Gone But Not Forgotten

I heard the other day that the names of killer storms such as Andrew, Ivan and Katrina are retired and will never come back to haunt us. One can only hope that Wilma will be among this pantheon of dangerous names and that she never returns. It is now four days since Wilma lashed Southern Florida in general and Aventura in North Miami, in particular. We could have coped with the 100 mile an hour winds, the flailing storm shutters that were ripped off, and the crashing banging mayhem; but did she have to throw in a tornado for good measure? All around our area we see trees that have been twisted out of the ground rather than snapped, metal poles that look like piles of spaghetti and heaps of traffic lights that swung this way and that until they flew off their supports. During the daylight hours, all we hear are the constant buzz of chainsaws as years of patient growth that block the roads, are cut free and reduced to wood chippings. At night-time, the area hums with the sound of a thousand generators where those unfortunate souls who still have no electricity, battle to keep milk for babies and insulin for diabetics cool. The endless search for petrol, ice and water continues unabated and for senior citizens trapped in the upper floors of condominiums that no longer have lifts, each day is a dice with death. Will a kind neighbour climb up to bring them water and at least one meal a day, and will anyone be prepared to stand in long queues at the pharmacy to fill their prescriptions? Certainly everyone was given plenty of advanced warning of Wilma, and we took the warnings seriously and filled the petrol tank, stocked up on water and canned goods and made sure that we had cash on hand. For many who didn’t take the warning seriously or who thought that no storm could begin to equal the wrath of Hurricane Andrew, and who were rather more casual about their preparations, life has been reduced to an endless queue. People queue to get into queues. The queue to get into the car park at the supermarket is followed by a queue to pay for whatever is left on the shelves, provided that you first queued at a bank and drew cash as plastic is no use at present. This is followed by a queue to turn left or right at the busy intersection that has no traffic signals, presuming that you have queued for up to five hours to fill your tank with possibly only $10 worth of petrol. More and more bikes are appearing and the uncommon sight of people walking home carrying the shopping is something that we have never seen in this petrol driven society. Our electricity and water has been reconnected, and we still have a balcony on our 17th floor apartment which was on the north side of the building. Friends in the south facing apartments that took the full brunt of the storm didn’t fare so well and over two hundred balconies have been ripped off. We have bikes, strong legs, experience of living in Africa in fairly trying conditions and the all important sense of humour, but then again, we aren’t frail, in our eighties and living on the tenth floor relying on a walking frame. Thanks for the visit Wilma but please understand that we won’t be inviting you back.