‘Mi seven youth broke mi heart’

Two seniors who once had thriving culinary establishments at separate locations in the Hurricane Melissa-ravaged parish of St Elizabeth ponder their next move, living a reality that is as heartbreaking as it is revealing.

In their old age, they will have to rebuild shattered lives, almost entirely on their own.

The two, both fathers, have another thing in common.

Both are residing with and caring for stepchildren, a mixture of youth and adults, while their biological children are elsewhere.

Nearly a month after the storm that tore through St Elizabeth’s south coast, one of the seniors was even moved to tears, saying that, since the Category 5 storm made landfall on October 28, he has not heard from any of his seven adult children.

Their stories reflect a quiet-but-growing crisis in rural Jamaica in which elderly men, still expected to be providers, are instead left abandoned, unsupported, and forced to start over with virtually nothing.

In New Holland, 68-year-old Rudolph Valentine Salmon, more popularly known as ‘Howie’, broke down as he recalled to The Sunday Gleaner how draining the past few days have been.

For 30-odd years he ran a thriving roadside kitchen nicknamed ‘100 Pot’ in Middle Quarters.

Salmon says he has seven children, several of whom hold “big positions”, including senior ranks in the police force, legal profession and otherwise, yet, one month after the storm, none of them has visited him.

The storm ripped off a section of his roof, flooded his restaurant, and left him with a $500,000 repair bill and only $120,000 left in savings.

Though his multimillion-dollar business was severely impacted by Melissa, he insists it is the silence from his children that broke him more than the storm ever could.

“Mi cry the other day because mi seven youth broke me [heart]. None a dem nuh tan up side a mi,” Salmon said, crying while adding that they all live and work in Jamaica.

“A power saw me use fi run this and see to it that dem go a school. None a dem nuh call me in a di storm or after storm ... . One a superintendent of police, detective sergeant, lawyer and one of dem in a restaurant business. But a one time yuh make a mistake in a life,” Salmon, with eyes watery and voice cracking, told The Sunday Gleaner.

He said his wife, who is not the biological mother of his children, is beside him in efforts to rebuild.

They utilise their savings to “put on the pot”, in their roofless kitchen, which has seen a major decline in sales.

“Mi work and tek care of them send dem go school, see to it that everything good for them,” Salmon said, noting that any communication from his children would perhaps lift his spirits.

Many elderly men in rural parishes, once community pillars, now find themselves emotionally abandoned despite having children who are financially stable and professionally successful.

A social worker in the parish quietly admitted that this is far more common than the public realises. The issue is rarely acknowledged because older men often hide their vulnerability behind pride until, like now, disaster strips everything bare.

“Many folks affected have not heard from their loved ones, many of whom are children. These are people who left the rural setting for urban areas or even abroad,” commented the social worker, who did not want to be named.

A second man with a different story but the same struggle lives several miles away in the parish at Treasure Beach.

‘Eggy’, who operated Eggy’s on the Beach , a bar, restaurant and Lounge, is fighting his own uphill battle.

His business was destroyed, his income vanished, yet he is still tasked with caring for a family, including stepchildren, all depending on him for survival.

“The storm mash up everything. Everything change and is like yuh mindset change,” Eggy told The Sunday Gleaner.

“My restaurant and bar was right ya so ... . Everything did just level and this ya sinting come and change the whole place. Things did level and nice,” he said.

He says his biological child has gone on to marry and lives with her husband.

Now, with his business swallowed by the sea and with stepchildren, instead of being supported by immediate family, he has become a lifeline for others gravely affected by the hurricane.

He is resilient, and though pondering passing the time sitting with friends, insists giving up is not an option.

“Den nuh must,” he said when asked if he will rebuild, “’cause the bills affi pay, everything affi pay, [including] mi food bill, and a me got mi three likkle stepboy a take care of, so mi affi help dem mother with them,” he said,

Eggy said people cannot be solely reliant on the Government and should maintain good energy.

“We black people nah give up …. We nuh so easy fi throw in we gloves. A nuh so it go.. As how me see it ya, earth a pass through back earth and none a we can’t control this. None a we. We just affi gwan hold the faith,” Eggy said, as he remembers lighting bonfires for tourists at the very same spot he stood.

A peg in the sand was his only reminder that a full-on business once stood there.

“Everything wash away and gone, a just earth. Weh we a go do? We have to try to survive again and move on with life. We go through Ivan, Beryl and the whole a dem, but this ya girl ya she dangerous, man,” Eggy told The Sunday Gleaner.

He knows time is of the essence.

“Mi just a set up myself a see if me can get some things together and things like that; we all have to try. We got it like we went to school and experience another lesson. Mother Nature can deal with, y’know,” Eggy said noting that land squabbles are before the court.

He said it will take sand to build back Treasure Beach.

“If we get sand and the beach come back, we nice. It take money, but ... we just woulda want back we nice beach,” Eggy said.

andre.williams@gleanerjm.com