This was supposed to be just a get-out-of-town day, but it turned into more than that. Of course, we couldn’t resist one last plunge into the ocean from the cliffs of our hotel. We begged some oatmeal from the restaurant, which hadn’t really opened yet, and hit the road.
The night before, we had dropped off some supplies with Chandan’s dad and arranged to meet with him in the morning. Johnson had gotten to know the Hi Lo staff and uncovered some needs for their extended families, so we stopped by there and gave them the last of the supplies we had brought, and bought some Lasco and bun & cheese to take home.
Standing outside the Hi Lo, this man came up to me, reached out his hand, and asked for the oatmeal I was about to eat. I had just taken my first bite, and it was so good and warm and filling. I looked on this man who truly looked hungry and gave him my nearly untouched oatmeal. I joked as we walked away that that was the greatest sacrifice I had made to this point (only I wasn’t totally joking because I really wanted that oatmeal).
While we waited for Chandan, we walked to the other side of the roundabout to the Tastee Patties. It didn’t open until later, but Johnson waited for the guy through the window and asked if he could help us out with some patties, cocoa bread, and box drinks. He joined a long line of people so accommodating to us and supportive of our service.
Chandan arrived, and we bought a few souvenirs for the family, and he gave us some tokens of his appreciation for our service, and we began our journey to Montego Bay.
The roads were in great shape for the most part, and we made great time and only had a couple of close calls that we all giggled through. Okay, mostly Anderson and I giggled through them, but Johnson enjoyed them too.
I dropped Anderson and Johnson off for their flight, and we embraced, and I wished them luck. As I pulled away, I felt a loneliness that sank deep into my heart. The incredible strength I had derived from these good men and carried and sustained me in a way I had not fully appreciated until they were gone.
With a few hours to kill, I had the thought to go to the craft market. I dismissed that because I did not want to be a tourist. I was there to help, I was there to provide relief and comfort, not to join with the throngs of “visitors”; this was home. Driving a little further up the road, I could not shake the impression, so I turned toward the craft market. What I discovered was that God had another lesson to teach me.
The Montego Bay craft market, to my memory, was a beehive of activity and commerce. What I found was less than a dozen vendors sitting quietly among two hundred closed shops. I was the only one there. In talking with the vendors, I learned that I was the first customer all week and that many of the vendors didn’t even bother to come down anymore. The ripple effects of Hurricane Melissa extend far beyond the damage to infrastructure and loss of life. The economic impacts are still being felt, even from a great distance from the devastating destruction. I only had a hundred or so dollars, but tried to buy from as many of the vendors as I could. While walking around the vacant market, a woman called out to me and said she remembered me and asked if I remembered her. I did not believe that she actually remembered me until she said, “You’re the white man who speaks patois and lived up in Albion.” I couldn’t believe it. She shared with me that her home had been damaged, and she spent most nights sleeping in her shop. I gave her what Jamaican money I had left on me and held her while she wept. It was not the experience I thought I would have at the craft market.
Leaving the craft marketing, I drove up to that house in Albion where we lived so many years ago, and I drove to the area where Christensen and I had worked together every day. I marveled that we rode those steep, windy hills on our bikes and that we were struck by a car on the narrow roads.
Returning to the airport and dropping off the rental, I had to explain to the worker what I had been doing and where I had been, and once again was grateful this van was fully insured because it was in rough shape.
Sitting at the gate and reflecting on our experience, I could not help but cry. So many feelings swirled through my head and my heart. Above the grief and the guilt, and greater than the sadness and even the joy, one feeling rose above them all. Gratitude. Gratitude for the loving men and women I served with, gratitude that the Lord trusted me with this mission, gratitude for the guidance and protection we traveled with, gratitude for my wife and children, for whose support I could not have done this without, and gratitude for a long-ago call to serve and assignment to labor in Jamaica, Land We Love.
You aren’t at a hotel set on the cliffs of Negril every day, and free from the mission rules precluding us from doing it, we got up at sunrise and jumped off the cliffs into the ocean. It was unbelievably fun and refreshing. The water was warm, and our cuts and scrapes only burned a little from the salt water.
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There was also breakfast included with our stay, but the restaurant didn’t open until 8 am, and we needed to go. So we told them what we were doing there and begged our way into a to-go breakfast we could take on the road. The chef and staff were so willing to aid us in our efforts, and we were truly grateful.
As a team, we drove to the Hi Lo in Negril to once again load the van with groceries and household items to distribute. Sister Medley gave us a list of things, and we divided it up and, with the help of Hi Lo staff, filled our shopping carts. They even helped us box it up and load the van.
It was then that we had to say our first goodbyes since coming together. Bulkley and the Svensons had flights out of Montego Bay that afternoon. Chandan Vasnani, a wonderful member from White House, has a shop in Negril. Shawn and I met him on our first trip, and he arranged for them to be taken to the airport in Mobay. We also met Chandan’s parents, who work with him at the store, and they were lovely. Parting truly was such sweet sorrow.
Johnson, Anderson, and I set off for Sav in a van packed with relief and love. The three of us still sat together in the front seat, as we had done for much of the week, because brotherhood, that’s why. We rolled up to the chapel in Sav and waited for the Medleys, Smiths, and the young full-time Elders.
To the best of my recollection, we did not have a group of “old” missionaries come to the island while we were serving as full-time missionaries. We got to know the young elders a little bit and shared stories of the old days. The supplies were unloaded and arranged on a table to assemble the care packages. Elder Medley had to run to the store to get the bags we failed to bring, so there was a little delay there.
In the meantime, I got a call from my relatively new friend, Tray. Tray works for my friend Traci, who is also a member of my stake back home. Tray lives in Sav, and I met her on my first trip back to the island in November. She asked for a care package for her neighbor up the road. We quickly loaded two care packages in the van and drove to meet Tray. She took us to the humble dwelling of this 84-year-old woman named Indiana. Side note, it was remarkable how many Jamaican women in their 80s we met and served. From the moment she stepped off her porch to meet us at the gate, Indiana was praising God and evoking a blessing on us for our service. It was a sweet experience. We dropped Tray off back at her place and joined the group back at the chapel.
It was a short drive to our first stop, where we were clearing out a damaged house, salvaging what we could, burning the rest, and tearing down the unstable structure. The task was a lot, but we had many hands now with the addition of these young elders and President Smith and Elder Medley. Anderson even recruited two young men, who stood by watching us. We later learned that it was one of the new recruits’ birthdays and gave him some money because he wanted to buy himself a birthday cake.
An elderly man on the property really had a hard time letting go of things, even things that weren’t usable anymore. He kept taking things off the fire or protesting when we would put something in the fire. I felt bad for him, and we let him keep some things that there is no chance he’ll ever use. While we were working, I noticed a dog that looked like our old family dog, Teddy, so I sent pics to the family.
Besides the extra-large fire that burned so hot we couldn’t escape the heat except for one corner of the yard, the day was also really hot on its own, so there was a lot of sweating. Combining that sweat with the mud and mess on all the things we were carrying and we were all feeling pretty gross. That’s not even mentioning me getting stabbed in the chest with a rusty rod from a dilapidated mattress or wood shavings getting all over us (and down our shirts and shorts) from holding up the side walls while Anderson took a chainsaw to the building. It was less than desirable. Oh, and Elder Medley also knocked down a piece of the roof, and a cinder block fell from the sky and splashed mud all over him, so that was nasty.
Sweaty, dirty, and a little tired, we drove back to the chapel where Sisters Smith and Medley had made a wonderful meal. Chicken, rice & peas with mixed vegetables. Yes, please. It also highlighted how few vegetables we’d eaten on our trip. Yeah, your body needs vegetables…and fruit other than just the fruit you’ve had in liquid form.
President Smith took us around to check on several members who might need a care package or some help. After a while, we ended up way back in this community that we discovered hadn’t really been served. So we opened up the van, and many people came for what we could give: food, water, lanterns, filters, rope, tarps, and even sweeties. It was heartbreaking to run out and having people still wanting.
