For Ethel and Rydon Coon, the flooding in their hometown of Newmarket, St Elizabeth is frighteningly familiar. In the summer of 1979, torrential rains – similar to the ones associated with tropical storms Isidore and Lili – fell for days, inundating the already saturated ground and causing ground water to continue rising long after the showers stopped.

Then, more than 600 acres of land were covered in water up to 90 feet deep, drowning livestock, buildings and farms in the area. The entire community was evacuated, and it took several months before the waters finally receded.

As a precaution, the village centre was relocated from the valley to a more suitable location on one of the surrounding hills. But some residents, like Rydon Coon and Ivan Williams, rebuilt their homes in the low lands.

Twenty-three years later, it has happened again. The normally picturesque valley in western St Elizabeth can now be more aptly described as the Newmarket lake, as waters have risen more than 10 feet high and show no sign of receding anytime soon.

Last Monday evening, when the water started inching up the walls inside their home, the Coons and their three children moved all their belongings into the Newmarket Community Centre, 300 yards uphill.

“We had to get out,” said Rydon, shaking his head in despair. “But all the same, we give thanks ’cause life nuh gone, and although this is not the best situation, at least we are safe.”

Their neighbours in the small community have been very supportive, helping to move furniture and providing social and emotional support.

“We all in this together,” said a resident who gave his name only as Clemming. He, too, witnessed the 1979 flood.

“Last time this happened, everywhere got flooded. The water was so high that the only thing not covered was the church bell there, on top of the steeple, so all we had was each other, everybody had to help everybody,” he said.

By last Friday, the Office of Disaster Preparedness and Emergency Management (ODPEM) ordered the immediate and complete evacuation of the Newmarket and New Holland districts, asking residents to report to the Beersheeba All-Age and the Lewisville High Schools, the official designated shelters in the area. The ODPEM is concerned that with the water spreading to the surrounding areas, and with many roads and byways rendered impassable because of rising water, flood victims may become trapped in their homes, cut-off from food sources and out of the reach of the various relief agencies.

Two days before the ODPEM order, though, most residents had opted to stay in their homes until the last possible moment.

Clarence Uriah Chambers, a 78 year-old farmer who is visually impaired because of cataracts, was one of those residents.

Chambers told the Observer that he has lost 78 roots of banana and three chains of yam ground. Worse, he said, was the fact that he now has to wade through knee-high water to get from his house to his shop, normally a short walk apart.

Chambers’ pit latrine, which lies just behind his shop, is also flooded, and although it has not been used since Monday when the flooding began, it is sure to raise health concerns.

The Observer was escorted through the deep water by Omar Reid, who had been helping other residents move food and other supplies through the deep water on the back of his bicycle. From the summit of a hill behind the district, Reid pointed out the local ball ground, the main road to Montego Bay and his neighbours’ farms, all submerged beneath murky water that stretched as far as the eye could see.

“I don’t know what we going to do,” he said, trying to balance bags of groceries he helped a woman carry to her house. “The water still coming… look, see it rising up out of the cracks in the road. I never see anything like this before.”

In New Holland, a short drive away from Bamboo Avenue, one of the south coast’s premier tourist attractions, an artery of the YS River has overflowed its banks, sending gallons of swirling brown water into homes, shops and covering fields with agricultural crops.

Up to late last week, a section of the main road between Lacovia and Middle Quarters could be traversed only by heavy-duty vehicles. A few brave drivers of sport utility vehicles also managed to navigate their way through the water, which was as deep as six feet in some places.

Just beyond Bamboo Avenue, local boys frolicked in the cool, brown waters of an instant swimming hole that seemed to be more than seven feet deep, located beside a cane piece that looked more like a rice paddy.

Not everyone was as excited about the changed face of the landscape. Dennison Clarke, a resident of Middle Quarters, lives along the main road, and lost about two truck loads of marl he had stored in his front yard.

“The water just keep coming up, up, up, washing everything away,” he said, pointing to the tiny spot of white that was the remainder of his building material. Clarke and his family were lucky. Their home is built on a small incline above the road, so they managed to preserve most of their belongings.

Not so lucky was the owner of Bobette’s One Stop. After the second day of heavy rains, all that could be salvaged from inside the shop were the appliances and stock that could be put on shelves and counter-tops high out of the water’s reach.

The flooding provided economic opportunities for enterprising young men, who teamed up to push stalled vehicles out of the flooded roads. The fee for pushing a truck or trailer could amount to as much as $3,000, while cars, depending on the make and “if the driver look like ‘im ‘ave it”, could pay between $150 and $1,500 to be pushed to dry ground.

Middle Quarters farmers, Din Steven and Hollis Anderson, could only point to where they thought their eight acres of cassava, corn, sorrell, gungu peas and banana lay beneath the waters of the flooded plain.

“Is the first I ever see so much water,” said Anderson, who said he has lived in Middle Quarters for almost 60 years. “We had a similar situation in July this year, but this is the worst it’s been.”

He said that since July, he and his neighbours have had no assistance from the authorities to help them recover, and they do not expect help anytime soon.

“Some people come around here the last time, and them promise assistance and take my name, but all now I can’t see not even a pint of corn to replant,” he lamented.

Standing in his underwear, contemplating the strong current of the water before him, Steven paused. “All the same, I hope this time someone comes with help,” he mused, before jumping into the gushing stream to swim to his field. He was going, he said, to rescue the last of his cows.