We are living in a motel. I’ve housed in MUCH worse. But imagine moving across the world to pursue your passion only to find yourself displaced almost immediately from your new home by a natural disaster called a rain bomb. (Edit to add this event was in February.)

Brisbane the city is relatively young if you only consider the white occupation. I’m not getting into politics here, so I’ll just let that rest. The city started as the penal colony Moreton Bay and adopted the name Brisbane with the renaming of the river…after some white governor dude. World War II saw the city housing the main South Pacific Allied headquarters for both Aussies and Americans – which has nothing to do with what I’m on about today, but I did find interesting.

Brisbane the river is a tidal estuary, which pretty much means you don’t want to swim in it voluntarily. It’s home to bull sharks, Queensland lungfish, cod and muck that requires dredging in order to navigate (not to mention all sorts of other things that would like to kill you because this IS Australia). That being said, it’s actually quite beautiful, rich with lush greenery and abundant wildlife along the banks.

The Brisbane river and the city of Brisbane are very much intertwined. The architecture reflects the river’s curves, the city’s 16 bridges provide easy access to the various suburbs. A refreshing take on what older coastal or river based US cities would like to be. The streets are clean, the people are generally friendly; I feel safe.

Every once in a while however, the area decides to flood. Up until now, these events remained fairly uncommon, the notable disasters occurring in 1893, 1974, 2011…2022. My brain piques at the frequency these are happening, but I did say I’m not getting into politics. 

Unfortunately, this has resulted in the displacement of a segment of the local population. Rain fell by the bucketfuls, resulting in an overflow of the river. The floodwaters rose with such rapidity that most in its path were caught unawares. Imagine going to sleep at night, the rain pouring down but as yet not any obvious danger, only to awake the next morning with waters waist deep threatening to consume everything you ever owned. Now imagine you’re a very young adult, living alone for the first time. 

The waters have receded, there’s not much obvious indication of the flooding left to be seen. The city and state have done a decent job of the cleanup. Most obvious signs are along the river where the ferry docks are closed, some torn from their moorings and listing at angles. But more hidden are those who are left waiting for the parts needed to be able to move back in, whether that be electrical wiring, structural rebuilds, or sanitization.

The juxtaposition is not lost on me. The river and the city cannot be separated, each beautiful on its own but very much a vital part of each other.  I acknowledge those who lost their lives in the flooding, and those much worse off than my family. The motel really does not seem so bad in that light. And the good news is we should be able to move these 20-somethings back home very soon! Perhaps this is a case of what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger…but this is Australia and I won’t play those odds!