A woman called to me through a distant wood slat window, saying she couldn’t come out because she had hurt her leg and needed help. I grabbed a couple of water bottles and hiked around the back to meet her. She had her leg bandaged from a deep gash she received when a piece of her house blew off in the storm. I didn’t need to see the picture of the wound she showed me, but that happened. Anderson and Johnson joined me, and we had the thought to give her a blessing. I went back to the van to get my oil and thought we should have the full-time elders with us. I looked around and found they were sitting in their van up the road. I signaled for them to come, but they didn’t seem to understand the request, so Anderson, Johnson, and I administered a priesthood blessing of healing.
Anderson continued to minister to the woman, and Johnson came back to the van with me. I saw the elders still in the van and flew into dad mode. I marched over and tapped on the glass. They opened the door, and I told them to get the freak out of the van and be among these amazing people whom they were called to serve. They scamper out of the van and quickly began meeting and ministering. I gave out the last of the candy that my children picked out to send down with me to the kids in the neighborhood, and we loaded up and rolled back to the chapel to say our goodbyes to the amazing local leaders who had been such a support and strength to us, and we hoped they felt our love and support for them.
The sun had settled just above the horizon, and we thought our day was done, until we pulled into the parking lot and saw twenty or thirty young men gathered in a grassy field at the back of the church lot playing football. Johnson smiled, and we tried to forget for a moment we were no longer 19. We asked if we could get in on the next game and recruited a couple of the young elders to join us. My hope is that the impression we made on these young people was that of love, unity, and belonging, because it was certainly not that our football skills were noteworthy. The game ended with smiles and high fives; we won’t talk about the score.
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One final group picture, and we bid farewell to the devoted servants of God, who have consecrated themselves in His service. It was a privilege to associate and serve with them. And Sister Medley would not have to drive with me anymore. Though I think she’ll secretly miss it.
Anderson was up early and made pancakes, which Sisters Medley and Richardson were grateful for because they said pancakes were “American” food and they weren’t sure how to make it. Breakfast was delicious, and Brother Richardson once again cut jellies for us to drink. We said a bittersweet goodbye to the Richardsons and loaded up.
A couple of things we had to deal with. First, Svenson was feeling unwell and had a rough night. And second, we had to once again go to the Tyre Warehouse to replace a tire. We formulated a plan, and they dropped Bulkley and me off at the Tyre Warehouse before it opened so we could be first in line. Johnson drove the rest of the group to the store to buy water for the day. By the time they returned, Elton was taking care of the tire, and there was a man selling fresh juice from his trunk, so of course we loaded up on that. I bought Elton a juice for helping us out twice, and the juice man gave me a free one for coming to help with hurricane relief.
On our way out of Mandeville, we stopped and took a picture at 4 Grove Road, Elder Kevin G. Brown’s sacred grove, and texted it to him. Then we found my nemesis, pothole, and got a picture of the dastardly tire killer, before heading down Spur Tree Hill. Oh, and this time was epic. We were stuck in a long line of cars and trucks, and up ahead we could see a Jamaican Defense Force vehicle with soldiers in full tactical gear and one man standing and manning the gun. I, of course, took the first opportunity to pass, and that inspired them to press on and pass me. They were blaring their horn, and behind them was a black vehicle with a Canadian flag. Well, we had two Canadians with us, so I figured that was the green light to join the delegation, and we got our very own military escort. Oh, what fun we had on the road.
The drive to White House was supposed to take about two hours…we made it in less than that.
President & Sister Smith, from Sav, met us in White House at Barbara’s home. Barbara is a member from Birmingham in the UK with a beautiful home in White House. We met Brother Witter there as well, and he and President Smith would take us on to Belmont for the day.
In Belmont, we saw the worst of the damage. Entire communities were leveled by Hurricane Melissa. Piles of wood, trash, household goods, clothes, and rotting food lay atop concrete slabs that used to be houses. We climbed up a hill to the place where Brother Witter’s mother’s home used to be. It was the first time we didn’t know what to do. The decimation was so vast and so complete that it felt paralyzing. After taking several minutes to survey the scene and take it all in, we got to work.
It was decided to make a few piles, salvage, possible salvage, and burn. We sifted through the wreckage of their homes and pulled out wood and zinc that might be reused, and household items that weren’t ruined and piled the rest by the remains of a once mighty tree to be burned.
Once the fire got roaring, it was difficult to approach it or even stand near it, so we started flinging things from far off. The smoke and the fumes were stifling, so I went back down the hill to get some masks. The rain started coming down pretty hard, and we just kept right on working. We were already soaking wet from sweating through a hot and humid morning, combined with our raging trash bonfire (mattresses, even wet ones, burn hot), so the cloud cover and the rain were a soothing relief.
Johnson had met a few of the neighbors, Nikesha, Teresa, and Dickie, who hadn’t lost their homes, and though they didn’t have anything really, they didn’t ask for anything, and they were smiling and happy to visit with him. He, Anderson, and I returned to their house and offered them solar lights and a water filter. Johnson showed them how to use it, and we got several other requests from the rest of the community for lights and filters. That was the case everywhere we went. Once the van was open and something was given, there were always others asking for what we could leave with them. Bulkley was at the van also dispensing water filters and lights.
After handing out supplies, we saw that President Smith, Brother Witter, and Brother Edwards were at it again, so we trudged up the hill again and finished clearing the concrete slab, including tipping a giant stump off the patio. We met Hopie and got to know her story and experience with the hurricane. She had also lost her home and was staying with her employer.
On that clear concrete slab next to a fire of all her worldly possessions, we gave Hopie a priesthood blessing. She praised God and was smiling following the blessing. I observed her and questioned whether I had that sort of faith and resolved.
Further up and over the hill, we found another community tucked back away and hard hit as well. Dozens of downed trees blocked footpaths and entryways. The chainsaws came back out, and we went to work on clearing trees, stumps, and debris. I spoke with a woman who told me they had no power or clean water. I hiked back down to the van to get the rest of our supplies. Svenson, who was still feeling unwell, was taking a rest, and Barbara, Sister Smith, and Sister Medley arrived with lunch. I told them I was taking our supplies up to where they were needed, and they all wanted to come. I warned them the climb was steep, and the people were further than they thought, but they insisted on coming. So we took all we could carry and hiked back up the hill. Oh, and we saw a random peacock. We handed out everything we had left in that bag in a matter of minutes and still left several people wanting. That was the difficult thing to give all you have, and it still not cover everyone.
A man had begged gloves from Anderson early in the day, and he returned to ask if we could use the chainsaw to cut up a fallen tree for him. The blades of the chainsaw were dull by now, but Anderson agreed, and Johnson and I followed him deeper still into the breach. This was a massive tree and would have taken all day to cut up, even with a good chainsaw, and the sun was getting real low. Johnson and Anderson made short work of several of the larger branches, and then we called it.
Elder Medley and five missionaries from Kingston were coming up, so we waited for them by the van and ate our lunch, that now we really more like dinner. They arrived, and we made arrangements to meet in Savannah la Mar in the morning. Then we loaded up and drove to Negril.
Once again, we found ourselves driving in the dark after the sun dipped beneath the ocean horizon while we made our way west. We stayed at the Hotel Samsara, which was nicer than anticipated. After settling into our rooms and showering the muck of the day off of us, we gathered on the deck by the ocean and had our daily reflection. The testimonies shared were sweet, and the bonds of love were strong. While our hearts were still back in Belmont, our minds turned to the weeks and months ahead and the great needs we had seen. We started making plans for getting greater numbers and engaging our families and our brothers and sisters who served with us so many years ago. Our most prominent desires were to help Jamaica and share these experiences and these feelings with those we care about.
Feeling better, Brother Richardson got up early and cut down some jelly for us to have coconut water. Sisters Richardson and Medley made up salt fish and fried dumpling with bacon. We were feeling really blessed and full.
On the now familiar morning drive down Spur Tree Hill, we had an additional member to our rescue party with Brother Richardson joining the efforts. He was very quiet in the seat behind mine, so Johnson asked how he was doing with my driving. In a relatively calm tone, he said, “I’m feeling stressed”. I had promised to be on my best behavior, but it only lasted till the first traffic backup, then it was off to the races.
