There are moments in life when the world feels unfamiliar; when even the things you have grown accustomed to suddenly feel heavy, fragile, or out of place. Hurricane Melissa has been one of those moments for me.
From thousands of miles away in the U.K., I watched my homeland-Jamaica-battered in a way that felt almost apocalyptic. The images looked like scenes from a movie: collapsed homes, flooded communities, uprooted livelihoods, and devastation stretching beyond what the eye could take in.
And yet, in the middle of all that chaos, my mother-87 years old and full of faith-sat in her home without electricity, without the comfort of light, but thankfully spared from structural damage. Her resilience is humbling. But knowing she is safe doesn't silence the ache I feel for the rest of the island, where more than half the population is grappling with destruction I can only imagine from afar.
The Displacement You Feel Even When You're Not Displaced
I live in the U.K., a place that has given me opportunities, but also one that constantly reminds me that this is not truly my home. As a Black Jamaican woman in healthcare-specifically nursing and midwifery; I have seen and felt the quiet and not-so-quiet ways racism embeds itself in the workplace and wider society.
The Royal College of Nursing has reported a rise in racism experienced by nurses. For those of us who have lived it, this is not surprising; it is simply a truth finally given a platform. Whether it is being overlooked, undermined, excluded, underestimated, or forced to work twice as hard for half the recognition, the experience remains a painful undercurrent in day-to-day life.
Living in the diaspora means existing in a state of dual consciousness. We are here, but our hearts are there. We are successful, but we are often viewed through a lens of prejudice. We are resilient, but we are also tired.
Hurricane Melissa has only amplified these feelings. As I watch my island struggle, I am reminded of the fragility of our existence. I am reminded that no matter how much we achieve, we are still vulnerable to the storms of nature and the storms of society.
But even in the midst of this weight, there is a sense of belonging that transcends borders. It is the belonging we feel when we hear a Jamaican accent in a London street. It is the belonging we feel when we share a meal of ackee and saltfish with friends. It is the belonging we feel when we stand together in the face of adversity.
We may be displaced in many ways, but we are never truly lost. Our roots run deep in the soil of Jamaica, and our spirit is carried on the wings of the trade winds. No matter where we are, we are always Home Sweet Jamaica.
