We had gone through this countless times. On the eve that Dorian made landfall in the Bahamas, we knew the drill. Board up your home, secure your belongings and stock up on food, water, non-perishable items and the good snacks.

Bahamians had faced down the merciless beatings of Hurricane Andrew, Frances, Jeanne, Wilma, Joaquin, Matthew, Irma and more. We thought we knew the score. But no one could anticipate that mother nature could be this angry and cruel. Once the water subsides, the debris is cleared and the bodies are counted, what hope will be left for the Abacos and Grand Bahama?

We have three full months left in this hurricane season, but two of the country’s largest economic contributors and heavily populated Family Islands have already been simultaneously attacked and decimated to some extent. The gravity of this has not yet set in.

Will we have to go through this again? Can we continue to sustain this way of living?

Will we have to go through this again? Can we continue to sustain this way of living?

Our small-island developing state currently grapples with high unemployment, challenges in generating economic growth and a vulnerability to natural disasters. These are the questions and concerns we face in the aftermath of another deadly storm.

How much more can one island nation take?

Despite continued efforts for growth and a thirst for stability in the islands, the Bahamas are always threatened by hurricanes – every year, in the period between 1 June and 30 November. What else can we do but remain resilient and continue to build stronger?

Scientists have warned that climate change is shaping tropical systems. Global carbon emissions reached all–time highs during 2018, and global surface temperatures are likely to increase the intensity of storms. Over the past three years many other countries in the region, including Dominica, Jamaica and Cuba, have met similar disastrous fates with the passage of hurricanes. Our islands are in need of global support to ward off possible extinction.

Today we weep for the trauma and devastation that have visited our shores. Our hearts ache at the survivors’ tales being recounted and the number of people not yet accounted for. The country is on edge, our nerves are frayed, and we just want relief for our fellow countrymen. We still do not know exactly how many people are dead or how many may still be trapped, holding out for rescue. The fear is that the loss of life will be “staggering”.

In real time, Bahamians throughout the archipelago fortunate enough to escape Dorian’s wrath held their breath and watched in horror as familiar streets and homes were swallowed by the rising tide, and memories of generations birthed were washed away.

Although Abaco had lost some phone network services since Sunday – from one of its only two providers – videos and photos circulated quickly. One friend posted on Facebook that she hadn’t spoken to her family on the island all day. A neighbour hadn’t heard from his mother since she told him that they were waiting to be rescued. Their call had been disconnected abruptly and he waited in anguish to hear from her again. I watched as he frantically and repeatedly called her number the next day when phone services on the island were said to be back up, hoping to no avail that someone would pick up. I heard from relatives that two of my cousins were missing. The degrees of separation closed in as thousands of Bahamians took to social media to search for loved ones and make fervent pleas for rescue.

There was just no preparing for this monstrous storm. Roofs were blown off shingle by shingle; vehicles were overturned and submerged in water; and buildings were disassembled, ripped down to their skeletons and toppled like playing cards. The boundaries where the ocean and land had once met were erased. The sea moved inland and the sharks with it. The water moved in fast and ferociously, smothering everything in its path. The sheer force of the surge burst into living rooms, invading the inner crevices of people’s property. People huddled into ceiling and attic spaces to wait out the rampage, their futures uncertain.

After Hurricane Dorian, the normal procedures of disaster prevention, preparation and mitigation will simply not be sufficient. We are now facing the difference between living and surviving. It is paramount that the ways forward prioritise resilience-building, fighting climate change and the preservation of life.

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The devastation of Dorian will be recorded in the country’s history, alongside the tales of the Great Abaco hurricane of 1932 and the 1926 hurricanes. It is my hope that the world will not get disaster fatigue and the Bahamas will not be forgotten. We are still in grave need of international support.

Nasa astronaut Scott Kelly called the Bahamas “the most beautiful place from space”. In my biased opinion, that real-world imagery ought to be preserved.

While it remains unclear what the future of Grand Bahama and the Abacos will be, or what the long-term impacts of this storm will have on Bahamians, what is certain is that there is only one way forward. We must move upward, onward and together to rebuild. It’s only a matter of how long it will take.

• Sloan Smith is a former reporter for the Nassau Guardian newspaper