How one young woman survived Hurricane Beryl during ‘that time of the month’
Originally published on Global Voices
As Tropical Storm Rafael makes its way across Jamaica, I cannot help but remember the devastation we faced after the passage of Hurricane Beryl — a major storm that manifested itself early in the 2024 Atlantic hurricane season — and I feel compelled to share my story.
It's not that my experience with Hurricane Beryl was somehow more frightening or difficult than anyone else's — God knows the impact has been tremendous and ongoing — but, like many other women, I am sure, I faced an additional challenge: I was on my period.
My sharing of this experience is in no way intended to make light of the challenges around menstruation that so many women face daily, both within and outside of the hurricane season. Having reported on the realities of period poverty in the Caribbean, however, the hurdles I struggled with during the storm certainly afforded me a more intimate understanding of the issue. To be clear, what I endured during Beryl is NOT an example of period poverty; I merely experienced a small aspect of that lived experience for a short period of time, and, in retrospect, I was grateful for it.
As Beryl barrelled across the region, devastating countries like Grenada, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and others, it set its sights on Jamaica. Even as the storm barely skirted the southern parishes of the island, it caused flooding, loss of life, and damage to property, leaving countless people without power — a situation that lasted for weeks and months.
According to the National Hurricane Center (NHC), Beryl's intense nature marked the second time that an Atlantic hurricane had reached Category 5 status in July (after Hurricane Emily, which made itself known on July 17, 2005). Beryl's maximum sustained winds were reported to be near 160 mph, with higher gusts.
Each hurricane season, I find myself thinking of the worst-case scenario should a storm hit and we lose our often taken-for-granted resources like electricity and, even worse, water. These thoughts flood my mind because I dread not having water in my pipes to take a shower — especially when I have my period. Though I always have my contingencies, nothing beats free-flowing water from the pipes. I suppose it’s a combination of comfort and the need to have access to pollutant-free water since pipe-borne water — especially since that access, triggered by climate change events, is being reduced.
Some might say that my water challenges are an easy fix because my household can invest in a tank. While that is always a solution, it’s not a feasible solution for us right now. As such, the next best thing is to store water in buckets for use in the spaces we need it most — the bathroom and kitchen. We also employed various treatment methods to ensure our own safety.
Over the years, we’ve been fortunate enough not to have lost our water connection during a storm, but with Hurricane Beryl, our luck ran out. Our taps were dry even before the brunt force of the Category 4 storm hit. Jamaica's National Water Commission (NWC) reported that “some 70 per cent of customers [were] without water,” and while we were fortunate to regain our connection to a clean water supply after about a week, others struggled without water and other utilities for far longer. Despite my discomfort, I also acknowledged the privilege that I had.
So what is the combination of menstruation without a water supply like? Imagine enduring excruciating pain while not having water in your pipes to clean yourself. The only place water was seeping in was through a leaking roof. Our home was at the mercy of hurricane-force winds and lashing rain. I worried about potential damage to property and life, and while I was as prepared as I could be, I was also overwhelmed.
Prepared because I had on hand non-reusable period products (pads/sanitary napkins), as well as the more environmentally-friendly menstrual cups, as well as disposable wipes. I also had the treated water that we had stored, but I was uncomfortable. It was difficult to function under the circumstances.
Not knowing how long we’d be without water, I had to skimp on the water we had managed to save — but how do you use water conservatively and ensure that you keep your hygiene up, especially with a heavy menstrual flow? If you know how to make your resources stretch, you find a way — and sure enough, I did. Naturally, I never felt as clean as I would have wanted, but “washing the possibles,” cleaning my menstrual cup, and properly disposing of sanitary napkins and used wipes did just enough for me to not feel gross. My flow generally lasts six days, so I endured the discomfort for almost as long as we didn’t have water coming through our pipes.
As I speak about “the possibles,” I recall speaking with Danielle Fraser, who said, “At times, it’s hard to the point where some people have to use half a bucket of water, or way less than they normally would, to clean up. As Jamaicans say, ‘We clean up the possibles.’”
It was all an exhausting juggling act — using my kerosine lantern in the bathroom, using as little water as possible, and managing my menstrual hygiene while the wind and rain threatened my home. As I went through the motions, all I could think about was, “How many other women, girls, and people who menstruate are in a similar situation, or worse? How are they coping? Do they have water stored? Do they have menstrual products?” Given the realities of period poverty, I already knew the answer to those questions.
Despite the discomfort and stress of the situation, I emerged from it with a renewed sense of resilience and hope. I am grateful for the lessons learned, and as we continue to face the challenges of climate change, I remain hopeful that we can create a future where everyone has access to clean water and the dignity it brings.
Though challenging, the experience has deepened my understanding of the struggles many face daily. It has also reinforced my commitment to advocating for better access to essential resources, especially against the urgent backdrop of the climate emergency. As we brace for future storms, I hold onto the hope that we can build more resilient communities where no one has to endure a ‘Beryl’ous period without piped water.
