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As the calendar flips to June, the Caribbean enters once more into hurricane season — that annual stretch of foreboding skies, storm shutters, and uneasy anticipation. From Barbados to the Bahamas, and especially in the most vulnerable corners of the region, the watch begins.
This year, the start of the season stirs memories of Hurricane Beryl, which struck Jamaica with devastating force just three years ago. Beryl wasn’t the most powerful storm on record, but it proved what the meteorologists often remind us: it only takes one. Houses in Portland were peeled open like tin cans, roads turned to rivers, and power lines twisted into black, sparking nests. Recovery was slow — and for some, never complete.
But if any nation knows what it means to stagger from the rubble and brace again, it is Haiti.
Prayers rise this season not just for fair weather, but for mercy — and perhaps justice — for a nation so often struck by both natural disaster and human failure. In Port-au-Prince, where the streets still bear the cracks of the 2010 earthquake and where tents still house the displaced, even a tropical storm can feel like a final blow. When Category 4 Hurricane Matthew ripped through in 2016, it was the southern peninsula that took the hit — and yet the pain was national. Cholera returned. Crops were lost. Livelihoods disappeared in the mud.
And then came the 2021 earthquake — again in the south, again devastating. Relief promised by the international community arrived late or not at all. The gangs came faster.
Haiti’s suffering cannot be blamed on the weather alone. No hurricane manufactures corruption. No earthquake invites kidnapping. But every disaster makes the weak weaker. The same rains that fill a cistern in Dominica can flood a slum in Carrefour. The same winds that topple a banana tree in St. Lucia can sweep away a tarpaulin roof in Cap-Haïtien.
Across the region, however, hope persists — a stubborn thing. Emergency shelters have been reinforced. WhatsApp groups buzz with preparedness tips. The Caribbean Disaster Emergency Management Agency has positioned supplies and rehearsed responses. Some islands, like Barbados and Grenada, have poured investment into early warning systems, training, and regional coordination.
But no radar can yet predict whether 2025 will be a year of catastrophe or a year of grace.
For now, the ocean is warm. The skies are watching. And the people of the Caribbean — from the cayes of Belize to the hills of Hispaniola — wait, prepare, and pray.
Because in these latitudes, prayers are not superstition. They are habit. They are memory. They are, for many, the only roof still standing.
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