Jamaica Public Service has been working to restore elctricity to sections of the island that are still without power in the aftermath of Hurricane Melissa. (Photo: JPS)
The silence is the loudest thing. It’s the silence of a house unlit, the silence of a phone with no signal, the silence that only comes with the absence of civilisation.
It has been 20 nights since Hurricane Melissa carved a path of unthinkable destruction through Western Jamaica on Tuesday, October 28, 2025, and the silence is starting to feel less like peace and more like abandonment.
We are entering the third week of this nightmare, and in communities across St Elizabeth, Westmoreland, and St James the grim reality is a primal struggle. My experience is not unique: the house was flooded; the stench of stagnant water lingers; and with no power to drive back the dark, the rats are coming out of the woodwork. They are joined by a relentless buzzing army of mosquitoes, turning every waking and sleeping hour into a fight against vector-borne diseases. We pay our bills — our hard-earned money going to Jamaica Public Service (JPS), National Water Commiss
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