Resilience in the face of calamity
Maybe your storm didn’t come with wind or rain. Maybe it came with a diagnosis. A layoff. A loss. Maybe it was the moment you realized something—or someone—you were counting on was gone.
It takes courage to stand up again. Strength to hope again.
Disasters look different for everyone—but rebuilding takes the same courage.
When Hurricane Beryl tore through Jamaica last July, many subsistence farmers in Jamaica did everything they could to prepare—trenching their land, reinforcing chicken coops, and praying that maybe, this time, the winds would pass them by.
But for many, including a single mother named Dagrian, it still wasn’t enough. She lost most of her crops and a quarter of her chickens—livestock she depended on to feed her son, pay school fees, and keep her small farm afloat. By local standards, she was considered lucky.
Others had lost everything. Because in rural Jamaica, disaster isn't the exception. It's the rhythm of life.
When the ground shifts beneath you
You don’t need to be a farmer to know what that feels like. Maybe you’ve never stood in ankle-deep water wondering how to save your crops, but you might’ve watched something you poured yourself into slowly slip through your fingers.
Whether that’s your home, business, a dream, or even your sense of control, you end up asking the same question as them: How do I start again?
That’s an especially tough question for subsistence farmers. Farming is everything they rely on. It puts food on the table, sends children to school, and offers their only shot at building something stable.
But with no savings, no insurance, and no safety nets, rebuilding after a storm strikes is often a matter of grit and faith alone. Concrete walls and irrigation systems are luxuries. Most homes are patchworks—patched together and prayed over. So when a hurricane comes, there’s no evacuation. They brace. And often, they rebuild from scratch.
The damage you can’t always see
And not all of this destruction is reported on.
We hear about damaged roads and downed power lines. But what about the school fees that can’t be paid now? The meals missed because the chickens are gone? The roof that leaks for weeks, soaking beds and clothes and leaving families sick?
After a storm, rural families don’t just rebuild their farms. They have to rebuild their dignity. Their sense of progress. Their belief that tomorrow is still worth fighting for.
But they still get up
And somehow, still—they bounce back. They patch what they can. Dig new trenches. Sell what little they have to buy more feed, more seeds, another sheet of zinc.
They do it not because it’s easy, but because they believe in what they’re building. Because for them, giving up isn’t an option.
In the best cases, they’re helped along by churches or local NGOs—offering seed vouchers, a little cash, a little hope. But the truth remains: most rural families are still just one storm away from having to start over again.
And maybe, in a way, we all know what that’s like.
You don’t have to live in a storm zone to understand
Maybe your storm didn’t come with wind or rain. Maybe it came with a diagnosis. A layoff. A loss. Maybe it was the moment you realized something—or someone—you were counting on was gone.
Whatever form it took, you’re not the only one who’s been there. It takes courage to stand up again. Strength to hope again. And sometimes, that courage grows when we hear someone else’s story.
That’s why these farmers’ stories matter. Because they don’t just speak to hurricanes or hardship—they speak to all of us. They remind us that rebuilding is possible. That even after devastation, life can grow again.
The storm isn’t the end of the story
Jamaica’s farmers are incredibly resilient. But no one should have to rebuild alone.
Wherever you are in the world, someone near you is quietly starting over—after a loss, a setback, or their own calamity. So when you see someone in hardship, don’t look away. Say something. Lend a hand. Show up, even in a small way.
Because recovery is always easier when we go through it together.