Ross Sheil, Gleaner Online Editor

The enviable amongst us would have equipped ourselves with a generator before the arrival of Hurricane Dean. As deejay Elephant Man explained in today’s Star, that after leaving ‘mackerel money’ for his family, “… mi guh buy one Delco, cause yuh done no sey wi a artiste an mi haffi have mi A/C an TV an ting.”

It seems that for some people, luxuries and not just ‘mackerel money’ are the essentials items. Take this one man from North St. Andrew who was keen to show off his $180,000 generator and like Ele, ran his air-conditioning unit throughout the storm.

“After the hurricane he called me at home and said, ‘Anything you need, to charge or iron anything, then let me know and you can come round and use the generator’,” explained the reader who gave the story.

However it seems that after the storm our reader was content to turn up for work looking a little crumpled, since without having light and turned down his wealthy neighbour, he had every excuse.

“I got back from work and this lady had gone round to his house and heard this BOOM! … She had gone round and plugged in her microwave – he had been running his A/C at the same time!”

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Jermaine Evans, Gleaner Online Reporter

At home in downtown Kingston the day started calm but a little wet with some deciding to play football in the street. And by midday my neighbours openly doubted whether the hurricane would come at all. But then at about 2 p.m., Dean came and I picked up my camera.

Photos by Jermaine Evans: repairs went on during (left) and (right) after the storm.

Moving up the road with my friends, we had to be watching each other’s back and stick to walking on the sidewalks to make us less exposed – something we learned during Ivan. While I took pictures, my friends had to be alert in case any zincs, trees and light poles came down or were thrown at us by the wind.

It wasn’t long before we saw a zinc fence being blown and then from out of nowhere a man jumped out, grabbed the soon-to-disappear section of his property, and quickly began nailing it down.

There were still people outside in the storm, despite the winds becoming harsher, making the raindrops sting our faces.

Trees fell, blocking entrances to people’s yards and rooftops started coming off like a banana being peeled. The zincs were just flying off one by one, with one passing right over our heads.

By 6 p.m. I had changed clothes and my newest change was now soaked through, despite my yellow raincoat.

It was then, standing inside a shop, that I heard a loud and unmistakable explosion – gunshots.

Peeking outside the shop I saw a few overall-clad men running down the road, followed by more gunshots. Taking another look I saw them run into different yards; behind them followed police in black raincoats moving cautiously down the road.

Their caution was well justified since as soon as the police reached toward the end of the road, the men ran out and fired upon them forcing the police to take cover behind whatever was available.

Minutes of gunfire followed before the men disappeared leaving the police to advance further into the lane, where reaching the shop, they started to swarm me.

“Wey di gun deh? Wey di gun deh?” repeatedly accused one policeman as they pulled me outside into the rain, having mistaken me for one gunmen, who unfortunately had been wearing a similar yellow raincoat.

Of course I didn’t have a gun but luckily I had my Gleaner identification card and after showing it, they let me go.

The police paused inside the shop for a few more minutes as they tried to radio for ‘backup’, and I could see that the one with the radio was either afraid, or really cold, since he kept shaking. Then the gunshots started again and the police ran back onto the street, running into a yard and firing shots after their suspects.

After that I decided that any more pictures could wait until the safety of daylight. And indeed when I rose in the morning the community were talking about the incident and that a policeman and a gunmen had been shot. But residents were more preoccupied with looking forward, expectant with what the visiting Member of Parliament would bring in relief.

Dayne Morrison, Gleaner Online Reporter

While some choose to venture outside during a hurricane, the more conservative – and that includes me – preferred to stay safely indoors. Only afterwards did we venture out to assess the damage, make repairs and assist neighbours.

Photo by Dwayne Mcleod: residents elsewhere in St. Andrew, work to clear the road of this tree which was blocking it.

The night before I had seen trees and light-posts uprooted and all kinds of debris hurled through the air by Hurricane Dean. Lighter palm and banana trees had been folded by the force of the winds, which also brought down walls and fences in my uptown St. Andrew community.

We knew that come the morning, there would be cleaning-up to be done. Come the day I decided to drive to work before finding my way out blocked by a tree further down the road, which left only one thing to do – to help my cousins move it.

What happened next makes for an interesting observation – that while there are people willing to work together and for each other, there are those who would rather watch. One man in particular drove down the still-blocked roadway , and jsust watched as we dragged the massive pieces of lumber out of his car’s way. Cigarette dangling on his lip he waited for the road to be cleared. Once cleared he drove on without the slightest acknowledgment to anyone.

But if ‘some’ uptown people like to watch, then they’re always other people willing to help. While that same tree blocked the road, one marina clad man riding a motorbike and already exposed to the elements was quick to lend a hand as we chopped and pulled away our common obstacle.

From then my cousin and I spent much of the day driving around the city responding to friends and family who needed help. We chopped up more fallen trees blocking traffic, relieved flooded rooms and homes, and pulled off shutters and guards.

It kept raining and we kept working.

Kerry-Ann Bercher, Gleaner Online Reporter

Hurricane Dean was my third hurricane experience after Ivan in 2004 and before that Gilbert in 1988 when I was just four months old.

Photo by Kerry-Ann Bercher: flooding in the community

However the difference with Dean is that I was moving house at the time. Nonetheless my mother and I completed the move in time for us to get prepared and make calls to friends and wish them the best ahead of the storm and offered a roof to stay under, if they needed it.

Having finished moving at 2 a.m. on the Saturday we kept unpacking the next morning as we tried to make it ‘Home Sweet Home’, regardless of what happened outside.

And then the dogs started barking.

“That’s not unusual,” explained my mother. “That’s the awesomeness of God. When I was growin’ up in the country, the dogs and birds always knew when a storm was coming. The dogs would howl and bark and the birds would chirp, then they would run to higher ground.”

I picked up my cell phone to call my friends and alert them to the implications of this information. But the lines were dead and after receiving a few calls from friends, which I was grateful for, the battery went dead. And with the light being cut off at 10 a.m. in advance of Dean, it would remain that way.

We prayed and then in the afternoon, heavy rain began to beat the shingles on the roof and the howling wind, occasionally making weird noises, frightened my mother. We kept praying.

A man across the street from us had a totally different prayer all together. “Jah Rastafari!” he chanted from underneath his tarpaulin-covered shack, nestled between a wall and a large tree. “Sen’ Dean fi come wash out the Babylon boy dem! Yes! Jah Rastafari!” Still chanting, he stepped out, revealing the rest of his attire – black shoes, blue jeans, a red shirt under his jacket and matted hair under his black tam.

Then he nearly slipped and fell with expletives of all sizes, shapes and colours following from his mouth. He soon stepped back inside.

The weather continued to worsen with an apartment complex across the road losing its roof to Dean’s strong winds.

But at 5:30 a.m. the next day it wasn’t Mother Nature that woke us up but what else, but dogs barking. Then at 10 followed 90 minutes of gunfire, followed by the sirens of police and fire brigade vehicles.

That apart, things slowly got back to normal towards the evening. Taxis and buses could be seen running their usual route, and people met on the corner playing dominoes, while some nailed down parts of their roof or burning debris. It almost seemed as if nothing happened.