This first-person account originates from a recorded conversation that took place on a Wednesday evening with 36-year-old Jordan Senior, a seasoned property owner and manager residing in the coastal town of Treasure Beach, Jamaica. The narrative has undergone careful editing for conciseness and lucidity, preserving the authenticity of Senior’s reflections while ensuring a clear and engaging presentation.
Jordan begins by describing his deep-rooted ties to Treasure Beach, emphasizing that he is connected to most of the community through family and long-standing relationships. Having lived there for many years, he has established his livelihood within the hospitality sector, focusing primarily on the management and operation of short-term rental properties catering to both local and international visitors seeking tranquility by the sea.
As someone born and raised in Jamaica, Jordan possesses an unflinching familiarity with the annual onslaught of hurricanes that sweep across the Caribbean. He vividly recalls enduring Hurricane Ivan years ago, an experience that left a lasting imprint, and more recently, surviving Hurricane Beryl in 2024—a storm severe enough to tear the roof from his own home. These repeated encounters with the power of nature have made him both pragmatic and vigilant when it comes to storm preparedness.
His experience with Hurricane Melissa, however, revealed yet another dimension of vulnerability. As news reports began warning that Melissa could reach the catastrophic level of a Category Five hurricane, alarm spread quickly through the community. Local officials and meteorologists delivered grave warnings: this storm, they said, was unlike any in living memory, one that could decimate the island’s infrastructure and displace countless residents. Their urgent refrain—“prepare, prepare, prepare”—echoed through radio waves and community meetings alike, prompting families to stock up on supplies, secure their windows, and brace themselves for the unknown.
When Hurricane Melissa finally made landfall, it did not reach the feared apocalyptic strength, yet it was still formidable enough to evoke real terror. Jordan recalls hunkering down in his home alongside his wife as relentless winds howled through the night and sheets of rain battered the walls with almost rhythmic fury. The tempest grew so fierce that visibility diminished entirely; when they peered outside, the view dissolved into an otherworldly whiteness, a blinding haze of airborne water droplets that erased all distinction between sky and land.
When calm eventually returned, Jordan stepped outside to assess the damage. His first concern was the A-frame rental cabin, affectionately known as Cashaw Cabin, situated only a short distance from his home. What he discovered left him stunned—the cabin appeared as though it had been swallowed by the sea itself. The floodwaters lapped at his knees, rendering entry impossible, and the once lush landscaping around the property had been stripped bare. The waters were receding only gradually, leaving him in a state of anxious suspension. Based on the extent of the damage, he estimates that reopening the cabin to guests will likely be delayed for more than six weeks, perhaps not until January.
Cashaw Cabin represents not only Jordan’s craftsmanship but also his primary financial lifeline. Completed in 2022 and opened to visitors in 2023, the one-bedroom retreat cost approximately $40,000 to build. Designed with intimate comfort in mind, it features a compact kitchenette, a full modern bathroom, and an inviting veranda that opens into a modest backyard garden with a private plunge pool. Ideal for couples, the cabin offers a quintessential balance of simplicity and elegance—what guests often describe as ‘rustic chic.’ Reviewers have remarked that staying there feels like inhabiting a little island of one’s own, distant from the bustle of the outside world.
The property quickly became a reliable source of income. Throughout the year, Jordan typically sees the cabin booked between fifteen and twenty nights per month, though during the high tourist season—spanning mid-November through May—availability nearly disappears, and reservations pour in nightly. The rates fluctuate between $115 and $150 per night, depending on demand and seasonality. Listed on platforms such as Airbnb, Booking.com, and Expedia, the cabin generates around $30,000 annually, a crucial component of Jordan’s livelihood in conjunction with his secondary occupation in professional photography.
After Hurricane Melissa, however, this flow of income abruptly halted. The flooding had rendered the cabin uninhabitable, prompting booking platforms to cancel existing reservations. Jordan acknowledges that he understands the rationale behind the cancellations; protecting travelers is paramount. Yet he notes that these measures, though necessary, seldom extend adequate support to hosts who find themselves unable to earn an income for months after such disasters. For small property owners like him, the sudden loss of revenue eliminates both financial stability and future prospects until repairs can be completed.
Beyond Cashaw Cabin, Jordan had been channeling his earnings into a new project—a two-bedroom villa situated nearby, intended to expand his portfolio of vacation rentals. The structure was close to completion and mere weeks away from opening to guests when the hurricane struck. Between this villa and two additional properties still in progress, he had already invested about $60,000, drawing from personal savings and family-backed contributions. The storm’s devastation was, therefore, not only physical but deeply financial. Melissa’s winds ripped off the villa’s roof, shattered parts of the wall when airborne debris collided with it, and effectively ruined all the finishes that had just been installed.
The damage was so extensive that almost all of the previous work must now be redone from scratch. Funds originally reserved for final touches—furnishings, decor, and marketing—must instead be diverted toward basic repairs, leaving Jordan little choice but to deplete additional savings. The strain has taken its toll; while he remains physically unharmed, the emotional and mental exhaustion of starting over weighs heavily.
Requests for official statements from Airbnb, Booking.com, and Expedia went unanswered at the time of reporting. According to information published on Airbnb’s official site, the platform maintains a policy for managing disruptive events, which includes hurricanes among the most common foreseeable natural occurrences in the Caribbean region. Under these guidelines, hosts impacted by such events may cancel reservations without facing penalties. Furthermore, in a press release issued that same Wednesday, Airbnb announced its commitment to providing free emergency accommodation to first responders deployed across affected Caribbean nations, including Jamaica.
Despite these policies and the generous gestures toward relief workers, hosts like Jordan remain in a difficult limbo—acknowledging the necessity of humanitarian response while also confronting the harsh economic aftermath that follows natural disasters. His determination, however, remains unbroken. Even amid uncertainty and financial strain, he continues working toward restoring Cashaw Cabin and the new villa, motivated by a deep sense of place and community that has always defined his life in Treasure Beach. For him, resilience is not just a watchword—it is a way of surviving, rebuilding, and preserving both home and livelihood in the face of nature’s unrelenting power.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/hurricane-melissa-jamaica-rental-cabin-knee-deep-floodwaters-2025-10
