and like to check out what’s happening to their neighbors.). Mr. Jim introduced himself, and we asked him about his experience of Hurricane Dorian. He stayed in his house when the storm hit, and his house was swept up in the tidal surge (23 ft high). Because of all the debris floating around in the turbulent flood, his foot broke in three places: his knee, shin, and ankle. But as he was drifting around, he heard people trapped in their houses screaming for help. His ability to swim allowed him to rescue those around him (mind you, his right leg is broken). I don’t know how he stabilized his leg (with a piece of driftwood or something, I don’t really remember), but he swam from house to house, pulling out people who were trapped in the rooms and attics. The waters finally subsided after three days, and he saw a helicopter fly in, so he walked (on his broken leg) through the debris until someone found him and carried him to medical aid.

One of the leaders shared this story with all the students after dinner, and he called Mr. Jim a hero. That was a fitting word. Someone who puts others’ needs before his own in very extreme circumstances.

Collin

Before we headed out to the worksites each morning, we would have a little devotional. But instead of the usual Bible passage, Collin came to share his story Tuesday morning. He is one of the Bahamians in the Marsh Harbour community who lived through the storm and chose to stay afterwards. Because of his grit and tenacity through the rebuilding process, the community really looks up to him as a leader.

Collin started off his story with a caveat: his story was nothing compared to what others had experienced. He survived while many others did not. His house is still standing, while many have slept in tents for months. Then he began recounting his experience of Hurricane Dorian.

Collin lived through 4-5 other major hurricanes, so a hurricane warning was nothing new. He and his family prepared for Dorian as they did any other: putting shutters on doors and windows, buying a month’s worth of non-perishables, etc. His house was on a hill facing the East, towards the waters (also the direction where Dorian came), and the family hunkered down as usual.

What was different about Collin’s story was that he put timestamps on each major event. I don’t remember the exact timing of all the events, but here’s the jist. There were high winds for half a day before it started raining. The first half of the storm, before the eye, lasted about two hours, with lots of rain and winds around 150 mph (I’m rounding down). Because the wind was so strong, windows started breaking in, and water poured into the house. Collin, his wife, and two children (ages 13 and 11) were driven further and further back into the house as the storm continued to rage. They found shelter in the back bathroom, constantly worrying that the roof would collapse onto them. It was uncertain if their house would last through the entire storm.

When the eye of the storm came, Collin and his family decided to move to his uncle’s house, which was higher up on the hill and further inland. He and his wife frantically collected what few valuables they wanted to save and ran up the hill. It was still windy and raining, but much calmer. Forty-five minutes later, nightmare ensued.

The family, along with a few neighbors, spent the second half of the storm together. There were 180mph sustained winds and rain for four hours, twice as long as the first half. That’s because the storm stalled over Marsh Harbour and battered the entire community. Collin said ti sounded like standing next to a freight train. I can’t imagine living in the middle of all that.

I don’t remember what happened right after the storm, but after the waters subsided, panic struck. People started looting everyone’s houses. The island was very unsafe, so Collin’s wife and children went to stay with relatives on a different island. Most people in Marsh Harbour left the area, because their houses were ruined and they had no place to live. Collin stayed to guard the house, as he didn’t want strangers stealing their stuff. After a few more weeks, his family returned, and they started restoring the house. We didn’t get to visit his home, but that’s fine. He is leading so much in rebuilding the community, especially pushing efforts to get a school opened in September.

Through his story, I learned that all kinds of people are needed to restore a community. Beyond construction workers and technicians, Marsh Harbour also needs school administrators and counselors. Collin revealed that most survivors of Dorian suffer from PTSD. It was a little windier than usual over the weekend, and his daughter ran up and hugged him, nervously asking, “Daddy, are the windows going to blow in?”

It’s hard to imagine what it means to live in that fear and anxiety, and the huge support the people there need to return to some kind of normal in their lives. No wonder many feel forgotten, as less and less relief teams come and help, and the media stops reporting on the conditions here.  

