Calbert Bennett takes a stroll on his donkey. - Photos by Paul Williams

ONE OF a man's basic needs is shelter, a place for him and his family to rest and be protected from the elements. So, he works hard to build a house, big or small. And it feels good when the last block is laid or the final nail is driven. No more landlord, no more rent, no more removal. What joy!

Well, not exactly for some residents of Hillside district, nestled near the Blue Mountains, in St Thomas. Their peace of mind was interrupted one rainy, dark night in January 1993, when they were inside their homes, enjoying the togetherness of family. The very elements that they were sheltering from suddenly turned their lives upside down, and their homes inside out.

Water was everywhere, yet it wasn't unusual for it's a watershed area. The Morant River runs nearby. But when residents heard a terrible rush of water and opened their doors, they realised that it was not the usual run-off and debris from the hills. It was as if the water had broken off an entire mountainside. They were in serious trouble.

Horrific night

One resident, Calbert Bennett, now 71 years old, still remembers vividly the horrific night when the nine-apartment house, which he worked very hard all his life to build, was destroyed within a few hours.

"We have the rain falling about three o'clock, but it develop in the night, say about seven o'clock ... . We have to shut in and when we shut in and mi hear one funny rolling, and lightning flash and when mi peep out and look, a the 'river' a come in. The trees them come down and block the gully, and the water start to overflow, right down to the house," he recalled.

Water was now running into his house. Bennett did not panic, but his wife did. He started to evacuate his seven grandchildren. Carrying them on his shoulders, he waded through the rising waters. His wife was the last to be rescued. They fled to a neighbour's house, located on elevated grounds, abandoning theirs. In his wet clothes, Bennett stayed up all night, anticipating what the light of the following day would reveal.

When morning came, what he saw in his dream house was a nightmarish reality. "Pure mud and the wood them (fallen trees) block up the whole yard ... . The house was same place, but it couldn't use. It was full of silt, mud and wood ... Mi save a little clothes, but most of them get damage ... all the shop was destroy," Bennett related.

Great loss

His wife, who literally died of a broken heart eventually, was distraught, but he had to bite his lips and face the fact. "Mi had to hold on to faith cause everybody tell mi if a dem did batter so hard, dem would a mad. Mi say no, from you born man, yuh affi dead man, you have to be strong," he said, while looking at the shell of his shop, now surrounded by trees.

The disaster happened less than two months before the 1993 general elections, a prime time for pork-barrelling. And the barrels of empty promises rolled all over Hillside. The rough roads were paved with pledges wrapped in green and orange packages. Hillside was in the news, and hope was in abundance, very much like the water that roared over the falls created by a dam that was built in the 1920s.

No aid

After the elections, not much attention was paid to the community, and the residents were left to face the possibility of another disaster. They were told to relocate, but got little or no assistance to do so. Some, including Bennett and his family, lived in the primary school for about one year. It was a most embarrassing and undignified existence. During school hours, they had to remain in the room where they were living. The schoolchildren would even mock and jeer them.

Now, 16 years later, four elections have passed; members of Parliament have gone and come. The biggest contribution from Government was in the form of small one-bedroom board houses with no verandas, kitchens and bathrooms. Bennett's offspring have built around the one they got, but others were abandoned or have become derelict. Many people have moved out of the community. Some who were children in 1993 are now mothers and fathers themselves. Others, such as Bennett's wife, have died without seeing anything done to prop up their shattered lives.

Bennett: "Mi work a Serge Island. Mi cut cane fi help miself. Mi work mi pad mule, mule out cane from the hills, put it where the tractor can get it, mi buy one little goat, mi little pig, mi gone on to mi little farming, because we know food is the staff of life. Mi have mi few goat, my few pig, two cows, and the food as the background and a it mi tek and build up myself, start a shop and mi house."

Man-made scars

His house and others are still in ruins; big trees are now where they used to be. Some have collapsed. The gully over which there was a bridge is now filled with sand and stones from the hills. Mounds of shingle still line the one road in and out of the community, and a footpath that once led to the river is now a watercourse. The mountain above is still majestic, despite the man-made scars on its face.

Calbert Bennett remains a strong man, very much at ease riding his donkey, but he can't help reflecting on his life's journey and the incident that deferred his dream, perhaps forever. In a melancholic tone he said, "A coming from scratch, have nothing at all. The Good Book say by the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread. And a go dung to wood and stone, me and mi wife, that time wi did have plenty coconut here. Wi boil coconut oil and she tek the coconut and the oil go sell a town fi mek two ends meet, back up with wi little farming ... now everything gone down the drain ... and no help, a good nerves mek mi stand up yah so, a good nerves".

paul.williams@gleanerjm.com

Calbert Bennett's shop is now covered by trees.