Desperate survivors in Jamaica try to kickstart recovery as they wait for help for the living and the dead

Jamaican officials raised the nation’s death toll to 32 on Monday. It will almost certainly rise as emergency teams reach more devastated areas.

Black River, Jamaica (CNN) — The air smells of damp earth and drying mud. Smoke from debris fires mixes with a faint tang of fuel from the few generators that still have gas. Every sound carries: the strike of hammers and the scrape of shovels as Jamaicans try to dig out and rebuild after Hurricane Melissa slammed into the island.

CNN reached the hardest-hit western parishes and the towns of Belmont, Black River and White House, where destruction is uneven but staggering. Some neighborhoods are gutted, others look untouched.

Roofs were peeled away, and windows blown out in the Category 5 hurricane, leaving no protection from the rain and up to 16 feet of seawater driven onto land in the storm surge.

Possessions have been dragged out to dry as much as they can in the hot and humid conditions. And everywhere, survivors try to make sense of it all.

Three-year-old Alessandra points to what used to be her bed. “It’s all mash up,” she says with a small smile.

Her mother, Alandrea Brown, 26, walks around what remains of their home. “We are very distressed,” she says. “We really need some help because you have persons who are very homeless, and we don’t really have any food supplies.”

Much of that help has yet to come.

As we prepare to leave, a man points to another house. Inside, he says, a neighbor’s body still lies uncollected. Through a broken window, a sheet covers the remains of a man, one of his hands resting outside the cover.

There was no way for neighbors to call for help. No phone signal. No road access. CNN relayed the information to authorities once the team was able. It is a haunting reminder of how cut off this region remains.

In Jamaica’s capital, Kingston, and across the east, life goes on. Volunteers and supplies are pushing west to help people and start to heal the vital economic lifelines of tourism and agriculture.

Jamaican officials raised the nation’s death toll to 32 on Monday. It will almost certainly rise as emergency teams reach more devastated areas.

But for now, when night falls, the west of the island goes quiet. No power. No water. Only the chirp of insects and the distant hum of a generator. Mattresses are dragged back inside, still damp but something to sleep on. The air smells of wet wood and salt.

By morning, long lines form for fuel, food, and clean water. Those without running taps turn to the river or rainwater pipes. Families wash clothes, fill buckets, and share stories about what they lost.

“I guess it doesn’t really hit us yet,” says Simone Gardon, 40, when asked about the impact of the storm — the strongest ever to hit Jamaica. Her voice trails off as she looks to when things may become clearer. “After two weeks, when it’s all settled down and the hunger sets in…”

Neighbors have become their own first responders. They move fallen trees, lift tangled wires, and hammer tin over broken beams. They rebuild because they must, knowing help is on the way, but not soon enough.

Treating patients in a ruined hospital

In Black River, the region’s main hospital is barely standing. Rain leaks through the roof. Corridors sit in darkness.

Senior Medical Officer Dr. Sheriff Imoru tells CNN his home was destroyed too, compounding his heartache. “When I see this place, my hospital, it’s very difficult even to come through the gates in the mornings. But I have to.”

He and his staff, many of whom also lost their homes, keep showing up. The emergency room still operates without power or running water.

In one of the few dry rooms, Shaniel Tomlin holds her one-year-old son, Jahmar, who hit his head after the storm. He’s covered in bandages, like a war veteran. She has a prescription in her hand, but nowhere to fill it.

“Everything’s gone,” she says softly, her eyes welling as the weight of what’s ahead begins to sink in.

Across this centuries-old coastal town, buildings like the courthouse, library, government offices and the elementary school are destroyed.

From Kingston, trucks loaded with food, fuel and aid wind their way west, at times sitting for hours in traffic as roads are slowly cleared.

“We are resilient,” says Lisa Hanna, a former member of parliament. “There’s almost an empathetic solidarity across the island and across the world to get things here. We’re not going to make our people starve.”

Groups including World Central Kitchen, Operation Blessing, and Samaritan’s Purse are already on the ground, setting up kitchens and delivering water. Relief teams expect to stay for months. And even that may not be enough.

The tourism industry, the backbone of Jamaica’s economy, is watching closely. Officials stress that much of the island remains open, especially the north and east, as peak season begins next month. But in the west, where Melissa hit hardest, rebuilding will take time.

When a radio signal returns, so does the sound of resilience Music drifts through the salt air as roadside vendors fry fish on bare concrete slabs, their foodstands long washed away. The scent of smoke and the rhythm of song fill what silence the storm left behind.

“We are Jamaicans,” one man shouts. “We are the strongest people in the world.”

The winds are gone, the water has receded, but the scars will last. In western Jamaica, the fight is just beginning.

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