The images coming out of The Bahamas evoke those of Hiroshima. The one difference is that one was devasted by an atomic bomb and the other by a hurricane. And one was charred and the other deluged.
I have never been to Hiroshima — before or after “the bomb.” But I have been to The Bahamas, and that makes the images from there a lot more personal. Moreover, for a period of time, I was in touch with a former Bahamian student who returned there on graduation. Now, I can only wonder whether she and her family were in the path of Hurricane Dorian and if so how they fared.
The aftermath of the hurricane reminds me of the post-World War II French movie “Hiroshima Mon Amour.” It features two parting lovers — he Japanese and she French — reflecting on the aftermath of “the bomb.” They encapsulated the movies’ when she asked somberly in French, “Does the night never end in Hiroshima?” And he responded equally somberly after a measured pause, “It never ends in Hiroshima.”
Many Bahamians must have asked variants of the same question about their land and received much the same answer. Prime Minister Hubert Minnis referred to the experience as “this hour of darkness” and a “generational devastation.” To see the “day” again, those affected have to relocate elsewhere — with no plans and little prospects of going back.
It is all thanks to Hurricane Dorian, a Category 5 hurricane. For two days or so, it hovered over the Caribbean island country that is actually an aggregation of 700 smaller islands. Its wrath was especially directed at the Northern islands of Abaco and Grand Bahama, which it pelted with winds of more than 220 miles (354 kilometers) per hour. And it just wouldn’t go away until virtually everything was submerged and destroyed.
At least 43 people are known to have died, about 60,000 others displaced and about $7 billions in damages sustained. But those numbers tell only a fraction of the whole story. The toll keeps rising as hitherto unreachable places are reached and searched. The exact toll might never be known as many people were swept away, ultimately into the Atlantic Ocean.
While the hurricane raged, there could be no rescue missions. The winds were too stiff and the currents too swift. Even after Dorian finally departed there were no passable roads or even a place to land relief planes. It was apocalypse at a hitherto charming place, a calamity far greater than the country had ever faced or could possibly cope with.
Survivors have been airlifted to less affected parts of The Bahamas, including the island of Nassau, the capital city. But The Bahamas doesn’t have the capacity to absorb all its uprooted people. So many are being ferried or airlifted to other places, including neigbouring Caribbean countries and the United States.
The survivors’ stories are heart-wrenching. One father narrated wading through storm waters for about 24 hours while carrying his five-year-old son on his back. As the danger of drowning heightened, he desperately broke into other people’s homes in search of safety. At the last house, he placed his son on a roof to safeguard him. But before he himself could get up there, a storm surge had knocked the boy down into the muddy waters below. It all happened so fast, and he never saw him again.
The experience wasn’t isolated. Quite a few other survivors also narrated helplessly watching loved ones swept away by the torrents, as they themselves clutched for dear life at whatever seemed sturdy enough to save them.
For Bob Cornea, one of those evacuated to Nassau, it was a close call. Cornea told the BBC that he and his wife sought shelter on the second floor of their son’s house. Yet even there the surging water was neck high. “We’ve been through all kinds of hurricanes, all kinds of storms: never anything that bad,” Cornea lamented. “I mean, it was like we were standing in the middle of the ocean. That’s what it looked like. Waves, the water just crashing in over us. Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying.”
These accounts were especially chilling for me because I have a soft spot for The Bahamas. Though I have been there just once — way back in 2002 — my fondness for the place never ebbed. I wasn’t even there for a vacation. I was there to attend a conference of the Caribbean Studies Association. So, much of my time there was all business.
But then, for whatever reason one goes to The Bahamas, its allure is inescapable. My first enchantment was seeing the breathtaking beach that greets visitors as the plane approached to land in Nassau. Then a shuttle ride to the conference hotel made clear that though The Bahamas is a tourist haven for many, it is still a homey place.
Though I was a visitor, I didn’t feel like a stranger. In part, it was because the people I ran into looked rather familiar, as though I had met them in a small country town in Southern Nigeria. They were folksy and welcoming, all the way up to the Governor General of The Bahamas.
Indeed, I have always wondered whether my affinity for the place has to do with the fact that it is the only country where I have been the guest of the head of state, albeit a ceremonial one. And it wasn’t for an officious occasion. I was there for a reception the Governor General held at her official residence for attendees of the CSA conference. It was a casual affair that involved milling in the home and backyard while chowing down curry goat and grilled fish, as I recall. How much more down-to-earth can a head of state get?
Such an idyllic place just doesn’t seem fit for a disaster. Alas, The Bahamas is the target of hurricanes virtually every year. The people have learned to cope with it and usually get by with each experience. But Hurricane Dorian just took matters beyond the norm.
Might this be another outcome of global warming? How many more Hurricane Dorians should we expect in the immediate future? Where next, and how much worse? What if Dorian had hit Nassau, The Bahamas’s population centre? One shudders to ask these questions.
END
Be the first to comment