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Monday, July 14, 2025

When the waters rise

Flooding, blindness and survival in T&T

by

23 days ago
20250620
Shannon Madar

Shannon Madar

Courtesy TTBWA

By June in Trinidad and To­ba­go, the heat feels heavy, charged with an­tic­i­pa­tion. The hur­ri­cane sea­son is here, and the un­pre­dictabil­i­ty of Caribbean weath­er is in full swing. For those of us liv­ing on this small is­land, that means leav­ing your house in the morn­ing in swel­ter­ing sun, and halfway through your com­mute, a tor­ren­tial down­pour that comes out of nowhere. And with that comes not just storms, but flood­ing. Some­times sud­den, some­times se­vere, but al­ways dis­rup­tive.

As a blind woman, flood­ing is more than an in­con­ve­nience. It’s a chal­lenge lay­ered with un­cer­tain­ty. I can’t see the wa­ter ris­ing around me, the depth of the pud­dles or rivers flow­ing where streets should be. I re­ly on sounds, the touch of my cane, and mem­o­ry to nav­i­gate a world trans­formed by wa­ter.

I re­mem­ber the floods of Oc­to­ber 2018 as if they hap­pened yes­ter­day. Not just be­cause of the news head­lines, but be­cause my fam­i­ly and I were not spared. Wa­ter rushed in­to our home, soak­ing fur­ni­ture, clothes, and trea­sured be­long­ings. Every­thing we thought was safe be­came vul­ner­a­ble. The roads out­side were im­pass­able, and the anx­i­ety of not know­ing how high the wa­ter would rise was con­stant.

For me, be­ing blind made every­thing more com­pli­cat­ed. I couldn’t tell where the wa­ter was gath­er­ing or what was float­ing in it. I couldn’t re­ly on my usu­al rou­tines or sur­round­ings. Even ba­sic move­ments felt un­cer­tain and dan­ger­ous.

Streets be­came rivers. Cars float­ed like toys. En­tire com­mu­ni­ties in cen­tral and east­ern Trinidad were un­der wa­ter. Wa­ter lev­els reached win­dows; peo­ple were strand­ed on rooftops. Some had to wade through chest-high wa­ter just to reach safe­ty.

The dan­gers for per­sons with dis­abil­i­ties dur­ing those floods were re­al. Wheel­chair users were trapped in homes. Deaf in­di­vid­u­als missed evac­u­a­tion mes­sages. Peo­ple like me, who are blind, had to de­pend en­tire­ly on oth­ers to know what was go­ing on and how to re­spond—all while try­ing to stay calm in the chaos.

And the rains keep com­ing. Just last week, heavy down­pours flood­ed streets again. Wa­ter pooled quick­ly, drains over­flowed, and roads be­came un­safe.

For blind and vi­su­al­ly im­paired peo­ple, these mo­ments are tense. Every step brings a lev­el of un­cer­tain­ty.

But this time, we’re bet­ter pre­pared.

The Trinidad and To­ba­go Blind Wel­fare As­so­ci­a­tion (TTB­WA) has part­nered with the Min­istry of Rur­al De­vel­op­ment and Lo­cal Gov­ern­ment to launch train­ing pro­grammes fo­cused on first aid and dis­as­ter pre­pared­ness tai­lored specif­i­cal­ly for the blind and vi­su­al­ly im­paired com­mu­ni­ty. These ses­sions teach more than just CPR and ban­dag­ing. They fo­cus on stay­ing calm in emer­gen­cies, equip­ping this com­mu­ni­ty with the tools we need to help in an emer­gency rather than stand­ing by like a qui­et ob­serv­er.

In ad­di­tion to train­ing, TTB­WA is col­lect­ing the lo­ca­tions of its clients. This is cru­cial. When floods or hur­ri­canes hit, the min­istry needs to know ex­act­ly where to find us to help with evac­u­a­tion or emer­gency as­sis­tance.

This kind of map­ping and co­or­di­na­tion en­sures no one is left be­hind, es­pe­cial­ly those who may not be able to call for help them­selves dur­ing a dis­as­ter.

This is be­cause dur­ing a dis­as­ter, what mat­ters most is clear in­for­ma­tion and sup­port. We need to know where to go and how to get there safe­ly. Too of­ten, emer­gency plans over­look peo­ple with dis­abil­i­ties or treat us as an af­ter­thought.

Dis­as­ter pre­pared­ness must in­clude every­one. Not just those who can see or hear, but those of us who re­ly on oth­er sens­es and strate­gies to sur­vive. Blind­ness does not mean weak­ness, but it does mean we face unique chal­lenges when floods or storms come.

I’ve learned to be re­silient, but re­silience grows stronger with com­mu­ni­ty sup­port and plan­ning. As the hur­ri­cane sea­son con­tin­ues, of­ten with storms grow­ing more in­tense due to cli­mate change, I urge lead­ers, fam­i­lies, and com­mu­ni­ties to in­clude peo­ple with dis­abil­i­ties in all dis­as­ter plan­ning. We don’t want sym­pa­thy; we want prac­ti­cal strate­gies that keep us safe.

Flood­ing will re­main a part of life here. But with knowl­edge, prepa­ra­tion, and the right tools, we can face these chal­lenges to­geth­er—with dig­ni­ty, in­de­pen­dence, and hope.

It’s time for all of us—gov­ern­ment of­fi­cials, emer­gency re­spon­ders, com­mu­ni­ty lead­ers, and cit­i­zens—to recog­nise that dis­as­ter pre­pared­ness isn’t com­plete with­out the voic­es and needs of peo­ple with dis­abil­i­ties.

In­clu­sive plan­ning, ac­ces­si­ble com­mu­ni­ca­tion, and proac­tive sup­port can lit­er­al­ly save lives. To­geth­er, we must build a safer, more re­silient T&T where no one is left be­hind when the wa­ters rise and the storms come, be­cause the truth is, they will.

This col­umn is sup­plied in con­junc­tion with the T&T Blind Wel­fare As­so­ci­a­tion

Head­quar­ters: 118 Duke Street, Port of Spain, Trinidad

Email: ttb­wa1914@gmail.com

Phone: (868) 624-4675

What­sApp: (868) 395-3086


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