Ash, water bags and clothes lines: A volcanic aftermath

One month had passed, but still, they were there: the victims of the Volcán de Fuego. I had jumped at the opportunity to assist in our emergency response project effort. I was a bit late to the effort due to my heavy travel schedule in June. One month out from the eruption, I was expecting things to have settled. But still, some 3,587 internally displaced persons were still living in 54 crowded algergues or shelters, some, with 20-25 people per room. What those rooms consist of depends on the shelter. The lucky ones are staying in converted classrooms with mats on the floor, many bathrooms, portable showers and space to run around. Others, in cramped churches with not nearly enough toliets, let alone showers. What they all have in common are the endless rows of crisscrossing clotheslines, packed full with donated clothes, desperately willing themselves to dry in the humidity.

The donations are overwhelming in every sense of the word. The local response was swift and generous. Donation centers springing up on seemingly every street corner, every office or store trying to do their part to help their fellow Guatemalans. When you all live within view of an active volcano, and several inactive ones looming overhead as well, the sense of responsibility increases- as does the realization that this could have easily happened to you. In fact, it did affect a wide population, even though we were far from the pyroclastic flow of ash, rock, and gas,  the ash was easily transported by the wind 24 miles to cover the city. As a result of the generosity of the Guatemalan lay people, mountains of clothes are visible in every albergue.  In a separate area, another mountain of donated water baggies and water bottles.

Unable to be stacked neatly and kept away from the sun (particularly in the case of water bags), most of the water mountains are now spoiling. I´ve learned that there is a 5-hour shelf life for water left exposed to the harsh sunlight. Thanks to chemical leeching, the water now has a weird taste of plastic and inexplicably, cheap blueberry favor. In one albergue, the little boys kept themselves busy by emptying the thousands of little water baggies (each about 8 oz) into the church´s water well, where it would then be feed into the newly installed water purification plant. There is a huge comfort in this- the donations won´t go to waste and neither will the victims have to drink spoiled water.  But what of those shelters that don´t have a water purification plant? The water is still used for washing clothes, for bathing, for cooking over the fire or propane.

And then there´s the clothes. The sheer quantity coupled with the lack of space and volunteers makes it impossible to sort through. The internally displaced persons walked on piles of clothes filled trash bags like steps to reach other bags, hoping to find something their size. One shelter complained that the donated clothes were too big for them and the shoes not small enough to fit their feet.

In other albergues there were reports of skin eruptions from donated clothes, that was was received without being treated for fleas and scabies. They meant well…

Everyone meant well. Much can be forgiven in the immediacy of an emergency, but good intentions stop being good enough one month later. When the donations have stopped (thankfully, in the case of clothes). But then again, so does the national attention. The families have settled into their new normal. A routine to keep themselves busy. Most albergues have set up TVs for entertainment, to whittle the hours away. Sometimes there are psychologists. Sometimes clowns. Sometimes a craft. 

And of course, the schools themselves have been disrupted. Converted into shelters for the victims, it provides a place of refuge for the IDPs, but also results in one month of stopped classes for the whole community-whether they were those who lost their homes and land to the 5 meters of ash or not. So the number of indirect victims increases.

One month out from the initial disaster and there is a new feeling. The air is heavy with imminent dread. How much longer can they stay here? Where will they go and what will they do? How do you relocate a whole village whose livelihood and sense of identity was tied up in their land? You can´t just build them a house and wipe your hands of the matter. How will they survive? How will they put food on their new table? Where will they get money to buy a table in the first place?

Many villagers are staying in the same albergue as their neighbors and want to stay together afterwards. They have a shared past, and now a shared future.  One community in particular had a long history, being relocated in the late 90s by the Guatemalan government from the Mexico border after signing the Peace Accords. Many still remember. For many, this will be the 4^th time they start again. The first was in fleeing from the violence of the 36 year civil war, the second in establishing a new home in Mexico while they waited to see if their country could figure its way out of a war, the third time when they were relocated by the Guatemalan government to land eerily close to an active volcano. They were expecting to harvest 2.3 tonnes of coffee this year from their fields. And now, after the eruption, they are grateful for the 60 donated chickens and ducks they received for the purpose of reselling and making a small profit. Most are adamant that they don´t want to go back to their land. They know it´s ruined. Even if their house is still standing and even more miraculously, if their land isn´t covered in ash and rock, there is the understanding that this could happen again, but next time it will be their children and grandchildren that suffer the consequences. That burden weighs heavy.

In one shelter town, filled with 5 shelters, the town plaza has been converted into a meeting center, the church, and the place for regular funerals. One month after, there are still recovering bodies of victims from zone zero. To date, the official death count lies at 131 dead and 359 disappeared. The horrifying reality lies in the fact that most only return with parts. The entire body being buried in ash and rock or too damaged by the extreme heat to fully recovered. And so the litany continues, the funeral processions with caskets that are much too light, making their way down the crowded street and obstructing traffic lest anyone forget one month afterwards, things are still not okay. Slowly making their way to a proper and dignified final place of rest while those they left behind make their way to a new reality.


"At various points, in big ways and small, we get knocked down. If we stay down, grit loses. If we get up, grit prevails." -Angela Duckworth