The night before at the seminary meeting, we left equipment at the chapel and needed to pick up a mattress to take to Black River. We met Sister Morrison at the Santa Cruz chapel and added two more to the party, Taj and Walker. Just up the road was a brother who had several large downed trees, so we took the chainsaw and set to work. Is there a manlier thing than using a chainsaw? If there is, I haven’t found it. Several of the others loaded up the truck with the equipment and a mattress, and, with Anderson driving the Morrison’s truck, we set off for Brompton.
Johnson and Anderson wanted to shore up the zinc roof; they bolted it together the night before. Walker, Taj, and I worked to cut through the rebar attached to chunks of the collapsed part of the wall to relieve some pressure on the remaining wall. Then we fashioned a tarp door to keep everything inside dry. We rolled the tarp up on a 2×4 and screwed it to the roof, and took some paracord and tied it to some cinder blocks. It all worked reasonably well.
The rest of the team had been engineering a structure to support a tarpaulin cover for Mrs. Baker to do some washing and pluck chickens. They had set a salvaged telephone pole into the ground and fastened it to the house with a 1×6. The whole group joined in the finishing efforts, as we repeated the wrapping and fastening technique from the shed upfront and ensured the tarp stayed tight (say that five times fast). Our biggest test was moving a giant heavy dresser over the wreckage, through the yard, and into the shed without being crushed or scratching it. We got the job done with minimal chiropractic distress.
Of course, we had to stop again at the Juici Patties at the crossroads, before heading down to Black River. The day before, we saw a man with one arm in the parking lot, and I failed to follow the impression to speak with him. Our God is a God of second chances, so naturally, when I saw him again, I went to talk with him. His name is Rocklin, and he’s a very cool and humble guy. I left him a Nanny to buy a patty & box drink, and he was grateful.
Sister Morrison got a call that there was a need back in Brompton. I was anxious to go deliver the mattress in Black River, but when the call comes, we answered, so it was back to Brompton. We had met this family the night before at the seminary social. Their little baby boy, named Jacob, has a permanent sour face. He was hilarious. There was an older guy trying to tarp what was essentially this entire roof by himself with donated tarps, so we got out our biggest tarp and our equipment to help. Jamaican men are no different than men in general when it comes to pride and direction. We’ve got plenty of the former and don’t appreciate the latter. I don’t think he was too keen to accept our help, but we’re a pretty irresistible force.
Rolling back into Black River, we drove right to Gillette’s home. She came out to greet us, and I told her we had brought a mattress for Louise. We were invited in, and she got her mother from the bathroom. I’m not sure who was more grateful, me or them. It was a wonderful blessing to be able to help with that most basic of needs and deliver her from sleeping on a chair next to the toilet. We left a priesthood blessing with both of them and a water filter. On my way out, I couldn’t help but see two Bibles lying open, outside on a bench, to dry in the sun. With all they had to worry about, including a home that still needed shoring up of the roof, it was important to them to take care of their scriptures and get them in a state where they could read from them once more. Is my love for the word so strong?
We rolled around with Auntie P again, checking on some people she knew could use some help and uplifting. Her friend Clover had a large home that was hit really hard; she lost much of her roof and a large water tank. She took us around, and we surveyed the damage and left her with a water filter. Johnson & Anderson, our resident water filter experts by this time, showed her how to use it.
While driving back to drop off Auntie P, Johnson spotted an old woman sitting outside on a chair and said, “She needs help.” So we stopped and called out to her. The woman’s daughter came running out from the back, saying that they did need help. They had lost their roof and were still without power. We left her with some tarps, ropes, and water tablets. Brother Richardson and Anderson surveyed the roof and took some measurements, and Sister Morrison got her information and added them to a list.
Just up the street and around the corner, we stopped at another home, and while Johnson was showing them how to use the water filter and the others administered blessings, I handed out sweeties to a group of neighborhood kids who had gathered. We had a fun time with them. Johnson asked this feisty little girl if my patois was good, and she said her old sister’s was better. That began a hilarious exchange where I tried to convince her and her friends that I was Jamaican. She said, “You’re not Jamaican, you’re white, I’m fully Jamaican!” Then she proceeded to quiz me are Jamaican music, and I started to sing the national anthem; she and her friends couldn’t help but join in. After which she sang a song I was unfamiliar with, and I sang an old Jamaican folk song that they hadn’t heard. She quizzed me on the national dish, national bird, and naming all the parishes. Even after answering all her questions correctly, she still said, “You’re not Jamaican, you’re from England, I’m fully Jamaican!” When we told them we had to go, she asked if we were going to come back tomorrow. We told her that more people needed our help elsewhere. She hugged Johnson and told him that he was a Jamaican, and then gave me a big squeeze and said, “A true you’re a Jamaican.” It was very sweet.
Leaving Black River, we took the long way down the coast to see the breadth of the damage from the hurricane and the storm surge. It was catastrophic. In reverence, we all sat in silence as we passed by. This was our last night in Mandeville, which meant the last time up Spur Tree Hill in the dark. It was no different than our other rides, matter of fact, we didn’t even pass two dump trucks on a blind corner while following a police officer, which may or may not have happened earlier in the week. What did happen was we got our second flat tire. From the same pothole! I kid you not, the same pothole as before, just as we were coming into Mandeville. Pop!
This group of men did not curse me or chide me; they did not complain or criticize. They immediately set to work on changing the tire for the spare we had replaced earlier in the week on the cracked and welded rim. Brother Richardson did say I had lost my driving privileges and needed to give up the keys. We’re pretty sure he was joking, but not totally sure. He got the biggest laugh of the day when we pulled into his driveway at the end of a long day and night, and he said to the heavens, “Thank you, Lord,” as I put the car in park. His comedic timing (or sincerity) was impeccable.
After enjoying another amazing meal of curry chicken and boiled yam, we hustled down to OMG Ice Cream Shop to get our last Crunchy Munchie. Heavenly.
Mandeville has been very good to us, and the Richardsons had been so generous, not only to let us invade their home but to treat us like their sons. It was hard to say goodbye, but we needed to reach those further west, only we didn’t know how badly they needed to be reached.
This morning was a bit of a logistical challenge. We had all the food and the water jugs, but lacked the space and towing capacity to carry them all down the mountain with us in one trip. So we set out early with all the food and supplies we intended to hand out. The drive down Spur Tree Hill was exciting as usual. I’ll just say that at one point we went three wide (all doing in the same direction) and just leave it at that. After loading the food and supplies, Johnson and I headed back up the mountain with an empty van. We loaded the water jugs and stopped at Mega Mart to buy a couple of cases of bottled water for us to drink for the day and be able to hand out to those in need. We tried and failed to find bag juice to throw in the freezer because apparently, Mega Mart is too stush for bag juice.
The way back down was even more fun than the first trip. We were doing our thing and flying down the mountain, in and around slower traffic, when we were passed by this bus (A Voxy). Voxy and I were kindred spirits, and the swiftness, grace, and velocity of our descent was thrilling. What made it even more fun was when we finally stopped at the stoplight in Santa Cruz, the driver and passengers in the Voxy looked back and saw we were two white guys, and they went nuts. They were laughing, giving us thumbs up and snaps, waving their arms, and honking the horn. It was a fun connection of mutual motorist respect. After that, anytime Voxy was preparing to overtake a vehicle (or multiple vehicles), the occupants of the bus would all wave their arms, beckoning us to follow. We carried on that way until, sadly, we parted ways near Lacovia.
The group had loaded up the trucks at the Morrison’s and headed off to our first project. With Johnson and me trailing, they shared their location with us on Find My Friends, so we were tracking their blue dot and where they turned off the road. It was the only way we had to find them. The problem came as we all progressed deeper into the bush and the hard-hit areas, and the cell service became spotty. We made it to where the pin stopped for Anderson, only to find that it had last reported his location fifteen minutes earlier. Meaning they could be anywhere up that way. We continued on the same road until we came to a fork and just picked the one that felt the most likely. We remembered Elder Holland’s talk story about praying with his son to know which route to take, only to find a dead end. Well, it quickly became apparent that this was not the road we wanted. We doubled back to where we had service again, and this time found Brother Morrison’s location further back a different route, and up in the hills. The road we took to get there was less of a road and more of a washed-out path, was aspirations to one day be a road.
