In a world where floods, droughts, and hurricanes are becoming more common occurrences, we have all undoubtedly heard about climate change. For some people, it is as simple as not getting any snow days this year. For others, it is not being able to grow crops because of devastating monsoons. No matter what experience you are speaking from, one thing is obvious – global warming is burning its way into our lives and earth, quicker than lightning in a summer storm. In my own personal life, I fall into the category of climate change affecting my life in the way that I don’t get snow days, or snow at all, anymore. My experiences are just evidence of global warming affecting every part of the world, but there are others who actually live in the eye of the storm of this crisis. The rest of this post is a fictional story from a young girl named Jacqueline’s perspective of climate change in her village. The people in her village mainly receive their incomes and livelihoods from agricultural work. 

I hear the ear-splitting, screeching sound of my alarm clock, and I groggily roll over and turn it off. I drag a tired hand down my face and reluctantly step into my school uniform. Part of me is excited to go to school today because I will finally finish my presentation on economics, and the other half is dreading this experience. However, my whole body is absolutely rejecting the knowledge that I will have to harvest our crops for our shop directly after school. “Jacqueline! Come eat!” my mother yells. I hurry downstairs and quickly scarf down some scrambled eggs and then rush out the door. 

When I’m outside, I wave to my friend Delphine as I cross the street. “Delphine! Are you nervous for our presentation?” I ask her. 

“I’ve never been more nervous. We have to talk about how money flows through our society in front of that whole class? I’m just going to try and get through it,” Delphine says to me as red creeps into her face just thinking about presenting. I feel a touch of confidence knowing I’m not alone in my fear. 

When we get to class, Delphine and I are the first to present. We physically and mentally exhale once it’s done. “Good job,” I whisper to her. “You too, Jacqueline,” she says back.

Suddenly, I hear pounding on our school’s roof, like a million drums banging on the ceiling. I look outside and there is a steady stream of muddy water coursing through the streets, picking up everything in its way. I see pieces of houses and car doors swimming through the muddy streets, and I begin to worry how my family is. If this strange rainstorm-flood occurrence can take out cars that have been engineered to be able to withstand intense natural conditions, what will happen to our small home? A thought as heavy as a raincloud suddenly dawns on me. What will happen to our crops? Those harvests that I dread so much are the only thing keeping my brother and I in this school. My parents had to drop out of school early to take care of the farm, so agriculture is one of the only things they can do to make money. My brother and I are the only ones who can bring us to a better life.

“Everyone, line up behind me! We are heading upstairs. No talking and take your belongings with you please,” my teacher barks at us. Delphine and I huddle together in a scared little kind of unity with a couple of other girls in our class. We walk up our school’s old staircase into some of the older kids’ classrooms. Even though they are supposed to look big and scary they look scared themselves for once. I find my brother and go talk to him. “Brandon, there’s a lot of wrecked stuff in the streets. From the water,” I whisper to him. “Our crops are probably in there too.” Brandon’s face is a mask of reassurance, but I can see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. 

We wait in this classroom for what seems like hours.

Our teacher returns to our room with dark shadows in her eyes. Her next words are thick with remorse. “This flood has taken out a lot of our village. I know many of your families work with agriculture, and you should know many fields have been destroyed. Luckily, we have been able to contact a nearby town that has space for select families to move into. If I call your name, get your things and go find your families so you can get going.” 

I’m praying that my name doesn’t get called in case our farm is still intact, but also hoping it does get called in case it is destroyed. 

“Brandon and Jacqueline.”

I gulp and look behind me at Delphine. “Goodbye.” I say to her. Her eyes are shiny with tears. “Bye Jackie.” she chokes out. 

I turn and walk out the door, unsure if I’ll ever come back to my home, or even another classroom at all. 

Image: Gallagher, Chris. “Car on body of water photo.” Unsplash, 16 January 2019, https://unsplash.com/photos/car-on-body-of-water-4zxp5vlmvnI