Oct 25-2025
Microsoft Copilot AI Inquiry based on my parameters, EDITED by my fine editorial skills. I've spent two days researching, and it's mind-boggling. My main point is that after Monday, Oct 26, 2025, Jamaica will be a different country in magnanomous ways. But as the old 1978 commercial says, "What's Old Is What's New".
There’s something poetic about rivers that vanish. Something haunting (pre-Halloween) about a canyon that once carried water, swallowed whole by the earth in a single seismic breath. Jamaica remembers. And this week, as Hurricane Melissa stalls offshore with 30 inches of rain forecasted, the island’s memory stirs. Haloween or not, higher prayers to the one who created the heavens and earth, just may change things in a way no man can fathom. The stories are yet to unfold.
I’ve been tracking Melissa’s path not just as a weather event, but as a narrative event, but as an event that we'll soon see resilience of a people who’ve rebuilt before, but never this intense, except for the June 7, 1692 earthquake that swallowed three rivers and created a region-wide canyon covering a great portion of eastern Jamaica. The original name for those three rivers was called, The Rio Cobre River, once a proud artery flowing toward Port Royal, was taken into the earth during the 1692 earthquake. What remains is Woody Canyon, a geological scar and spiritual echo. And now, with Melissa’s slow-motion deluge pressing against Jamaica’s southeastern coast, there’s talk of ancient flood paths reactivating. Not permanently, but rivers remember, as we recently saw here in the California and Arizona deserts, where hundreds of years old dry river washes were refilled, devastating whole towns.
I visited Jamaica years ago on a Bible school missions trip. I didn’t study the maps then—I was just excited to be part of something purposeful. But now, looking back, I wish I had traced the terrain more closely. Kingston, Ocho Rios, the Palisadoes peninsula, where Norman Manley International Airport sits near the sunken ruins of Port Royal. These places aren’t just coordinates. They hold stories of seismic collapse, colonial arrogance, and spiritual endurance.
Melissa’s projected rainfall is staggering. Thirty inches. It’s the kind of saturation that overwhelms drainage systems, reactivates dormant gullies, and tests every inch of infrastructure. Rivers like the Black, Martha Brae, Rio Minho, and Yallahs will swell. Buff River and Plantain Garden River may overflow. And the Rio Cobre—what’s left of it—may mimic its ancient course, carving through Woody Canyon with renewed force.
Jamaica's Jamaica Defence Force (JDF) is trained for disaster response, with engineering units, airlift capabilities, and logistical coordination that rivals many larger nations. The Office of Disaster Preparedness and Emergency Management (ODPEM) has already begun staging supplies and issuing alerts. This is a professional response system—rooted in experience. And earlier today, as all this information is being recorded here on my blog, Jamaica has closed all its airports.
Still, the scale of recovery will demand more. Infrastructure repair, coastal reinforcement, and hydrological recalibration. That’s where companies like disaster recover and marine infrastructure companies are going to have to come in, as strategic partners with expertise in dredging capabilities, and emergency mobilization protocols. They are exactly the kind of aid that complements Jamaica’s own response. Whether it’s reinforcing ports, restoring riverbanks, or stabilizing canyon walls, the need will be diverse and urgent.
And let’s not forget the symbolic terrain. Jamaica is preparing to become a republic, shedding the last vestiges of British monarchy. Their 2024–2025 referendum will mark a constitutional shift, replacing King Charles III with a Jamaican head of state.
Melissa’s timing is uncanny. A storm is pressing against the island just as it prepares to redefine its identity. A deluge testing infrastructure just as Jamaica asserts its independence. It’s almost as if the island itself is saying, “We’ve survived worse. We’ll survive this, too.”
For readers of I Like Mike, this isn’t just a weather update. It’s a legacy moment. It’s a chance to reflect on how terrain, testimony, and resilience intersect. It’s a reminder that rivers may vanish, but memory doesn’t. That storms may stall, but recovery moves. That aid may arrive, but dignity remains.
So here’s to Jamaica—its rivers, its scars, its sovereignty, and its future as a new nation in so many ways, especially post-Hurricane Melissa. (I could have titled this, "Hell Hath No Fury Than Melissa's Scorn. But nah...). And here’s to the people who rebuild, not because they’re rescued, but because they remember. (Come Back To Jamaica!)
Microsoft Copilot - Jamaica has faced dozens of hurricanes historically, but storms as intense and slow-moving as Hurricane Melissa are rare. Melissa could become the most powerful storm in Jamaica’s recorded history if it makes landfall as a Category 4. (READ THAT AGAIN).
Jamaica has never recorded a direct landfall from a Category 4 or 5 hurricane, according to National Hurricane Center records dating back to 1850.
Melissa’s trajectory and stall pattern make it a “slow-motion disaster”, with multi-day flooding and landslide risks.
And yes, here’s to Mike. Because every time someone reads this blog, they’re saying I Like Mike. Even if a comedian once said she hated all men named Mike. I’ll take that friction and turn it into testimony. That’s what survivors do.
Further reading of great interest would be on Jamaica's history of their first Governor, former privateer/buckaneer and of pirates and such, but that would have been a whole different thing. In conclusion I would just say may Jamaica have favor with our Lord and Savior, the Creator of the heavens and the earth. I like to refer to him as, The Ancient Of Days. Look it up.
“By the way, if you click any of the curated links in this post, it helps support my work here on I Like Mike. No pressure—but Christmas is coming.”
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