Ms. Justina

On Thursday, Candice asked for four “strong volunteers,” two boys and two girls to do yardwork at Ms. Justina house. I hesitantly raised my hand when only one girl volunteered. 

We dropped off all the tools except the chain saw at the other worksite before heading over to Ms. Justina's house. We arrived at a row of cute cottages with a sign that read “Cozy Cottage, Airbnb.” Ms. Justina came out of her house and enthusiastically greeted us. She led us through the yard, full of broken branches and coconut trees bent over from the storm. A twisted wire fence separated her property from the surrounding nature. Broken shingles laid scattered everywhere.

After the walk-through, we asked her about her experience through Hurricane Dorian. She said that she always stayed in her own home during hurricanes, but her son urged her to stay with them for Dorian; Ms. Justina’s house was on the coast, and he saw the news and it didn’t look pretty. So she left her house, the beautiful cottage and neatly pruned yard (see Airbnb for pictures), and took shelter with her son, who lived further inland.

But it was still a terrifying experience – 11 family members huddled in the bathroom for three days after the roof collapsed. They all took turns sleeping on a wet mattress on the bathtub, until first responders found them and put them in shelter. A few weeks later, Ms. Justina returned to her property. She pointed out the water marks on her house from the tidal surge. Everything was under water. All her furniture was “mangled up, mangled up,” as she twisted her hands to represent the gnarly mess.

“If I stayed inside, I would have lost my life. I lost everything. Everything. My furniture, my clothes, everything. But thank God I’m alive.”

Her perspective struck me. Instead of complaining about her loss, she was thankful. “But thank God I’m alive” was not what I expected to come out of her mouth. I guess this is evidence of a faith founded on a firm foundation that withstands the storm (literally and figuratively).  

Cozy Cottage Now

Mrs. Black

Mrs. Black was the last local we met during our week. We helped clear debris from her sister’s house across the street from hers, and she came out to talk to all of us. She spent 46 years as a teacher on the island, and she stood poised and composed as she shared her story while all of us stood captivated by her commanding presence.

Mrs. Black lived on a corner house, and her sons lived in the adjacent two houses up the gentle slope (important detail). She said she loved hurricanes as a child: the hurricane closed schools and knocked down coconuts so they were easier to access. She was a seasoned hurricane preparer (definitely not a word, but you know) and expected the worst. She made three backup plans just if things went south, and her family stocked up food in all three locations just in case. Hurricane Dorian forced them to experience the worst.

I won’t talk about all the plans as it is hard to describe without seeing the actual row of houses. But basically they traveled between all three houses during the storm, which each got wrecked as the day progressed. When the waters started rising, they resorted to the final plan: hunker down in their cars (parked higher up on the hill) for the remainder of the storm. But they had to wade through four feet of water filled with lumber that used to be their roof. Mrs. Black’s ten-year-old grandson was short and his mother was short also, so Mrs. Black pick him up and carried him as they slowly made their way to the car. Mrs. Black and her family stayed in the cars for four days before first responders got through all the debris and rescued them. She said the same thing as Ms. Justina:

“I lost everything, but thank God I’m alive.”

Mrs. Black

~

There are a few more stories, but I think these are some of the more poignant ones. I didn’t want to overwhelm you (or myself) putting all the stories in the same place.

Maybe I already posted this, but these are some of the people that inspired my Instagram post’s caption:

“Dear Marsh Harbour,

Even though you are broken and hurting,

You are beautiful – full of hope, courage, and strength.

Thank you for everything you have shown me.”

These survivors, so clearly hurt and broken physically, emotionally, and economically by Dorian, are living testaments of the cliché "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger." They may be scarred, but they exude grit and hope like no other. It’s so inspiring and humbling to see them continue to walk in faith and praise God in the aftermath of a storm. They are the forgotten heroes of Hurricane Dorian.