From ruins to rebuilding: Three Jamaican mothers face the future after hurricane

Three women in Jamaica whose lives were upended by the destructive force of a hurricane which battered the Caribbean island are looking to rebuild their future. 

Right before Hurricane Melissa swept across Jamaica in late October 2025, Rose* took her two children to a friend’s sturdy concrete home to keep them safe. When they returned the next morning, everything had vanished.

“The house was gone,” she said. “I didn’t even see the roof, just a piece of lumber.”

A school serves a temporary shelter for people whose lives were upended by Hurricane Melissa.

Entire neighbourhoods were reduced to splinters by the hurricane which left 36 per cent of houses in the western part of the country either damaged or destroyed.

Schools became shelters overnight, turning classrooms into temporary homes. Roads disappeared under water, power outages spread, and thousands were cut off for days. 

Nearly half a million people were left in precarious living conditions, facing profound uncertainty.

Among them are Rose, Sharon, and Sonia – three mothers whose lives changed overnight.

‘I have a key but no house’

For nine years, Rose lived in her small wooden home, a donated structure that had become her family’s refuge. 

Now, only the foundation remains. “I have a key to the house but no house,” she said. The air reeked of mud and decay. Nothing could be saved.

Sonia sits on a bed at a shelter for people who lost their homes due to Hurricane Melissa.

Before the storm, Rose worked as a cruise dispatcher in Negril, and her son as a hotel photographer. Both lost their jobs when the tourism industry shut down.

A few classrooms away, Sharon* faces a similar struggle. She arrived at the shelter with her two small children the same day her home, and her father’s collapsed. 

Before the storm, she worked as a gas station supervisor, now her workplace is closed indefinitely. Her children sleep on desks in the sweltering heat.

Between the rows of desks and makeshift beds, families share what little they have: a meal, a blanket, a few words of comfort. Amid loss, small acts of kindness create fragile connections.

Living in limbo 

More than 1,100 people remain in 88 shelters in Jamaica, and over 120,000 households need urgent repairs after Melissa’s destruction. 

Among them is Sonia*, who fled her coastal home carrying her grandson with a heart condition. 

“I can’t swim, so I grabbed him and ran,” she recalled.

Since the start of the emergency, the International Organization for Migration (IOM) teams have supported the Government of Jamaica and the wider UN response, delivering tarpaulins, shelter repair materials, hygiene kits, generators, and other essentials to families whose homes were damaged or destroyed.

For women like Rose, Sharon, and Sonia, each day is a test of endurance and solidarity. Their homes are gone, but the support of their communities helps them move forward. 

Their lives, once far apart, are now linked by loss, uncertainty, and the slow process of rebuilding.

*Names changed to protect identities

 

Songs of hope rise from Gaza’s ruins

Among them is Ahmed Abu Amsha, a music teacher who has become something of a humanitarian troubadour.

Fleeting moments of joy

Living in a worn tent with his family, he refuses to let despair drown out hope. Instead, he teaches music to displaced children, helping them find moments of joy through rhythm and song.

Originally from Beit Hanoun, Abu Amsha is a guitar instructor and regional coordinator at the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music. Since the war began, his family has been displaced 12 times. Each time they fled, they took their instruments.

“They’re the only thing that keeps us hopeful,” he said, sitting beside bottles of water outside his tent, a guitar resting gently in his lap.

UN Video | Music amid the rubble: A Gazan musician plants seeds of hope

Daily horror

Daily life in the camp is a grind of hardship – narrow alleys, water queues, a constant struggle to survive. Yet within this bleakness, Abu Amsha has created something extraordinary: Gaza Bird Singing (GBS), a musical group made up of displaced children with budding talents.

The idea came during a period of displacement in Al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, where he began training children to sing and play. The group has since performed in various camps, their music echoing on social media and offering a rare glimpse of hope amid rubble.

Clinging to music

His son Moein, who plays the ney – an end-blown wind instrument similar to a flute – carries his instrument wherever they go. “We’ve been displaced more than 11 times, and I always carry my ney with me. It’s the only thing that helps me forget the sound of the bombing,” he said.

Finding a quiet space is hard, but they try to practise inside their tent, cocooned from chaos.

For Yara, a young violinist learning under Abu Amsha’s guidance, each new displacement deepens her anxiety. “But whenever I’m scared, I play. Music makes me feel safe,” she said.

Under the tarpaulin roofs of the camp, children gather to play, plucking strings, blowing wind instruments, tapping rhythms into existence – trying to transcend the horrific soundtrack of war.

Ahmed Abu Amsha (right, with guitar) surrounded by children who play, sing and learn music.

Sacred space

In a place stripped of necessities, the sound of music feels both surreal and sacred.

Yet Abu Amsha remains steadfast in his mission. “We sing for peace, we sing for life, we sing for Gaza,” he says softly, as the melody of the oud rises behind him – a fragile beauty in a scene shattered by war.

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