After bottoming out a couple of times coming up into the hills, we spotted the trucks and could see the team had already set to work. Anderson and Joel were up on the roof with Sweeney, with Svenson up on a ladder, and Bulkley putting in work with a chainsaw around back. Johnson and I gloved up and joined in. Sweeney was a rockstar, she stayed up on the roof all morning and helped with everything, from framing to hanging zinc. In yet another testimony to us that the Lord prepared us for this relief mission, Anderson’s brother had convinced him to frame his house when he was building it, so he took the lead in directing the work of cutting, placing, and securing the beams in the portion that had been completely ripped off by the hurricane. I had never even helped from a roof, but we all have now. Additionally, we learned some lessons from fastening the zinc at Sister Duncan’s house, which, along with a less severe pitch to the roof, helped us proceed much faster. We all pitched in with Anderson wearing himself out on a hot roof to get those beams in place and making sure there was sufficient support to hold us and the zinc. Joel was a daredevil, climbing along the roof to reach the furthest places. I stayed safely on the ladder, hammering when and where I was told. With the framing complete, Johnson and Bulkley hopped up on the roof and began fastening the zinc in place with Svenson running zinc sheets up to them, and of course, Sweeney was still putting in work. From start to finish, it took just over two hours. The way the work ebbed and flowed, we everyone pitched in was incredible. I truly believe that we were equipped to solve any problem set before us.
Sister Medley and Sister Morrison prepared some bun and cheese for us and cold drinks for lunch. They joked that we had a 3-minute break for lunch, and I joked that that was 3 minutes more than they had given us yesterday. Then I cried out in patois how mistreated we had been, and a few of the women in the neighborhood who had been watching us work said, “Boy, he sounds like he’s Jamaican.” That put a smile on my face.
With the bun & cheese and bottle drinks consumed, we offered a blessing to Sweeney and some of her neighbors. One by one, they came to the veranda next door, and we laid hands on their head and gave priesthood blessings. Men, women, and children, those not of our faith, came to sit and receive a blessing. We took turns voicing and standing in the circle while some of us cleaned up and others ran a chainsaw to cut up a tree that had fallen near the road. Anderson took some zinc and drove further into the hills to deliver it to a woman’s home around the mountain, and Svenson was earnestly teaching our new friends the gospel. It was all pretty special, and really brought into focus what we were there to do. We came seeking to serve as the Savior served, to uplift spiritually, to not strictly provide temporal relief but hope, peace, light, and love. If we could do nothing more than share a smile and help someone to know they are remembered and not alone, there is power in that and connection to each other and to God.
The bun & cheese, while delightful, was not going to cut it for the work that we’d accomplished and the work still left to do. So we stopped at a Juici Patties at the crossroads. They only had two cocoa bread left, so I gave mine to Joel, who had not tried cocoa bread and patties yet, which was probably the hardest sacrifice I had made to this point. Just kidding, it was the second hardest though for sure. 😉
Next, we linked back up with Brother Morrison, who had some work to do earlier, and drove to Brampton to the home of Mrs. Baker. Tragedy had struck this family long before the hurricane, with the loss of their daughter in an automobile accident involving two full-time elders. We brought zinc to repair part of her roof that had been blown off. It was quickly determined that the walls of that part of the house had also been badly damaged and would need to come down. Mrs. Baker said that what would be helpful would be to have a temporary shed or covered area where she could move her furniture and things to keep it out of the weather until the wall could come down and be rebuilt. After counseling together on the best approach, we identified a structure in the corner of the property that still had three standing walls and a small piece of roofing. Though the walls were also in rough shape, the benefit was that we had a concrete slab to build on and didn’t have to start from scratch. Once again, Bulkley and Brother Morrison worked those chainsaws like wizards in the back of the property, and Anderson hopped back on the roof to frame with his young apprentice, Joel. I started hunting through piles of rubble to savage whatever lumber and zinc we could reuse to save the new zinc for the rebuild later. Sister Medley rallied the young men we had with us to start cleaning up the debris on the concrete, and we hauled away the broken chunks of block. Svenson and Johnson went with Sisters Medley and Morrison to take food and supplies to the neighbors and made friends, including Bev, who took them around to those in need.
Somewhere along the way, we were joined by two brothers visiting from the Dominican Republic and Argentina. They were with the South America and Caribbean Seminary & Institute and were there for a meeting later that night with seminary students and their parents in Santa Cruz. They helped haul debris and clean up, and I joked that their church shoes were probably not up to the task.
A rainbow arched over the gray storm clouds, a symbol of the heavenly hope we all sought. With the salvage materials, we worked into the night. With the concrete slab cleared and mostly covered, we loaded up and headed for Santa Cruz. Sister Morrison teaches the seminary class, and those brothers from S&I were there for that meeting, and Sister Morrison had intended to teach a lesson on dealing with anxiety. She invited us to be there, so we set off an hour or so after they had left for the meeting.
There was a massive traffic delay outside of Santa Cruz, with everyone backed up on the main road through St. Elizabeth. With a fervent desire to reach the seminary meeting in time, and having exhausted my limited patience, we found ourselves pressing forward with a similarly impatient group of taxi and bus drivers through the oncoming traffic lanes. We passed dozens and dozens of sitting cars, including some police cars with their lights on. Sister Medley, bless her heart, lay down on the floor of the van to hide and cried out, “Me c’yan’t be seen with you. I live here!” By this point, we were all laughing pretty hard. We actually arrived at the chapel before Sister Morrison and their visitors, despite leaving nearly an hour later. Sister Morrison said, “Me not want to hear from you, Blaylock.” And the laughter continued.
The meeting with the Seminary & Institute brethren was brief but good. They asked if one of us would like to speak to the group, and I spoke for a few minutes and the importance of spending time with holy things and in holy places, and shared the scriptural promise that as they draw near to God that He would draw near to them, and as they received His light, they would be given more light. There was a social afterwards with some refreshments. We visited with the saints for a little while and hit the road for home.
There is nothing like finishing a long day of hard work and the satisfaction and fulfillment it brings. There’s also nothing like returning home from said long day and being greeted by curry chicken, boiled dumplings, boiled bananas, and rice. Thank you again to Sister Richardson for the care she gave us and for staying up so late to make sure we were fed before going to bed.
Brother Richardson, who had been working on a plumbing issue all day, had fallen ill and really wanted to join us the next day, so we all went up to his room to anoint and bless him. At no point in my life have I given or participated in more priesthood blessings in such close proximity to one another than I had this week. It was really special, and I thought about how I could be more intentional with using priesthood power as I go about ministering to my brothers and sisters.
Most of us were awake before dawn. I’m not sure if it was anticipation or adrenaline, but whatever the case, Johnson, Anderson, and I sat up on the back porch and watched the sun come up while we studied for the day. As I mapped our course for the morning, I discovered someone had added Kevin G. Brown’s sacred grove (4 Grove Road, Mandeville) to Google Maps, so we, of course, added that to our list for later that week.
Sister Medley and Sister Richardson offered to cook for us if we bought groceries, so of course, we accepted that unbelievably kind offer. Breakfast on Monday included the tiny, sweet bananas that we could not get enough of.
To make good use of our time, while we waited for the Tyre Warehouse to open, we went to Urville’s Super Market to buy cases of water for the people in St. Elizabeth. Thank you for a generous donation from my friend Ryan Betts. We loaded the van with as much water as we could carry and headed back down Spur Tree Hill. Sister Medley joined us for the week, and it was her first time driving with me. Mighty prayer took on a whole new meaning riding in the van with us. I’m pretty sure her spirit left her body at one point. We descended into St. Elizabeth and met the Morrisons at their home in Goshen. They had one truck loaded with clothes to hand out, and we loaded the other with food and supplies for the day. Next, we drove to the chapel in Santa Cruz to drop off the clothes to be sorted before we pushed on south toward Black River.
