Dear Editor,

Jamaica, in my opinion, has never truly operated on a structured economy, it operates on luck, vibes, and the occasional natural disaster to remind us who really runs things.

After Hurricane Melissa it has become painfully clear that in this country survival depends not on systems, planning, or leadership, but on pure chance and whose district happens to be on the relief route. Because while some Jamaicans have igloos stocked fuller than PriceSmart — care packages, tarpaulins, tin mackerel, even the “good intentions” tissue paper — other districts haven’t seen a single relief truck — not even a text message, not even a false promise — just wind, rain, and the distant echo of, “We’re assessing the situation,” which is political speak for “Best of luck!”

Meanwhile, mosquitoes have declared themselves the new Government, taking full control of communities since fogging seems to be an optional service offered only on days when nobody is home or on the one road where the councillor’s mother lives. The rest of us? Fresh buffet. The mosquitoes are biting so hard people might start claiming them on their taxes.

Add the rising post-storm tensions — road rage, neighbourhood disputes, and citizens arguing at intersections like it’s a national pastime — and you get a society stretched to its limit. Our Members of Parliament are remarkably quiet, conveniently invisible, yet we are assured that “it a gwaan”.

But these issues existed long before Melissa.

Jamaica is a place where the average citizen is expected to live with their parents until 30 or older because buying a home has now joined the category of mythical creatures — right beside mermaids and politicians who keep their promises. Wealth creation often depends on inheriting “whatever pittance” the previous generation could scrape together, as starting a business is now equivalent to gambling with extra paperwork.

Our health system wobbles, the education system remains unsure of its own purpose, and national development seems tailored not for the people but for foreign investors, political interests, and the same few wealthy families who have quietly owned half the island since your grandfather was a boy.

Through it all, we continue — laughing so we don’t bawl, dodging mosquitoes, managing potholes deep enough to hide a small car, and hoping one day Jamaica becomes a place where progress doesn’t rely on luck.

Until then, prosperity here is not earned. It’s won.

Duvaughn K

Westmoreland

duvaughnk@gmail.com