Heavy
Aerial shot by Javid Collins (UWI TV) of part of the Sandy Bay village (Windward side of the island) showing the ashfall from the explosive activity at La Soufrière
When we got the order to evacuate I was miles from home so I had to head back to Georgetown. I don't think I thought much about the weight of my actions I just knew I had to grab the stuff I had left and leave.
The Windward Highway was busy as expected and there were but a few times that the traffic stood at a stand still. It wasn't until we neared the Peruvian Vale gas station and I joined the line to fill my tank that I was really forced to pay attention to the events of the night.
It was then that I really saw the exodus. I remember the mattresses- some folded to accommodate another- others splayed on the sides of trucks and vans. I remember the strained faces of a people who were trying to get to a destination some of which were unknown. It must be weighty to move from a place you know to a space that is unknown. It must be heavy to carry little then leave behind most of what is yours- your home, your independence, your livelihood- all of which form a part of your identity. I noted all this as my heart sunk, but the sight that really broke me, held a jeep with a middle aged woman who had whitening hair. At the back of the jeep she sat with two kiddies and it was then it struck me that some of us were taking our prized possessions and those may be all she had.
I had to fight tears as sat in line to fill the car. Next to me sat my mother and in her lap, with eager eyes was our 3 month old puppy. The cries of our cat Paw was heard now and then in the back of the car. I sighed as I looked at her and couldn’t help but think of how good fortune surrounded us. We were heading to my cousin’s house in the green zone. This was my second trip to the capital for the day. It may be my last trip for a while. I tried to shrug at the uncertainties and concentrate on the journey ahead. I filled my tank and cruised toward town. The night was ablaze with sound and sight of urgency.
When we settled in I managed to comb my thoughts, and there, I found some relief. We made it through the day and it was now time to wait. It was about eight the following morning while having breakfast when we saw the great plume of grey pierce the blue sky. I glared at it for seconds then imagined it darkening my hometown, obliterating any sign of life. I imagine my neighbors who refused to leave scurrying for a nearby overnight bag. I imagine the all-consuming fear that can paralyze and pierce you heart. I imagine the trauma and I cowered.
“I glared at it for seconds then imagined it darkening my hometown, obliterating any sign of life.”
Art by L.E.M, Intersect Antigua
The plume continued to extend into the sky as my thoughts plummeted to the devastation that was ahead. After about an hour of stares into the sky, my mother and I finished breakfast and headed to town to purchase a mattress.
It took us another hour to do so and it was upon leaving the store that I saw it was raining ash. It fell from the sky as whisper, soft and flurry. People stood in the streets with their faces help upwards. Then there was a thunderous clap as more plumes pushed to darken the sky. Cameras and cell phones were everywhere, documentations were in progress and we all stood at a standstill in awe of the force of nature that lived amongst us all these years. Another clap erupted and we gasped. We went home in the gloom that started to gather from the ash fall. That night I laid uneasy, relieved after waiting for months for an eruption. The following morning was shocking. Everywhere hung a white and powdery stain. We cleared and cleaned the verandah all morning, then later, it streamed from the skies again.
The days seemed long and were punctuated by the thunderous claps. Some nights were similar. At times we awoke to what sounded like a thunderstorm. The uncertainty began to grow and take hold. It seeped into my consciousness. I began to live for the next eruption.
Then the next eruption came as a release. It meant we were drawing closer to some end. La Soufrière spilled its guts and my country began to show signs of infection. People bandied together but there were signs of tear in our psyche. We were tired. We were uncertain. We were fearful. We tried to hold it together. I made several trips to shelters to see my friends. Their complaints were few but their hearts were heavy.
After about a month, the explosions began to grow sparse. We journeyed home to clear our ash-filled roof. The drive to the Windward side was scenic like any other ride until we approached the Red Zone. There it was dark and gloomy. The ashy dust hung in the air like a stark warning. It paled the houses and clogged the drains. The roads turned into beaten paths and gloom and greyness pervaded all. Our house was intact but some parts were barely recognizable. The yard has some inches added and lawn grass disappeared. The neighbourhood carried similar features. We all wore a grey tinge. The challenge was to clear the ash from the roof and since our roof was flat, the accumulation was immense.
I sat across our house in the neighbour’s yard as three boys swept and pushed thick and heavy ash from the rooftop. It heaped like sand on the lawn and the driveway. The boys shoveled and pushed, pulled and swept for about three hours. Three hours cleared the equivalent of what may have been one truckload of sand. It also puts the weight of the eruption into perspective. We still weren’t given the all-clear. La Soufrière was still very active. We left that day to hear that thirty minutes later, there was another eruption.
“The uncertainty began to grow and take hold. It seeped into my consciousness. I began to live for the next eruption.”
The days transformed to weeks and things grew tense at times. As a country, the outpouring of support from the neighboring islands and the international community was astounding. We were grateful.
This gratitude did not trickle down to some persons from the Red Zone as some in private homes were left without food supplies. The distribution process was slow and many private companies stepped in. It was their effort that sustained us, they kept us afloat until the Disaster Management Agency began to reach hundreds of people.
I saw homes that housed families as large as ten. I saw people curled in tiny spaces. Some people refused to move to shelters as they were desperate to hang on to some familiar routine of their life. I saw people hiding tears and I saw people’s refusal to give up. I saw hope.
At a time when the guts of a nation spilled on us, I saw shades of my people that made me proud— proud to have the endurance to survive months of uncertainty and turmoil and not break. I also saw hints of rage, traces of pain and frustration. I saw the belly of stark poverty and suffering. I saw political plays and whims. I saw us.