Just outside of Santa Cruz, we were confronted with the loss of a Jamaican icon, Bamboo Alley. The massive bamboo archway that covered several kilometers of road was a near total loss, with the large bamboo clusters bent or ripped from the ground altogether. We all took stock and prepared ourselves for what was to come.
Our first official stop of the day was to see Sister Blossom Watson, who lived in Middle Quarters. We had no sooner pulled off the road than I woman named Margaret emerged from a building with a power pole collapsed on top of it. She asked for water, and we cracked open a case and gave her some water bottles. That cascaded into several neighbors coming out and asking for water. We gave them water to drink and crossed the highway to see Sister Watson.
A few large trees were lying over the path to her home, and Bulkley, Svenson, Anderson, and Brother Morrison got out the chain saws and went to work. Johnson and I made our way back to the house and introduced ourselves to Sister Watson. She was sitting outside with a tub of soapy water and a variety of household goods and items, which she was working to clean up from the collateral damage from the fallout of the storm. We asked her about her experience with the hurricane, and she took us through the worst of the storm, beginning with the loss of her veranda, and invited us to see inside what was left of her house. Part of the roof from the main house had collapsed, and over the back rooms of her home, the roofing was ripped completely off. Sister Watson told us she hadn’t slept all night while the hurricane raged, and in the light of day, she did not know what to do. Sister Medley and Sister Morrison joined us, and we asked what would be most helpful. She asked if we could move a wardrobe, so Johnson, Anderson, and I made a plan and started clearing a path through a narrow back hallway to the one room where the roof held. Anderson and I hefted the wardrobe and navigated the hallway to set it in place. We moved some other things around for her, and the others working outside joined us to offer a blessing. After giving Sister Watson a blessing, we invited her son to get a blessing. Svenson explained what a priesthood blessing was, and he accepted. It started to rain as the priesthood men in the room gathered around to place hands on his head. I couldn’t help but peek up above the exposed rafters and look for leaks. The rest of the house had leaks, but this one room remained dry in the drizzling rain.
The rain fell heavier as we made our way back to the van. That did not stop people from asking what we could give them as we passed by. In the driving rain, we handed out water, ropes, and tarps (Thank you to the Hancocks for providing a large tarp that was the first to be handed out). Then it was on to Black River.
Our first stop in Black River was at Auntie P’s house. The damage in Black River was much worse than we had seen thus far. Every home had roof damage, or damage to the walls, or both. Some were missing roofs entirely. We pulled into a vacant lot across from Auntie P’s and put on our work gloves. House after house, and nearly every street we had seen, had piles of debris, zinc, trash, and other things ruined by the hurricane sitting out by the road. We loaded two relatively flat piles of zinc in the Morrison’s truck and started throwing the rubbish and debris in it until it was full. Johnson and I followed Anderson and Brother Morrison to the dump. Before the hurricane, “the dump” had been a park where the people of Black River gathered to relax or play, or enjoy a bright sunny day. Now, the damage to the structures and pools of rancid standing water had spoiled the park, and people had been dumping all their garbage and debris there. The smell was putrid. We pulled on the zinc sheets on the bottom of the rubbish pile, and it all slid out. On our way out of the dump, we saw these giant hogs doing unspeakable things. Johnson asked if that put me off Jerk Pork, honestly, it kind of did. Just for a minute, because Jerk Pork is delicious, but I do have to find a way to scrub that memory from my brain.
Auntie P took us around to many, many of her friends. We stopped to check on Miss Blair, who was in her 80s, and while the group was walking through the gate, I noticed her neighbor standing out by her gate watching us. I went and introduced myself. Her name was Gillette, and she asked if we were building back roofs. I told her we were not, but offered her some water and some tarps. I brought some things over, and she invited me in. She took me back through the house to where her 84-year-old mother, Louise, was lying in a wooden chair by the toilet, which she had been doing for a month. She explained that it was the only place in the house where the roof was intact and that she and her mother had been sleeping in the tiny bathroom on chairs because their mattresses had been ruined by the storm. That stayed with me, and I shared that with the group. Sister Morrison said there was a mattress at the church in Santa Cruz that we could bring back. I was grateful for that.
We checked on several others, and Joel and I gave a couple of blessings to a different mother and daughter. The mom is a member, but the daughter was not, and she’d been caring for her aging mother and trying to clean up and put their lives back together since the storm.
Then we met Mr. Collins. He’s 94 years old and as strong and faith-filled as they come. He rode out the hurricane, giving it to God, saying Whatever will be, will be. We left him a tarp, and Joel found a couple of buckets to catch water leaking in the kitchen. The rain was coming down pretty hard, and the rest of the group, who had been cleaning up more debris, arrived, and we all had bun and cheese.
While we were eating, several people came by looking for food or water. One guy left mad because we didn’t have a care package for him. Also, Elder Jean Batiste from the area presidency, who hails from Haiti, came to where we were. He was riding with a senior missionary, Elder Walker. They were doing a roof assessment and trying to make a plan for the church to help with roof repair/replacement. I took him to meet Mr. Collins, and we visited for a while.
Auntie P had another friend, Nikki, who needed some debris cleaned up, so we loaded the trucks again with a pile that had been partially burned and was pretty messy. Then we delivered some tarps, ropes, water filters, and sweeties to a member who had 3 kids and was pregnant with the fourth. We gave them all blessings, and the neighbors came out looking for supplies. It was difficult to help some and have to turn others down or turn them away, having others who were expecting us.
At our next stop, Johnson showed them how to use the bucket filter they had received from another charity, but did not know how to use it. We learned that giving is great, but if there’s no support or instruction to accompany the giving, then it won’t be the blessing you hoped it would be. I walked across the street to talk with this Rasta named Riggs. He showed me his home, which had lost the entire room. He did a great job tarping the structure, but the weight of the water when it rained and the lack of pitch caused water to pool and leak through the tarps. We gave him a water filter and tarps, and a food package, and he was very grateful. He said he was a vegetarian, so he wouldn’t eat the canned meats, but we would make sure someone in need got them.
Our last stop in Black River was an older sister sheltering with her entire family, including several children and grandchildren. When the storm surge flooded the community, they had to swim to their neighbor’s home, break a window, and push grandma inside to keep from being swept away. The neighbor’s name was Buggy. He had been helping lots of people since Hurricane Melissa, so we loaded them up with supplies (tarps, rope, water filters, etc) and Johnson showed him how to use them.
A woman came out and asked for a care package. I looked in the van, and we had two left, so I carried one up to her house and found Buggy there helping out. When we returned to the van, a young boy named Devonte was there and asked meekly if he could get a care package for his mother. I asked where she was and followed him to their home. Johnson and I delivered the package and met the boy’s sister, father, and mother. They were very grateful.
We left Black River and followed the Morrison’s back to Goshen to drop off stuff for tomorrow. Then we drove up to Mandeville and bought groceries for the next day’s food deliveries (thank you again, Ryan). Johnson chartered a taxi to carry a bunch of 5-gallon water jugs (thank you to Jonathan Rupp), and we returned heavily loaded to the Richardsons’ for the night. She had a delicious meal of chicken, rice & peas waiting, which was amazing! We had a small reflection on the day, and I kept thinking about that poor old woman sleeping in the wooden chair by the toilet.
Here’s where things got wild. First off, we woke up to no water in the building. We gathered up our things, with no shower or drinking water, dressed in our church clothes, and traversed the damaged sky bridge to load up the van. Our goal was to make it to church in Mandeville by 10 am. Before saying a prayer, I brought up the fact that we had no food or water and asked if we should have an ox in the mire conversation or just fast for the day. Bulkley said just the fact that we would have that conversation showed the caliber of men on this trip, and we decided we would forgo breakfast and head for church and get lunch after. We turned in our room keys to security and headed out of Montego Bay. Google Maps had us arriving at 9:57 am, a time I was confident I could make, even with the poor roads through Anchovy. Well, at the turnoff at Reading, we were met by a police barricade. JPS was working to restore power, and they had closed the road for most of the morning. Our only hope of making it to Mandeville by morning was going up near Maroon Town through the cockpit country. My heart sank as I knew we had almost no chance of making it to church on time now. On top of that, I knew the roads up that way were terrible under the best of circumstances and had no idea what the hurricane had done up there.
