As Hurricane Melissa creeps across the warm waters of the western Caribbean, Jamaica once again finds itself balancing between vigilance and faith — a country shaped by storms, yet never defined by them.
What began as a slow-moving tropical disturbance has intensified into a full hurricane, with forecasters warning of torrential rainfall, flooding, and possible landslides. For those who know Jamaica’s geography and its people, this moment feels familiar: an island under warning, but rooted in unshakable belief.
The Making of Melissa
Melissa’s origins trace back to a cluster of thunderstorms that began to organize in the central Caribbean in mid-October. By October 22, the Meteorological Service of Jamaica had placed the island under a tropical storm watch, warning of the system’s unusually slow forward speed. The storm seemed in no rush — drifting, gathering, and testing patience.
By October 25, Melissa had strengthened into a hurricane, moving at just 1 mph (2 km/h) — almost still. Meteorologists called it ominous: a storm that creeps can drop unthinkable amounts of rain over one place. Guidance projected 15 to 25 inches of rain, with up to 35 inches in localized areas — enough to trigger flash floods and landslides across parishes like St. Mary, St. Thomas, and Portland.
Coastal communities, particularly along Jamaica’s southern and eastern shores, face the added threat of storm surges up to 10 or 11 feet if Melissa’s core drifts closer to land. Yet amid the warnings, something deeper than anxiety fills the air: faith.
A Country of Faith and Fortitude
“God already keep the storm back,” said a man in St. Mary, standing by a roadside as he secured zinc sheets to his roof. “It might circle ‘round, but it can’t come through unless Him say so.”
It’s a sentiment familiar to every Jamaican — not superstition, but a reflection of how faith and practicality coexist. Jamaicans prepare earnestly, but they also believe deeply. That belief, for many, is the unseen force that steadies their hands when they hammer down hurricane straps or pack away food and candles.
The government has acted swiftly. Prime Minister Andrew Holness announced that hundreds of shelters have been activated and emergency food and supplies pre-positioned island-wide. The Office of Disaster Preparedness and Emergency Management (ODPEM) has been monitoring river levels and landslide-prone zones, while churches and schools have opened their doors to those needing refuge.
Still, Melissa’s most defining characteristic isn’t her strength — it’s her speed, or lack thereof. And that slow crawl has set the stage for Jamaica’s geography to play its part.
The Mountains That Shape Our Weather
Jamaica is a mountainous island — a rugged, rain-catching jewel rising out of the Caribbean Sea. The Blue Mountains, climbing to 7,402 feet (2,256 metres), stand like a weather wall in the east. Their peaks, and the ridges that ripple westward, shape how storms behave as they approach the island.
When a hurricane like Melissa nears, moist air is forced upward by the slopes — a process called orographic lift. As that air rises, it cools and condenses into heavy rain. This is why parishes like Portland, St. Mary, and St. Andrew often record the highest rainfall totals during storms.
However, the same terrain that enhances rainfall can also break up the storm’s surface winds, slightly reducing its intensity in localized areas. Hills, trees, and friction all sap a bit of the storm’s power — but only a bit. The large-scale steering of a hurricane is dictated not by mountains but by global weather systems: ridges of high pressure, troughs of low pressure, and shifts in the jet stream.
In other words, Jamaica’s peaks can shape the rain, but not the path.
Why Forecasters Believe the Storm Will Turn
Many Jamaicans watching satellite loops have asked the same question: If the mountains are so high, won’t the storm just go around us?
Unfortunately, that’s not how hurricanes work.
Melissa’s predicted turn to the north has nothing to do with the island’s terrain. It’s guided by a large-scale atmospheric trough — a dip in the mid-level winds that acts like a steering wheel, tugging the storm away from its westward drift. As the storm lingers, those winds will likely catch it, pulling it north toward open waters or possibly the Cayman Islands.
But even if the eye never crosses Jamaica, the island can still suffer prolonged bands of rain — the kind that train over the same area for hours. In such cases, the danger isn’t wind, it’s water. Floods can rise silently, hillsides can give way, and communities can find themselves isolated long before the center of the storm arrives.
The Eye of the Storm — Calm Before the Chaos
For those who have lived through hurricanes, nothing is more deceptive than the eye.
When the eye of a storm passes over, the winds suddenly stop. The rain eases. The air turns eerily still. Sometimes, you can even see blue sky above. Children step outside. Neighbors check their homes. Birds return. It feels like it’s over.
But it’s not.
The eye is the midpoint, not the end. On radar, it’s a circle of calm surrounded by a wall of fury — the eyewall. When the eye passes, that means the first half of the storm has moved through, and the second half is coming from the opposite direction.
Because the wind shifts 180 degrees after the eye, anything loosened or weakened during the first half is often torn away in the second. Roofs lift, trees fall the other way, and floodwaters surge again.
Survivors of Hurricane Gilbert (1988) remember it well. As the eye crossed the island from Morant Point to Hanover, many Jamaicans ventured outside, thinking it was safe — only to be caught unprepared when the backside slammed into them minutes later. That second strike, often more chaotic than the first, caused immense damage and claimed lives.
The lesson is simple: never leave shelter during the eye. Wait until officials confirm the all-clear.
