The hurricane season returns to the Atlantic every year, from June till November, and Jamaica has been shaped by it for centuries, as the first anniversary of Hurricane Melissa approaches. Two historic hurricanes struck the island in 1780.
One made landfall in February; the other, on October 3, erased Savanna-la-Mar, the capital of Westmoreland, carrying a ship up its Great George Street. On November 12, 1912, another hurricane carried another ship up that same street. Hurricane Melissa, which struck on October 28, is the latest chapter written into the walls of Jamaican buildings still standing.
Some men sat drinking in a bar, arguing emphatically that the Government should restore the Savanna-la-Mar Old Courthouse even while building a new parish court. These were ordinary Westmoreland men over a midday drink, expressing strong opinions about preserving Jamaica’s architectural heritage. They were in a hurricane-damaged building that carried itself with grandeur as one of Jamaica’s architectural treasures: shop below, family living above, covered carport to the side. This typology was perfected in the 1940s by local Jamaican designers and builders.
The happy surprise was this: the people of Westmoreland – sugar workers, students, government employees, church members, teachers, nurses, shopkeepers, and students – overwhelmingly want their old buildings saved. They pointed us to structures, told us their histories, and said they would happily live in them if they could. This was more than what Jamaicans might dismiss as rum-talk. It was more like the people’s mandate received while conducting a post-Melissa damage assessment of heritage architecture in Westmoreland. Across the parish, we heard that opinion repeatedly.
UK Windrush architect Tyrone Deans, University of Technology, Jamaica, architecture student Khalliyah Powell, engineering student Okiefe Porter, and I, as the team, were very surprised by the repeated endorsement of architectural heritage in Westmoreland. Interestingly, instead of the familiar repulsion from negative associations of colonialism and slavery attached to so much of this heritage, the people are now communicating ownership, an esprit de corps, a sense of place and belonging. We came to understand that it was beyond mere nostalgia, but that the architecture that survived, remarkably, represented for the people, including those of the Jamaican Diaspora, continuity, identification, and ‘what-lef-a-yaad’. What survived translated as being Jamaican and belonging to us.
Foremost among their wishes was the restoration of the churches standing like mangled sentinels on Westmoreland’s hilltops along with the schools attached to them. That carried a real sense of urgency. Months after Melissa, many families still live and work in damaged buildings, navigating unrepaired roads so treacherous that our own team refused to drive on some of them, yet taxis and delivery trucks kept forcing their way up those steep roadways. Schools were to be opening shortly, and concerns were expressed over these roadways.
Some remarkable finds emerged. En route uphill to Darliston, still treacherously inaccessible because of hurricane-damaged roads, stands a cottage with a stone ground floor and a damaged traditional Spanish-wall-technique upper storey. Constructed using hand-hewn stone and hand-sawn local hardwood, joined with shipwright carpentry of tenon-and-dowel detailing, it is an excellent example of Jamaica’s architectural heritage. Its location and dating would fall within the circa 1510 Spanish settlement called Oristán. Close examination of the structure and its surroundings suggests that the area may have suffered a mini tornado during Melissa.
Architectural evidence backed up what residents told the team as they pointed out heritage architecture that had been abandoned, neglected, and sometimes vandalised, but was still standing while modern construction nearby failed. Locals guided us to these landmarks unprompted. These included common heritage objects like the centre monument at the crossroads in Grange Hill and a surviving former doctor’s residence that remains part of the community’s memory of meaning and significance.
The question asked was frequently: Why did the old buildings stand when newer construction failed? Melissa’s winds tore away zinc sheeting that had, at some point, been laid over wooden-shingle and slate roofs, revealing underneath centuries-old technology that had simply been working the whole time. Many had Westmoreland hardwood, sourced locally and cut by hand, resisting termites, as opposed to untreated modern lumber now in use that disappeared. Where the heritage buildings failed, it was evidently because of untreated timber suffering termite deterioration and neglected maintenance that brought damage, along with community-observed inferior workmanship. This latter factor was highlighted as an issue larger than the hurricane itself. The people reinforced the inherent strength in the old ways of building. Some residents pointed to ongoing shortcuts in current construction and asked, reasonably, whether today’s quick repairs would withstand the next hurricane.
The people pointed to the lesson Jamaica’s heritage architecture has offered. Resilience includes maintaining what you already have. Dwelling houses constructed with local termite-resistant lumber and traditional techniques survived.
Who is listening to the voices of the people, to what they have just told us? Average Jamaicans are speaking beyond being sentimental, instead pointing to practical examples of sustainability. Who is taking note? The people are asking to keep their old churches, courthouses, police stations, and shop-houses. They represent their sense of place. The surviving architectural heritage is their landmark. The buildings that survived Melissa have already made their case for their own preservation.
The Savanna-la-Mar Old Courthouse lost its roof, yet the structural integrity and form of the building survived intact. It is a testament to the resilience of Jamaica’s heritage architecture. The people called for its restoration, and as an expert, I say the process is simple. Yes, court functions have outgrown the building and, thankfully, the National Reconstruction and Resilience Authority (NaARA) will erect a new parish court.
Let us be mindful that Section 4(3)(b) of the NaARA 2026 Act reads, “…to ensure the preservation of sites and objects of architectural or historic interest…”. Amid the public debate, let us allow NaARA to move forward and fulfil its mandate, and demonstrate that it hears the cries of the people by allocating requisite funding for the adaptive reuse of the Jamaican heritage architecture that proved resilient during Melissa. Will NaARA restore such rural urban architecture?
Dr Patricia E. Green is an architect and historic preservationist. She is proponent of sustainable habitats and inclusive urban spaces. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.