In classic Team Irie (that’s what we dubbed our WhatsApp group), everyone just rolled with it. We whipped around and headed up into the bush. The roads were worse than I had imagined, and I did my best to avoid potholes on narrow and winding roads riddled with potholes. Sometimes there wasn’t even a discernible road, just a washed-out series of potholes that eventually connected back with something that had once resembled a road.
The hurricane had done its work in the cockpits too. The mounds of hills were nearly stripped of all their leaves, and downed phone and power lines marred the little villages along the road.
Still, we were making relatively good time, all things considered, and I was hoping to be able to make it to church before the sacrament services had concluded. That’s when the Lord stepped in and taught us all an amazing lesson.
Coming around the corner of this little town in the middle of nowhere we saw an older man on his hands and knees in the middle of the road. There were two potholes next to him and the cars ahead of us passed right by him. I thought for a moment that he was trying to fix a pothole. Svenson said he thought he might be surveying the potholes. Johnson spoke up and said, “I think he needs help”. It was then I saw he was carrying grocery bags that had fallen by his side. We pulled over and got out. I walked up to him and said, “Whappen daddy, ya alright?” This man rolled over and cried out to the heavens “God why have you licked me down again? Me just come round for something to eat and my legs fail me and I can’t walk. Why God after everything me been through?!” I grabbed one arm and Anderson grabbed the other and we lifted him to his feet. We had to carry him because his legs had no strength. We asked where he was trying to go. He motioned to a house back the way we had just come up a hill. We cleared room for him in the van and discovered he had a little dog that was off the side of the road. Once we helped the old man up into the van, the dog joined him and Joel tended this dirty little mutt while we flipped the car around and drove him to a house on a hill. Johnson and I helped him out and up a few steps to a veranda with an old Rasta sitting outside. Another neighbor ran down the hill and asked if he had fallen again. He told us his name was Owen James and gave thanks to God for sending us to him. His entire countenance had changed in the short trip from lying on his back in the road to standing at the door of his home. He went from crying out to God to praising his name and giving thanks. We returned to the guys who stayed back on the side of the road to give place for Owen and his dog.
The entire ordeal had cost us eight minutes, but the experienced changed our hearts and minds. It was no longer about our desires to reach Mandeville or our desires make it to church. We were on the Lord’s errand and we would go where He wanted us to go and do what He wanted us to do. As we prepared to come to Jamaica I had a dream that I gave a talk in Mandeville and made reference to the Good Samaritan. The dream was so vivid that I remembered it when I woke up and even remembered the details of the talk. In this dream I had spoken to a group of saints preparing to go and give service and I spoke of the priest and the Levite in the parable, we do not know what kind of men they were, nor are we meant to, what we do know is that they failed to divert from their intended course and reach out in love to lift up their neighbor. I had thought about myself and how often my desires have dictated what I do, where I do it, and more specifically when I do it. After all, I have plans. Unexpected instances are often unwelcome because, you know, the plans. We could easily be the priest or the Levite in the parable. We don’t know what they were off to do. Maybe they were going to provide relief to hurricane victims, or maybe they were just trying to get to church on time. After all, if they stopped it what could they possibly do. They weren’t going to change the fact this man was beaten and robbed. They couldn’t restore that which he had lost, or heal his wounds. So why bother? We could not change that Owen had fallen, that he’d been beaten down by life and robbed of his strength, we couldn’t restore his strength nor heal his wounds. Likewise, we couldn’t change that this beautiful island nation had been beaten down and robbed by Hurricane Melissa or restore all that had been lost or broken. We couldn’t heal the trauma or take away the pain and suffering. What we could do though was stop what we were doing, divert from our plans, anoint the wounded, lift up the hands that hang down, provide support and relief, and bring those within our reach to the shelter and love of the Savior Jesus Christ. He is mighty to save, He has healing in His wings, and through His mercy and grace He can restore all that was lost. From that moment forward we would seek to be instruments in His hands. Fully consecrated, seeking to hear His voice and heed the Spirit, and ready to act.
Disclaimer: to those of you in my stake who are reading this. First of all, bless you for reading this marathon journal entry, and B) you are definitely going to hear this in a talk sometime soon, so please be cool, and we’ll all pretend that you haven’t already heard this.
Back on the road, our conversations were entirely focused on what we had just experienced and the events that had led us there at that moment to be a small answer to a sincere prayer. We carried on without the pressure of making it to church on time because we had just been well taught.
Coming out of the bush and into the farmlands of St. Elizabeth, we could see the distant impact of the hurricane, which we would get a closer look at in the coming days. We climbed up Spur Tree Road and drove into cool, cool Mandeville. No sooner had we entered Mandeville than I hit a pothole and blew the passenger’s side tire. Instead of pulling over immediately, I drove up the road while looking at the tire through the rear view mirror and trying to feel if it was totally flat. It was. We pulled over, and I called the roadside emergency number Hertz had given me. Dispatch said they would send someone, but we had no idea how long it would be, and we were just ten minutes from the chapel and only about fifteen minutes late. The discussion centered around whether to take a taxi and who would stay with the van when Johnson said, “We should just find a truck and hitch a ride.” Just then, a big old dump truck motored around the corner, and Johnson flagged it down, and the dump truck not only stopped but backed up to us, and we begged a ride. We hopped in the back of the dump truck like many of us had done so many times on our mission, and the truck carried us up the road toward the chapel on Wint Road. He dropped us at a gravel yard, and we hiked through the gravel and crossed the street to get to Wint Road and make it to church.
President Dwight Smith, from Savannah Lamar, was speaking when we arrived. Shawn Anderson and I met Dwight on our first trip down, and I was happy to see him again. He spoke of his experience during the hurricane and listening to the spirit.
The emergency dispatcher called me after the sacrament service, and Brother Miller, visiting with his wife from Canada, offered to give Johnson and me a ride back to our van to meet the technician. A big man made quick work of changing the tire and showed us the compartment where the tire jack and wrench was. We all returned to church and caught the end of Sunday school. Afterward, we took a picture with everyone. It was a beautiful sight and warmed the heart to be back in Mandeville. Brother and Sister Miller accompanied us to the Tyre Warehouse, where we purchased another tire and discovered the rim was cracked, and they couldn’t put the tire on it. Elton, the tire guy, referred us to Zig Zigs, where we could either buy a new rim or have it repaired. We made a new friend named Bunny, who was going to take care of us. They bought him a bun and cheese while I ran back to the Tyre Warehouse before they closed to get the tire removed from the cracked rim so Bunny could have it welded. He agreed to meet us at the Tyre Warehouse in the morning, and we left to get a bite to eat.
Before that, though, I was positive I could find the old Mandeville house on 4 Cotton Tree Road. Well, the good news is that my memory did not fail me, and I did find it. The bad news is that someone tore down the old house and built a brand new multilevel home in its place. Rest in peace to the old Mandeville missionary house.
After searching and some debate, we settled on Mother’s for lunch. It was the first and only hint of discord in the group; that’s how blessed we were. They didn’t have cocoa bread, though, which was met with great disappointment. After lunch, we went in search of frozen bag juice. We would again be disappointed when all we could find was kind of cold bag juice. Still, it was bag juice.
While filling up with gas, we spotted an OMG Ice Cream Shop that served Devon House ice cream. After all the stress and hubbub of the ride through the mountains and the flat tire, the team felt ice cream not only deserved but a necessity. I told them about Crunchie Munchie, and they got to discover a new favorite flavor. The ladies behind the counter loved our enthusiasm and patois, so they hooked us up.
Spurred on by sugar and dopamine, we followed the directions we had been given to the Richardsons’ home. John & Jennifer Richardson had graciously offered to house us for the week; they were not the only ones who extended that generous offer, which makes my heart so happy to have so many faithful Jamaican saints with a desire to consecrate themselves in His service. Speaking of consecrated saints, we met Patrick & Sheryl Medley and Cortney & Marsha Morrison at the Richardsons’ and unloaded our van and their truck. We settled into the rooms where we would be staying for much of the rest of the week and organized all the supplies we had brought with us.