When the Eye Crosses: A Look Back at Gilbert and Others
Few storms in Jamaica’s history have had their eye pass directly overhead, but when it happens, the experience is unforgettable.
Hurricane Gilbert (1988)
- Date: September 12, 1988
- Category: 3 (at landfall)
- Path: Crossed the island from east to west
- Eye: Passed directly over Kingston, Clarendon, and Manchester
- Damage: Over $4 billion USD (1988 dollars); nearly every parish affected
When Gilbert struck, it made landfall near Morant Point, St. Thomas, and crossed the island in a line toward Lucea, Hanover. Winds over 125 mph shredded roofs, uprooted trees, and flattened crops. Yet in the middle of it all came that eerie calm — a few minutes of silence before the storm’s second half tore through.
Hurricane Charlie (1951)
The eye crossed near Kingston, cutting a swath through southern Jamaica. It was a Category 3 storm that brought catastrophic flooding to the capital and surrounding parishes.
Hurricane Sandy (2012)
A more recent memory, Sandy’s eye crossed east-central Jamaica, hitting St. Thomas, St. Andrew, and Portland before moving north. Though only a Category 1, it toppled trees, damaged roofs, and left thousands without power.
Other storms — Ivan (2004), Dean (2007), and Matthew (2016) — came dangerously close but spared the island full eyewall exposure.
Why the Second Half Is So Destructive
The reason hurricanes become more dangerous after the eye passes lies in wind direction and structural stress.
During the first half of the storm, winds blow from one direction, hammering at structures and loosening fastenings. When the eye passes and the winds reverse, everything that’s been weakened gets hit from the other side.
This is why roofs tend to peel off after the calm, why power lines fall, and why water seeps into walls. It’s also why homes with proper hurricane straps and tie-downs tend to survive far better.
Building to Survive: Hurricane Straps, Design, and Lessons from Real Estate
In the aftermath of storms like Gilbert, Sandy, and Ivan, Jamaican builders and engineers began to emphasize wind-resistant design.
One of the most effective tools is the hurricane strap — a simple but powerful metal connector that binds the roof to the walls and the walls to the foundation. This continuous load path allows the structure to resist both uplift and lateral wind forces.
Key protections include:
- Roof-to-wall straps: Prevent roofs from lifting off under pressure differences.
- Anchored foundations: Reinforce walls against lateral movement.
- Cross-bracing: Strengthens frames against twisting or buckling.
- Proper drainage and grading: Directs rainwater away from the home.
Developers across Jamaica are increasingly incorporating these techniques into new housing and real estate projects, particularly in coastal and hillside developments. It’s part of a broader recognition that climate resilience adds value — not just economic, but human.
In Montego Bay, modern villas now sit slightly elevated with concrete reinforcements. In Kingston, apartment towers include wind-resistant glazing and emergency generators. Across the island, traditional architectural wisdom — wide eaves, ventilated ceilings, and open verandas — is being rediscovered for its practicality.
Preparedness, in this sense, isn’t just about emergency kits. It’s about designing for survival.
The Mountains Can Help — But Not Save
Some Jamaicans hold to the comforting belief that the island’s mountains “turn away” storms, and while the terrain can weaken winds locally, it doesn’t control where hurricanes go.
Storm tracks are influenced by vast atmospheric forces — high-pressure ridges, troughs, and Coriolis dynamics — not by peaks and valleys. The Blue Mountains can disrupt the eyewall if it passes overhead, but they can’t deflect a Category 4 hurricane.
In fact, Jamaica’s rugged interior often worsens rainfall because rising air over the slopes squeezes out more moisture. That’s why, during slow storms like Melissa, even parishes far from the eye can experience catastrophic flooding.
So while mountains may shelter one town from direct wind, they may also drown another in rain.
The Memory of Water: Floods, Landslides, and Faith
As Melissa’s rain bands circle Jamaica, the main concern isn’t destruction from wind but devastation from water.
When rain continues for days, rivers swell beyond their banks, especially in parishes with narrow valleys like St. Mary, Portland, and St. Andrew. Landslides can occur without warning, roads can disappear overnight, and communities can become isolated.
The government’s message is clear: don’t wait for landfall to prepare. Move early. Stay alert.
Still, the Jamaican spirit remains as unbreakable as the island’s limestone core. In every corner — from the Blue Mountains to Negril’s cliffs — there’s the same refrain: “God a keep wi.”
The Calm and the Calling
When the rain stops and the skies clear, it’s easy to exhale and believe the danger has passed. But Melissa, like every storm before her, carries reminders — not just of vulnerability, but of resilience.
Each hurricane teaches. Gilbert taught construction lessons. Ivan taught the value of communication. Sandy reinforced the need for drainage. And Melissa may teach us patience — that slow storms can be just as deadly as fast ones.
As the nation waits, one truth endures: Jamaica is not defined by what it survives, but by how it rebuilds.
And as the people of this blessed island brace for what may come, the words of one man on a rural road linger in the air — steady, faithful, unshaken:
“God already keep the storm back. It might circle ‘round, but it can’t come through unless Him say so.”
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Disclaimer
This article is for informational purposes only and reflects current conditions and reports as of publication. Readers are advised to follow official updates from the Meteorological Service of Jamaica and local authorities for the most accurate weather and safety information.