Curaçao is changing

He picks up a bag from the ground and takes out a drone. After setting it up, he launches the drone into the air.

Meanwhile, he catches the scent of burning branches. Looking up, he sees smoke rising near the foot of the hill that marks the boundary of his estate. 

Steering the drone towards the smoke confirms his fear: a fire. “Not another one,” Omar sighs.

He quickly grabs his phone and calls the fire department. While he waits, he also calls his neighbor Lisa, who is preparing in case the wind spreads the fire. 

In the distance, a familiar voice calls out, “Mi amigu, another forest fire?”

Omar looks up to see his neighbor Alejandro approaching. Alejandro, an elderly man who has lived in Curaçao his whole life, worked for years at the meteorological department and understands the changing climate well.  

“We're having another one, Omar,” Alejandro says, shaking his head sadly. 

“Yes, I don't know what to do anymore, Alejandro,” Omar replies wearily. “The drought, the fires, another bad harvest... it seems to be getting worse.”  

Alejandro nods understandingly. “Climate change, my friend. It's making our dry seasons longer and more severe. And that brings all sorts of problems.”  

Omar sighs deeply. “I still remember the talks you had with my dad about climate change,” he says. “Back then, you predicted this might happen, but you also said you might not be around to see it.”

“So why is this already happening now?”

Alejandro takes a deep breath. “Honestly, I never thought I'd see this either, but it's a combination of factors. Rising temperatures and changing weather patterns mean less rain. That leaves soil dry and increases the risk of fires. And when a fire starts, like now, the impact is huge.”  

Omar nods. “I see it everywhere. My crops fail, yields of peanuts, corn, carrots... all lower than ever. And the cost of farming keeps going up. Thankfully, I've learned about permaculture and hydroponics, growing crops in containers helps a bit. But I miss walking among the cornfields and being outside.”  

“I understand,” Alejandro says. “And it's not just your problem. The whole island is suffering. There's less fresh water, there are more diseases, and even our infrastructure is suffering. Buildings are cracking, roads are breaking... everything is drying up. Just look at that asphalt on the street outside, it's already developing potholes again.”

“And what about the animals?” Omar asks. “I've been seeing more wild animals on my property, searching for water.”  

“Yes, the drought is pushing them towards us. And biodiversity is taking a hit too. Imagine one of those wild dogs carrying a disease roaming around. That's risky for our animals and for us humans.”  

Omar removes his cap, wiping his forehead again as he watches the distant fire spreading over the hill. “I know there's not much we can do, Alejandro, but is there a solution to this?”  

Alejandro shakes his head. “There's no easy fix, Omar. We can only adapt. Keep exploring new farming methods like you're doing. We need to cut down on water use. But most importantly, we have to realize this will be a long battle.”  

Omar nods thoughtfully. “I get it. Even though there's not much we can do, we have to be more aware that this is our only home, and we have to take action so future generations can enjoy it too.”  

Alejandro places a hand on his shoulder. “Exactly. And remember, you're not alone, mi ruman. We have to work together, share our knowledge, and support each other.” 

Their conversation is abruptly halted by the wailing sirens of the fire department. Quickly, they rush to the gate and swing it open, allowing the firefighters to enter and swiftly reach the burning area. 

Together, they observe as the firefighters arrive and immediately begin battling the flames. In a short while, they manage to bring everything under control, minimizing the damage. It's a small victory in the struggle against the drought, but for Omar and Alejandro, it lifts their spirits.