Hurricane Melissa Category 5 strikes Jamaica, 28 deaths
You wake to the buzz of a borrowed radio and the absence of everything else. In western Jamaica, that’s been daily life five days after Category 5 Hurricane Melissa tore into the coast. Officials said at least 28 people have died, and local assessments in St Elizabeth suggest up to nine in ten homes are gone. With sustained winds near 185 mph, this was Jamaica’s strongest recorded storm in modern times, and the eye passed between St Elizabeth and neighbouring Westmoreland, where local officials reported at least 10 of the deaths.
Let’s decode the label you’ve seen everywhere. Category 5 on the Saffir–Simpson scale means sustained winds of 157 mph (252 km/h) or more, averaged over one minute at about 10 metres above ground. It tells you about wind speed, not rainfall or storm surge. That’s why two Category 5 storms can cause very different flooding. At around 185 mph, roofs fail, walls peel, power lines collapse and trees snap, which matches what residents are seeing now.
A long run into Westmoreland now passes what looks like a forest laid flat: trunks sheared, branches tangled and debris piled high beside battered buildings and tipped shipping crates. Community crews were out with machetes, carving narrow passes, while police escorts inched aid lorries through. One officer summed it up as total devastation as they tried to keep traffic moving for relief trucks.
In Whitehouse, a coastal hub, people told us the same story: they were promised a drop‑off, but nothing had arrived by morning. Gary Williams sat outside a roofless shell, unsure where he would sleep after his home was destroyed. Another resident, who did not wish to be named, said the losses felt overwhelming and that many neighbours were still stranded without help.
By Friday, about 400,000 people still had no electricity, and many without mobile signal or Wi‑Fi could not contact family. Transport minister Daryl Vaz said more than 200 Starlink terminals were being deployed to reconnect isolated communities. He pointed to refuelling, safe landing areas, blocked routes and daylight limits as reasons aid flights and convoys have been slow to reach everyone.
Prime Minister Andrew Holness said the immediate priorities are to clear debris, restore essential services and move food and medical supplies into cut‑off districts. Stabilising the first week matters, but families here know the recovery road is longer: getting children back to school, reopening clinics and repairing water systems will take months, not days.
Just outside Whitehouse, Robert Morris leaned on broken concrete where a boathouse used to stand. He said the storm flattened the shed and wrecked his fishing boat. With no official support in sight yet, his plan was to find space on a surviving boat and try to earn a day’s cash, though the buyers and cold storage he depends on are also disrupted.
In town, farmer Oreth Jones balanced on a homemade splint and sold the last pears, pumpkins and sweet potatoes spared by the wind. He said his fields were wrecked but kept repeating the small truth many survivors land on first: we’re alive. For many, that thought sits alongside a practical worry-how to rebuild when income has vanished.
A quick media‑literacy note for your classroom or community group: early death tolls are provisional. As roads open and communications return, officials reach places that were off the grid. Numbers often rise in the first week not because of bad counting, but because responders can finally reach people who were cut off.
Why does help take time even when aircraft are ready? Relief has to move from ports and airstrips to neighbourhoods. That means fuel for lorries, safe corridors, drivers who know the backroads and enough daylight to avoid accidents. Connectivity tools like satellite terminals help responders map needs, coordinate volunteers and let families tell relatives abroad they are safe.
Through it all, people in Westmoreland and St Elizabeth keep leaning on one another. We heard the same refrain-keep hope up and keep the community going. That resolve isn’t a full recovery plan, but it is the neighbour‑to‑neighbour effort that shares meals, clears lanes when crews are short and gets vulnerable residents to the clinic when pharmacies are shut.
International help is on the move. The United States has deployed a Disaster Assistance Response Team, and the United Kingdom and other partners have pledged funds and emergency supplies. Those injections matter, but long‑term safety will also depend on sturdier building standards, reliable shelters for coastal towns and investments in power, water and mangroves that blunt future storm surge.