I consider myself a hurricane veteran. In 1989, I survived Hugo on Saint Croix Island, then Marilyn on Mosquito Island in 1995 and George on Peter Island in 1998.
So I thought I would have a pretty good chance with Irma.
Located between two hills, my house – a two-bedroom wooden cottage on the island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands – always enjoyed good protection from severe weather.
When Irma struck, I was alone; my daughter was with my wife in Chicago.
I was prepared to ride it out, but even before the eye of the storm came, the house was shaking.
A door in the upstairs bedroom blew open, and when I went to try and shut it, I found couldn’t. I was coming downstairs when our two front doors were ripped off, as if they weighed nothing.
At this moment, I reverted to survival mode – I felt like I was unable to leave the house.
But then the wall in the living room began to blow in, and I turned to find one side of the house collapsing.
That’s when everything changed.
It was as if I heard a voice that said, ‘It’s time to go, this is bigger than you’.
I felt hopeless and powerless, because there was nothing I could do – I was about to lose everything.
I grabbed my keys and passport, some dry clothes and left.
My car was parked in the driveway and I thought I could ride out the rest of the storm in it. But as I started towards it, I changed my mind. Admittedly I am a spiritual person, but I know it wasn’t me that changed my mind.
Instead, I crawled under the structure of my house. When I turned around and looked over to the car, I saw it slide, gracefully and in slow motion, and after a few seconds, disappear down the hill.
I added a concrete top to a water heater 21 years earlier, thinking that if there was ever a hurricane or an earthquake, this could be a last resort and I would have a place to go.
Two decades later, there I was, lying in the foetal position as I felt the structure of the house give in.
After the storm, my brother-in-law came searching for me with one of my neighbours.
I could hear them calling for me, but I couldn’t speak.
When they eventually found me, my neighbour asked, ‘is he alive?’ – because no one expected me to have survived Irma.
The story gets worse.
I thought the insurance on our house would help me repair and rebuild our home.
But when I went to the bank, I was told the money would go towards paying off a small business loan I had taken out and to advance the mortgage. The bank manager suggested I sell my land, so I could use the money to pay rent for a new place to live.
It was quite a shock.
I wrote to the bank multiple times, and to the Financial Services Commission, but there was nothing they could do.
My family and I were left without a home and without answers as to where to get help.
A lot of people were affected by similar scenarios.
They say that half a billion dollars has been paid out to the British Virgin Islands after Irma and Maria struck, but I wonder how much actually went to the people who are trying to rebuild and repair their homes.
The banks did what was best for the banks, not for their clients.
My house is in the exact same state it was a year ago, only worse because people looted it.
They took very personal things.
In the days following Irma, I tried to organise and go through what was left, but after a while, it sunk in – I wasn’t getting anywhere. It became too painful.
Luckily, unlike many others, my family and I have a place to stay.
My daughter and I currently live with my father-in-law. And although he treats me like family, it doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t my home.
The bank finally replied to my letters on May 28, and I was given three options.
To rebuild, but only if I came up with £44,800 ($58,000) and paid the mortgage during the construction, as well a built the house exactly the way it was before with no upgrades.
My second option is to pay an advance on my mortgage.
Or as a final route, to pay off the mortgage completely by selling off my land.
What bothers me isn’t that these are the options I have to choose from, it’s that it took seven months to get an answer.
No one sat down with me and asked what I wanted. No one said, ‘here is the insurance amount, what do you want to do with it?’.
I am investigating whether I can get help from the government on the rebuilding, but I doubt that will work out.
I still remember the sound of the rain hitting the galvanized roof of my old house – it was like music.
Next year, my wife will be working, so she will be here to help. We’ll see what options are on the table then.
You can find out more about UNICEF’s emergency work and donate here.
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