Residents struggled to come up with a plan to get the zinc out of the tree.

A slim man in short pants and sneakers ran with the sheet of zinc in his hand like it weighed nothing. He had a big grin on his face that exposed less than a mouthful of teeth and he was sweating profusely. He did, however, seem rather pleased with himself. When he ran out of the churchyard, he hopped on to a bicycle that had been lying on the ground and pedaled away like his life depended on it. The man looked back twice as he rode away with the sheet of zinc in his hand and let out a raucous chuckle.

An elderly man sitting on a tree stump nearby shook his head from side to side. "Damn thief unu," he said.

I was standing on Canon Street in Lionel Town, Clarendon, where all this activity was taking place.

All around, people were walking with sheets of zinc on their heads and under their arms. Some were running with them and laughing.

I walked over to the man sitting on the tree stump and asked him what was going on.

Scavenger

"Ah di storm what blow di eda day. Hurricane Dean. It blow off di roof off a di church and so everybody a tek what dem can get," he said. The man introduced himself as William and adjusted the baseball cap on his head before he spoke again. "Everybody roof blow off, so when di roof a di church blow go inna everybody yard and pan di road, everybody just make sure take what dem can get fi fix up dem own house," he said.

William pointed down the road where some younger men were busy on rooftops nailing down newly acquired zinc.

"Di whole a dem dis a grab and nail like dem a scavenger. Before dem gather di zinc and carry go give di parson fi di church," said William.

I said goodbye to him and walked further down the road. The pounding sound of hammer meeting zinc seemed to be coming from all directions. I saw a small group of people standing a few feet in front of me. They were all looking in the same direction and some of them were pointing ahead of them.

When I went over to them, I realised that they were all staring at a tree in a nearby yard. A few sheets of zinc were wrapped up in the tree like tin foil. I tapped the shoulder of one of the women in the group and made a comment about how strong the winds must have been to do that to the zinc.

"Is wah you a say man? Di breeze nearly lift up mi two hog weh mi have inna mi pen round a back and fling dem weh. If mi neva heng on good it woulda lift mi up to," she said.

"Di breeze did heavy bad bad. Mi never see anything like dat before."

Next door to where we were standing, I saw a short, dark-skinned woman peering over a fence. She was wearing a white T-shirt and her head was wrapped. I noticed that there was a giant tree resting on a wooden house in front of her. I walked over to her and she introduced herself as Elma-Jane.

"Di tree dis fall dung pan di house. Bwoy mi nuh know what kinda crosses dis pan mi soul. Mi dis pray Pupa Jesus fi gi mi deliverance from dis strife," she said, while rubbing her chest and looking to the heavens.

"Mi inna di house and mi a tell you dat it was a brute of a breeze dat come wid di hurricane. What a sinting massa! It just lick down di tree one go. Mi can't believe it all now!" she said.

Modest abode

Ackee Joe looks at what remains of the home he's lived in for more than 60 years. - Robert Lalah photos

Next door to Elma-Jane's home sits the modest abode of one Joseph Wilson, or what's left of it. Most of his house also crumbled under the pressure of the winds of Hurricane Dean. But Joseph has something else on his mind. You see, he's in his 60s and has spent most of his life in that house. Over the years, he acquired the nickname 'Ackee Joe'. He got this name because he allegedly has eaten ackees from a tree in his front yard every day for more than 40 years. Now I don't know if these rumors are true, but I will say that Ackee Joe spoke with more hurt in his eyes about the loss of his ackee tree, which snapped in the wind, than he did of his collapsed house.

"Di likkle ackee tree just gone so. It stand up through so much things and now all of a sudden this hurricane just come from nowhere and take it away. Bwoy mi a tell you," he said, shaking his head. Ackee Joe walked over to one of the many pieces of the tree that were scattered across the yard and picked it up. "Mi likkle ackee tree," he said in a whisper.

"Dis yah storm badda dan 'Charlie', 'Gilbert' and 'Ivan', for mi deh yah and see all a dem and is di first mi ever see mi ackee tree fall dung. What a piece a something," he said.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com