So the detox juice thing isn’t going so well. I stare into the now empty pot of Belgian white chocolate ice-cream, while next to me beckons a similar sized pot of unopened, rapidly softening, organic chocolate delight. This is breakfast in the tropics; the morning after a hurricane hits.
We know it’s coming way before it arrives. There are lots of warnings and businesses and Government offices start closing the day before. Many here laugh that “God is a Bajan” so they remain relaxed, viewing this as paid time off to hang with friends and family. There is the usual rush for petrol and for basics at the supermarket but it’s all in lighthearted, good natured terms; there is a general held view that such storms blow past this lucky island with minimal disruption to life.
But tropical storm Elsa, upgraded to hurricane Elsa, decides to be the first hurricane in 55 years to smack this delusion to smithereens.
In the 78mph gusting wind, roofs blow off, trees fall taking power cables with them, landing on roads in the wet with live cables sizzling. The lashing horizontal rain pelts down, drenching the remaining volcanic ash, turning it into stubborn dark grey sludge. Roads are flooded, cars and vans submerge in the rising waters. Corrugated walls fly away like weightless sheets. Roof tile shards crash to the ground. For 3 hours Elsa blows her fury leaving in her wake bursts of angry temperamental rain.
She departs, leaving behind a personal reminder; our patio is strewn with torn and lost plant limbs and debris; forlorn, reluctant confetti of a wild wedding at which we were the bewildered guests.
By mid-day, the heat is rising, stifling action and inducing restorative sleep. There is little to do, no power means no WIFI and Roscoe, who slept through the entire thing, is desperate to hotspot my data so he can stay connected and find the latest Euro 2020 football scores. It’s funny-sad to watch his generation rootless at the loss of the umbilical internet cord.
In the evening, we drive over for a mutual cook-a-thon at the residence where there is generator power, a working gas cooker, blessed air-con and WiFi for the teenager. On the way there, the devastation aftermath becomes more gut-renching. Lots of the little wooden chattel houses are blown apart by the wind and 100+ year old trees shamefully show their naked roots as they lie majestically supine, rendering roads impassable.
Later driving home, we are hopeful that power and water are restored but it’s not to be; as we turn by St Thomas church which has already lost a mighty oak tree, darkness greets us. We drive down the hill knowing it’s moonlight only at our home.
I’m up sweeping and mopping at 7am before the heat rises. It’s eerily still, barely a puff of wind. All windows and doors are open trying to catch a breeze to help cast off the day before. It’s a beautiful blue skies morning, the sun kissing a glistening sea. It’s hard to believe this was a raging skyscape barely 24 hours before.
Power continues to be off and water remains a tap trickle. The contents of our freezer are on the other side of the island and I travel 10 miles to enjoy a shower in a friends pool room. We discover the knobs on our old, large Weber gas barbecue have quietly disintegrated despite being sheltered under the now rotting branded cover. This necessitates an evening trip to the takeaway on the highway, Chefette, where we appear to be joined by half of the folks of Holetown. Power outage is at least good news for one commercial operation.
The night time air is heavy, hot and claggy. All windows remain open but the curtains remain statuesquely still. I lie on the yoga mat next to the open patio doors. The persistent mosquito buzzing does nothing to aid sleep.
Outside the sky is clear, the stars are bright and all of Holetown lies in darkness. 
Yet more trees have brought down electrical cables, Barbados Light and Power have been overwhelmed by Elsa. We may get power tomorrow or maybe not. It will be as it will be.
In the last 4 years between Elsa, Dorian, Maria and Irma; the ferocious lightening storm of 2 weeks ago; the rise in the amount of sargassum seaweed layered across all beaches on island; the steady increase in air temperatures; the battles with seasonal torrential rain and the resulting flooding; the reduction in fish; the loss of coral reefs; we are witnessing, first-hand, the reality of climate change. And these tiny islands with their ambitious NDCs and determination to move to Electric Vehicles and sustainable renewable energy sources, are catching the brunt of the developed nations industrial progress.
These islands are not just holiday destinations. They host entrepreneurs, developers, thriving businesses, and lots of opportunities for investors. Homes for all living creatures and prosperous livelihoods are under threat. We need to understand that decisions made elsewhere to burn, mine and harvest fossil fuels and hydrocarbons have severe consequences in places where there is little protection from the erosion of earths’ atmosphere.
In 120 days from today, COP26 goes live. The message is clear; ambitions and talking isn’t enough, we need finance, action and real change.
Let’s get it done.