Field Notes – Accompong Town, Jamaica

My journey to the Peace Cave with my oldest son and a “mad man” turned into a survival expedition. One we’ll never forget. Throughout the process, we took turns caring for each other. We turned to each other and supported each other as we took turns panicking.

We crossed fields, climbed mountains, and crawled through the thick debris left behind by record-breaking Hurricane Melissa. Central Jamaica was devastated, but our area was among the hardest hit. Massive tree tops had snapped off and lay scattered across the hills like straws of hay.

There were very few bird sounds.

No animal sightings.

Only a spider.

And no water.

Water is life.

Water was flowing beneath us through the limestone as we edged over large rocks covered by mangled tree trunks. We snapped away branches, held back pricker-covered limbs, and crawled through tangled vegetation. At one point my foot slipped into a hole hidden beneath a fallen tree, scraping my skin open. The terrain was brutal. 

By the time we emerged from the bush, photographs documented more than eighty superficial cuts, scratches, abrasions, and bruises across my body. No single wound was serious, but together they told the story of six hours spent forcing our way through post-hurricane terrain. The landscape took a piece of us with every mile.

I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, a ball cap, and closed-toe Crocs with no socks.

We had almost no water.

My phone eventually died, though not before capturing one of the last photographs taken before we realized we were in serious trouble.

L/D (he introduced himself as L, but when we called for help nobody knew who we meant because everyone knows him as D) seemed to change personalities from one cockpit valley to the next.

One moment he was mumbling:

“You’re my teacher. You’ll get a PhD and make the best money.”

The next moment he was staring at me and saying:

“Maroons don’t like white people.”

Standing deep in the bush, surrounded by jungle, that statement landed differently.

I remember thinking:

Excuse me, what?

Do you want to kill me? Is that what you’re contemplating right now?

Then, without warning, his tone shifted again.

“I love you like a mother.”

Hello?

Nothing about the experience felt stable or predictable.

Hours passed.

We cut, cleared, bled, cried a little, prayed, and kept moving.

By the grace of God, we eventually reached the Peace Cave.

Once there, my son and I refused to move.

We stayed put until our rescue friend arrived with water and led us out of the bush.

Looking back, the Peace Cave was never the story.

Getting back out was.

We had spent hours cutting our way through hurricane debris to reach the Peace Cave, unknowingly clearing what may have been a new path in the process. The symbolism was not lost on me later. 

After all the confusion, the cave itself felt calm. The journey there was chaos; the destination was stillness.