Then we got to know each other a little and had a devotional where we shared our experiences thus far, including with Owen, and bore testimony to one another. Undoubtedly, the highlight of the evening was when we came together to lay hands on one another and give blessings for the week that was ahead of us. Each and every one of us in that room got a blessing. The spirit was so strong, and that became a sacred spot of ground and a memory none of us will ever forget.
The Richardsons went with us to get some dinner. We ate at this little Jerk spot, and I got Jerk Pork, which I had been longing for. After loading up with a variety of Jerk Pork, Jerk Chicken, festival, and rice and peas, we went back to the Richardson home to partake and continue to visit with each other.
Sleep came easily that night, as it would for the remainder of our relief mission, as we were lulled to sleep by the soothing, familiar sounds of the cicadas, crickets, and katydids. The sounds from our home of so long ago.
With a long drive to St. Ann, the decision was made to hit the road early. I was up before the sun and trekked across the rickety bridge with the gear I would need for the day. I ate my bun and cheese and looked out over the bay, only to see Johnson on his balcony taking in the bay as well. I swung the van around to the lower road and picked up the team. We set off for St. Ann with a Google map pin and a time to meet the zinc guys at Sister Duncan’s house.
This is where the guy’s got there first taste of my driving. A little background, I like to get from point A to point B as efficiently as possible and I love to drive in Jamaica. Driving on the opposite side of the road from the opposite side of the car that I’m used to is no problem. The liberal use of the horn to communicate with other drivers is delightful and sans consistent road signs and marking is liberating. Imagine something between Mario Kart and Mad Max, that what we are talking about. We bobbed and weaved through traffic, overtook vehicles right and left (and I mean that in every sense of the word). There would be hooping and hollering as I blew the horn and mashed the gas followed by boyish giggling when we shot the gap and returned to our lane safely.
Along the way, the team got their first look at the destruction Hurricane Melissa left in her wake. From St. James, through Trelawny, and into St. Ann, we passed downed power lines and trees, damaged rooftops, and hilltops stripped bare of leaves and limbs. It was sobering to see to spread out in front of us, but I found hope in the green sprouting leaves cropping up, which had not been there just three weeks earlier when Shawn Anderson and I first came back. The land was already healing, and that meant her people would too.
We made record time, even when I missed a turn at the roundabout outside of Ochie because I was telling a story. It could have been a costly mistake, in terms of time, because it put us on the toll road highway that ran from Ochie all the way to Kingston with very few exits and a concrete barrier between lanes. I managed to slip back around in front of the toll booths and hook back down to Ochie. We were a bit early, so we stopped for patties and box drinks at Juicy Beef Patties. We got a case of bottled water at the market next door, and learned quickly that we easily could have done with more.
The pin the Medleys shared with us took us to Brother and Sister Francis’ house. Sister Francis greeted us and pointed over the fence to Sister Duncan’s house, where we would be putting up zinc on her damaged roof. We got a call from Brother Shawn Jones, who was supposed to meet us, and he was down by the clock tower in Ochie, so we dropped part of the group off to survey the house and wait for the zinc guys, and Blake and I went to pick up Shawn. He works security at night and was just getting off work, and had accepted a priesthood assignment to meet up with us and take some pictures of our work.
When we returned to Sister Duncan’s, the zinc guys still weren’t there, so the decision was made to salvage what zinc we could to recover a portion of the flat roof up front and save the new zinc for the main part of the house. We removed rusted, bent, and cracked zinc and stacked it around the side yard. The sun was bright, but the day hadn’t grown hot yet. We were surrounded by beautiful, great trees and hills with the ocean off into the distance. There was wind and water damage, but this was not the scene we had anticipated operating in.
This was our first chance to work together, and we quickly learned that it would be a joy. We joked around, and everyone pitched in. When a problem was identified, we talked it over, and the best idea won, and we all got behind it. Even if it wasn’t a particularly good idea, we all just rolled with it. Like when Anderson needed to get around a concrete wall between the porch and a window, and I walked up underneath his position, held up my hands, and told him I’d get him. He gracefully stepped onto the perch I had made with my hands and swung his leg over the ledge to the window. Sister Duncan gasped, and we all laughed and carried on.
At long last, the zinc guys arrived, about an hour late, and we unloaded 40 sheets of zinc and 150 pellets. President Ordean Bolt, the branch president, also showed up, and we were so glad he did. He brought an extra drill and some longer self-tapping screws than the ones we had. Anderson and I made a quick run to the hardware store to get a different bit for President Bolt’s screws and dropped Brother Jones back by the clock tower. By the time we got back, President Bolt, Johnson, Svenson, and Joel had already started laying zinc. The day was a little hotter by now, and the zinc reflected the heat right back on us.
I climbed up on the roof to do my part and immediately gained a new respect for the guys who had laid all the zinc to that point. The pitch of the roof was insane. I was literally clinging to the top, so I didn’t slide back down the backside. With more than a little difficulty, I managed to screw in three screws to fasten the top part of one sheet of zinc. I got cuts on my legs from the broken shingles and cuts from the zinc digging into my arms. With my blood on the zinc, I decided my skills were better suited for hauling heavy stuff and handing things to skilled people. That was the beautiful part of this team. Our skills, talents, and desires all meshed so well.
The wood on the house was not in good shape, nor were the walls, which made it important to watch where you stepped and not have everyone up at the same time, so some of us hauled zinc around and ran our one ladder to where it was needed.
It was early afternoon when the front side was finished, and I took the van up the road to get everyone some lunch. I found a chicken shop and chatted with the ladies who ran it. They enjoyed my patois, and when they told me how much it cost, I joked, “Oy, the white people price dat?” They laughed and actually threw in two extra boxes and drinks when they learned we were there to help with the hurricane relief. I returned to Sister Duncan’s, and we took a break for some chicken, rice, and peas. We sat in the shade, and the clouds actually covered the sun for a few minutes. With a little breeze, it was quite pleasant. It was a good opportunity to get to know President Bolt a little more. He’s a convert to the church and was called to be branch president just a year and a half after being baptized. It was amazing to feel his faith and work alongside him.
With our bellies full and a pretty good system in place, the backside of the house went much faster. Once the house was finished, we were tasked to get the rest of the zinc we did not use up to Brown’s Town. After talking over the merits and risks of strapping a dozen sheets of zinc to the top of a rental van, we decided it would be wise and prudent to lay half the seats down and load the zinc inside the van. It fit just like it was made for it, width and length. Anderson laid down on it like a bed since we lost a seat and picked up a passenger.
President Bolt had gotten a message that his father was in the hospital in St. Ann’s Bay, and Johnson offered for us to take him there to see his father and that we’d stay with him until he knew what was going on, and that we’d take him with us to Brown’s Town. I opened St. Ann’s Bay on my mission, so it has a special place in my heart, and I knew right where the hospital was, so we loaded up and headed to the hospital.
We arrived in the late afternoon and were beginning to worry about losing daylight, having another roof to repair that day, when we reached Brown’s Town. President Bolt went inside, and we were told only one person could be admitted per patient, so we waited outside. After some time had passed, and we hadn’t heard anything, Johnson took President Bolt’s backpack and asked security if they would let him take it in to him. They agreed, and he found President Bolt had been told his father had passed away. At the same time, I got a call from Miriam Rose, who we were supposed to see and serve in Brown’s Town. She told me that President Bolt’s father had passed away and told us she was more worried about him than a roof, so she asked us to stay with him and make sure he wasn’t alone. Of course, we agreed, and I went to see if I could sweet-talk my way past security. Let me just say, a little patois goes a long way. I found Johnson and President Bolt near the back of the facility. We waited with him to see the doctor and get more details. While he called relatives to let them know about the passing of his father, Johnson and I talked about learning of the passing of his mother and my grandmother while we were on the island. The Lord sent Blake Johnson to be with President Bolt in that moment, of that I have no doubt. Johnson shared with him the sacred grace that comes to us in our grieving, and we offered President Bolt a blessing. We found a semi-quiet grassy spot behind the hospital with a concrete pad for him to sit on. There we placed hands upon his head, and Johnson voiced a beautiful blessing of peace and comfort. We all embraced and walked President Bolt back to the male ward where his father’s body lay. I went and updated the team, still waiting in the van, and we stayed at the hospital until his brother arrived from Trelawny.
