A Stormy Future in the Caribbean Basin

On my last sojourn home, I looked out of the windows of the noisy, claustrophobic 747 expecting to be greeted by the youthful but full bosom of green mountain peaks, garlanded by lush green vegetation, almost  like nature’s necklaces across the rich forests. Instead my island looked forlorn- a rustic, dry harmattan brown which painted so sorrowful a disguise that it only confirmed what I did not want to accept- my island in the dry season was a skeleton, a veritable arsonic corpse of its former self.

“You are now free to leave the aircraft. Please take all your belongings with you”.

As if I would leave anything behind me for these wretches who didn’t even want to give me extra peanuts! I leave the airplane, only to wade through the thick, almost impenetrable air that swamped my nostrils and crept over my throat at MBIA- the air was so balmy it didn’t feel like air. Asthma threatened, I struggled to breathe for about one minute. Get a damn grip I told myself. This is your country! Smoky wafts of heat escaped from the pitch.

I jumped in the car where I found my mother waiting, eagerly. “Oh gawd it dam hot” I exclaimed. “Don’t swear” she admonished. I love my mum. She often complained about the heat, but I paid her no mind, neatly filing her complaints about the heat into the miscellaneous “menopausal” cabinet in my mind- it was the cobwebbed compartment that held other complaints- the time it took to drive from Victoria to St. George’s, the little munchkins who stole her carefully tended corn, fencing, and the high mortgage interest rates at the Public Service Credit Union. I started the engine and began the one hour journey across Grenada that was so pleasurable each time I did it when I returned as I was able to see what was new and to hail old, familiar faces. “Plenty plenty jacks coming up- if you see jacks”, was my mum’s commentary as we passed the fishing mecca of Gouyave, referring to a particular species of fish, similar to sprat, that was usually plentiful and was the staple of island life. Jacks were usually very abundant but that year there was an over abundance. Boatfuls and boatfuls of jacks trashed onto our coast and over spilled, to the extent that fishermen could not manage a sale and some were left rotting. Too many jacks to dry, too many jacks to buy- too many to clean and to corn.

Something else was new when I stepped outside and entered my house and the small room that I outgrew a long time ago- there was a persistent vuvuzela-like droning, and I only managed to work out who were the culprits when I noticed purple and red welts on my now ultra sensitive arms and legs. I was insulted that I had stayed away so long even the mosquitoes (and their progeny) did not remember who I was! These wicked beasts, along with the vicious biting sandflies were in full bloom, almost resplendent in their plentifulness and splendour, were I not aggravatedly scratching and itching away. I took a glass of cold water out on my verandah and asked my mother- was it always like this? I do not remember my island to be this hot, the sun’s rays to sting so harshly, the air to be quite so muggy, the ocean so rough, the climate so steamy? It confirmed what I began to suspect. Had we already succumbed to the perils of climate change and global warming?

We have already learned that 2005 was the hottest year on average since records began. Apart from the warmer seas causing more extreme events and activity, warmer waters are already damaging our coral reefs, causing bleaching. The UK Guardian reported on 24 June 2008 that warmer seas and a devastating hurricane season resulted in more than half of the Caribbean’s coral reefs being destroyed. Interestingly, according to a presentation given by Ulric D’Trotz (PhD),developing island states only account for 1% of emissions but will probably experience over 50% of the effects of climate change. In fact, low lying small islands are reported to be the most vulnerable group, and the least adaptable. As such, since we have no control over global mitigation, the strategy seems to be one of resigned adaptation. What a cop-out! Predictions in 2008 were dire: in the next few years we would see sea levels rising- saline intrusions in freshwater aquifers, coastal flooding and erosion. We would also see increased temperatures, increased vectors and vector borne diseases. Our rainfall patterns will change drastically- we would see extended periods of droughts and extended periods of heavy rains. There would be decreased fresh water availability. Storm activity was also expected to be more intense. What is shocking is that a mere 2 years later, some of these “predictions” are already our experiences.

The effects can be far reaching. Apart from an ecosystem that is messed up, this can result in the direct loss of our agricultural and tourism revenues on which almost all Caribbean islands depend. The region would lose its attractiveness and in fact, the milder winters in the North might obviate the need for a retreat to our climes (which might be considered a health risk because it would be infested with mosquitoes anyway). Jobs in the industry would be lost as hotel rooms go empty. Insurance costs of promises close to the shoreline will soar. The Adapting to Climate Change Project for the Caribbean has gone some way to sensitising the public, strengthening technical capacity and training, and developing a business plan to contain the risk. But there seems to be an overwhelmingly complacent attitude of “there is only so much we can do”. Never mind that over 1.4 million people might lose their livelihoods and possibly their lives, due to flooding.

Although the Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre has planned a series of projects to assist in managing the crisis and has launched a series of practical strategies in partnership with the University of Oxford (including Caribsave), there has not been much pressure placed collectively as a region on the more culpable parties (probably because we are too busy prostituting for aid). How much more louder we could have spoken in Copenhagen if we had only one envoy and spoken with one voice?

Strategists consider the costs of inaction to be in the region of 75 per cent of GDP in countries like Grenada, Haiti and Dominica in 2100. This means that unless we come up with alternatives, we are creating a serious crisis for our children. The pundits tell us that all we need is time to come up with viable solutions. I am defiantly cynical. Chances are, with our current track record, the Caribbean will become uninhabitable and time will be the only thing left.

(Photo from triniforums.com. All rights reserved).