by OdlerRobert Jeanlouie
It is 6:00 p.m. It looks so calm and serene out there. From my doorstep, I am glancing at the quiet streets, the manicured lawns, the nicely treamed trees of Warrenville, New Jersey. Earlier, few neighbors were walking or jogging. Now a thin rain is coming down. Quiet, restful, beautiful, empty.
As a child in the Caribbean, I perceived hurricanes as fun happenstances. It gave to my siblings and I the opportunity to sleep in the so-sacrosanct bedroom of my parents. Through the windows, we would watch the roaring winds flying away with trees and feuilles de tole (metal sheets), all the while feasting on mais bouilli (corn on the cob) and l’arbre a pain.
As an adult, it is no longer fun to me.
At this time, 65 million people are threatened by a violent assault carried out by Mother Nature. New York State evacuated 300,000 of them. Jersey Shore was emptied out. On its trail, Irene will leave billions in damage. Dozens will die by flooding, drowning and traumas caused by flying objects. No one, no place is really safe. Last time a hurricane of this magnitude (100-mile an hour) hit the American Northeast was in 1985. Hurricane Gloria killed one, destroyed 48 houses, and left hundred of thousands without power.
Irene made landfall in North Carolina earlier today. Already 11 people are dead. It is now cruising in Virginia. Heading toward us. The fury is expected to strike here in about twelve hours. Twenty four hours later, many of us will be ruined, maimed, or in mourning. Maybe dead.
I think I have it all ready. Water, food, batteries, for a week. A generator and enough gas for a few days. I could not protect all the windows: that is where the wind will come through to devastate the house, fill it with water, and destroy the roof. My old AM/FM radio is called back into service, as is the National Guard. The cars are filled up.
From Hurricane Andrew that I battered in Florida in August 1992, I have learned that the ATMs and the credit cards will not work. I have cash in hand; enough for a week; but there will probably be nothing to buy. My cell phone will not work, but I still have a landline. My Internet service will not work; therefore let me say “hasta la vista” to you.
I am harnessed at home, as ready as I can be, hopeful that everyone, including you and I, ride it out safely… I have no corn on the cob, the innocence of the little boy is long gone.
(OdlerRobert Jeanlouie, Saturday, August 27, 2011)