Night had fallen by the time we left the hospital, and we still needed to get up to Brown’s Town. Per Sister Rose’s directions, we took a country road back up into the mountains through Priory and Bamboo to get to her house. The roads were very curvy and steep. In the dark, it was quite the adventure to reach Sister Rose. Once we reached up to her yard, she came out to meet us. We quickly discovered that she had no power, no water, and no internet. Still, she was not even wanting service for herself but for others. The roof we were to repair was someone else’s, and she had cooked chicken, rice, and peas for us, which was incredible. She had gathered a list of people who needed help and was working to serve them, in addition to collecting things she wanted us to take with us to help those in St. Elizabeth. We were all too happy to provide her with tarps, ropes, lanterns, and water filters. Immediately, Sister Rose contacted neighbors who came to get the things, and she served us a delicious meal. We learned that Sister Rose is the reigning Miss Jamaica Universe, which was pretty awesome.
Side note, the final member of the fellowship, Jory Bulkley, arrived earlier that afternoon, and with everything going on, we were unable to get him back in Montego Bay. Sister Lee once again came to the rescue and picked up Jory and took him to the full-time missionaries serving in Mobay, and Jory had spent the evening with them.
Late late into the night, we left Sister Rose and started our journey back to St. James and to Bulkley. This time it was down the winding, narrow, mountain roads instead of up them. When we reached the road along the north coast, I put it in high gear, and we tried to make up for lost time. I find a friend on the roadway who was just as committed to expediting the journey and just as uninterested in the rules of the road. Together, this unknown motorist and I zipped and weaved our way back to Mobay. Some unfortunate soul got pulled over by the police right in front of us, clearing the way for this bullet train caravan we had formed to roll on. We got back to the parking lot at the El Greco, and the guys took their first trip over the busted-up sky bridge to the elevator, and we met up with Bulkley, who the missionaries had dropped off at the hotel.
Bulkley was the era after ours, and we didn’t really know each other. He was bunking with me, so we all gathered in our room and got to know one another. To borrow a phrase, we all just clicked. It was apparent that this group would fit together like bun and cheese. Superbly. We visited even later into the night and planned for the next day. We had a devotional, and I shared a quote my wife sent our family group chat from Elder Dale G. Renlund about what we were doing: “We are to use the gifts we have been given-time, talents, and blessings-to serve Heavenly Father’s children, especially the most vulnerable and needy.” We reflected on our day and how we had all come together and could already see and feel the Lord’s hand in it. We prayed and prepared to depart Mobay early the next morning. I took a shower to wash the sweat and muck of the day off me. Bulkley and I stayed up way too late talking about life and family, and parenting. He arrived on the island the transfer I left, so we had never met, but I was already a fan. I said a prayer of thanks for the Lord bringing us all together.
Landing in Montego Bay, I noticed the guy I had been sitting next to on the plane getting impatient with the speed at which things were moving. I told him he needed to gear down here because Jamaicans operate at a different speed. Immediately, my own patience was tested as it took way longer than I had hoped to get through customs and with the rental company. I smiled at the irony and tried to recalibrate my internal clock and expectations. It would not be the last time recalibration and patience was required.
James Hulse, through UniGas, had generously sponsored our transportation on this trip, and we rented a Hyundai Staria. I paid for full coverage. That would turn out to be wise and necessary.
At long last I was reunited with my friends. I drove up to Granville to the Caribbean Central Christian School for the Deaf, where they had been giving service. Immediately I became we (I and I). Those bonds formed so long ago had not weakened at all, if anything they felt stronger as we came together in love and service. We piled in the van and drove to Sister Lee’s home.
Patricia “Pat” Lee taught me how to make rice and peas, she fed me and took care of me when I served in Mobay, and even fixed dinner for my wife and I when we came back to Jamaica for our honeymoon. I had not seen her since her beloved husband Clive “Scallion” Lee was killed in 2022. Her smile and warmth could be felt through the gate as she came to let us in, Even without power or Internet, for exactly one month since Hurricane Melissa, she served us. She picked up Andrew Svenson and his son Joel from the airport and hosted them overnight in her home. We got reacquainted and I showed her some pictures and video I had of Scallion and her granddaughter Winnie. Blake Johnson fixed her Starlink, which had stopped working, and we left some solar lanterns with her. I asked if we could give her a priesthood blessing and she said she would love that. On her veranda, in the muted light of the setting sun, we gathered around her and offered a blessing of love and peace. So many feelings filled my heart and I felt President Lee there with us.
We loaded up all of their gear and realized how tight things were going to be in terms of space. We started down the hill back into town, and someone mentioned that the full-time elders, who they were serving with at the CCCD, had said they were going to Friday Night activity. Well, it was an instant and unanimous decision that we drop by for that. We had all gone to so many Friday night activities and couldn’t pass up an opportunity to partake in that goodness once more. I told them the church was just up and around the corner. We pulled off the road and onto Miriam Way, where we ran into the first little scratch on the van, where I pushed past a taxi that was in my lane, and pulled too close to the edge. Did I mention how glad I was that I paid for full coverage? Thank you, Hulse. We didn’t stay long at Friday night activity, but seeing the domino tables full and the sweaty missionaries ready to play basketball brought us right back to beautiful times.
The guy’s hadn’t served in Mobay so I asked if they wanted to go through downtown and they excitedly said yes! We went up Barnett street and it was the same crowded, chaotic symphony of sights, sounds, and smells that it had ever been. Lines up cars inching along, honking horns, brakes lights, people lining the road or cutting through among bikes and cars and other pedestrians. Music blasting from house speakers setup along the road, playing reggae music. A mix of vendors selling clothes, and fruit, and food filled in all the gaps with the smell and smoke wafting from the jerky’s barrels and right into our hearts. Nathan Anderson open the sliding door on the side of the van as we drove door the road, not wanting any barriers between him and the amazing chaos of downtown. Those open doors and windows, of course, invited a few people to ask what we could give them. We offered them some sweeties. It was well worth the extra time it took to travel that way.
Everyone was hungry and anxious to find rice and peas so I headed to the Pork Pit, knowing they would still be open so late at night, Johnson spotted a gathering of jerky’s across the road for Harbor Beach Park so we flipped around and surveyed the different offerings. We each selected a different jerk spot and bought some chicken, rice and peas. We sat on a short wall and enjoyed the flavors and nostalgia that filled us up. A dread had begged us some money for something to eat so I shared the rest of my meal with him. This adorable little girl was skipping around and talking about stew peas and curry chicken, so I talked with her about food. Johnson and Anderson got some sweeties for her and we drove to the hotel.
We stayed off of Gloucester at Montego Bay Beach Resort. Lest you think we stayed on a fancy beach resort, let me tell you, there was no beach and no resort. It was a high-rise condominium with rooms that very much felt like missionary apartments from back in the day. There were two beds and a tiny kitchen, and bathroom. Still, it had A/C and running water, which was all we needed. In classic Jamaican fashion, there was some difficulty just getting checked in and up to our rooms. We had to lug our heavy heavy bags, filled with relief supplies (tarps, ropes, solar lanterns, water filters, duct tape, etc), up a flight of stairs to reach a creaky old elevator that carried us up to our rooms. Then I had to go back down because there was nowhere down by the entrance to park the cars, so this dread hopped in the van with me and drove me up Queens Way to El Greco, where I parked the car in this mashed up parking lot and walked across a bridge 20 stories in the air, that had been nearly destroy by the hurricane. It was all part of the experience, and we all ate it up.
We had a call with Patrick and Sheryl Medley to get the details for the project we would work on the next day and then we went out on the street to get some water and bun and cheese for the morning. Then we prayed, called our families, and went to sleep. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath of our homeland, and exhaled softly as I drifted off to dreams of what was and what was to come.
The Land of Look Behind and The Unsaid are published by Cedar Fort, Inc.
