Banos, ECUADOR - “People ask me all the time why I don’t move from here,” Pablo Barrera told me. “The fact of the matter is that we are trapped here – trapped between circumstances and a volcano. We can’t move.”
Pablo Barrera and his wife, Fabiola Guevara, live in the small Andean town of Puñapi at the base of Tunguragua Volcano with their nine-year-old daughter. Each night, they lie in their bed and gaze out the window at the volcano in front of them, watching fireworks light up the night sky. They watch as their house shakes and windows rattle with each massive boom of the volcano.
In the morning, they thank the Lord for getting them safely through another night. They live in constant fear of a big explosion that would destroy their village – so far the worst they’ve experienced has been a barrage of volcanic rocks raining down upon them. And yet, they can’t move. They barely eek out a living as it is – there is no way they can afford a house in another town. No way they can afford to start over.
Tungurahua first rumbled to life in 1999, and has been active ever since. It goes through periods of relative quiet – when there is just a bit of ash and steam spewing from its crater thousands of feet above Puñapi. But it also goes through periods of intense activity when tons of ash and rock explode violently and rain down upon the surrounding countryside.
When the volcano first came to life, everybody in the area was evacuated. For three months, they stayed in shelters in other communities not in the line of fire. Pablo and his family took refuge in a school in Mirador - a neighboring community - along with 500 other people from Puñapi.
For the next three months they slept in a classroom with nine other families. Mats were laid out side by side with barely space to turn over. There were only four toilets for the five hundred people taking refuge in the school. There were no showers. The families rotated through the one kitchen they shared.
When they were finally allowed to return to their village, they were thrilled to be back – even with the threat from the volcano. Even though they watched the volcano spewing rocks, ash, and gases into the air, at least they had a bathroom, shower, and kitchen. And they simply hoped and prayed Tungurahua remained relatively quiet.
In August of 2008, there was a particularly large explosion which sent rocks – some bigger than soccer balls – raining down upon Puñapi. The rock shower began at 4:00 in the afternoon – and continued slowly and steadily for the next eight hours. Pablo and Fabiola huddled in their house, praying their roof would hold. Praying that no big rocks would fall – rocks that would obliterate their house.
All the while, as they huddled in their house listening to the ping, ping, ping of rocks falling on their roof, they contemplated their options. The government had built the community a shelter – was it time to move in there? It was built with a solid, concrete roof designed to withstand the force of falling rocks.
At midnight, the situation changed. Rather than the slow, steady ping of small rocks, the volcano suddenly began sending massive boulders their way. Holding pillows over their heads, the villagers ran to the shelter. Pablo, who was president of the community at that time, ran with them with key in hand.
With hundreds of villagers impatiently waiting behind him with pillows over their heads, Pablo opened the door to the shelter and found… 15 cushions and 30 blankets. No food. No water. Standing room only for 80 people. What about the rest of the villagers?
Since that time, Pablo and the other community leaders have been pleading with the government to help them be better prepared. In the past year and a half, the government has built them two more shelters – for forty people each. Now, Puñapi has shelter for 120 people. But the question is: What about the other 400 people? And how to choose which 120 can take shelter?
The other problem Puñapi faces is a lack of food and water. The local officials have food stocks stored in Patate, the county seat an hour away. But, says Pablo, that food needs to be stored in Puñapi – in case of a big eruption, there is no way they will be able to travel 40 kilometers to Patate to get the food.
According to Pablo, there is plenty of money available to help his community prepare for disaster, but the Civil Defenses have chosen to hold on to the money for relief after a major explosion. While Pablo agrees they need a certain amount for relief, they should be spending some now on preparation. Puñapi needs a shelter large enough to hold 500 people. They need cushions and blankets, food and water, cooking facilities and bathrooms. And they need it in place now – not after the big explosion when it will be too late.
On December 31, 2009, Tungurahua roared to life once again – and hasn’t stopped since. This is the longest sustained eruption they have experienced since the volcano started erupting eleven years ago. In the past few days, the community of Puñapi has had several meetings with officials from the local government, Civil Defences, and Red Cross. At each meeting, they are encouraged to leave. “You stay here at your own risk,” the officials tell them.
Even so, they continue to stay in their village as they have no place to go.
“I’m one of the lucky ones,” Pablo told me. “If a major eruption happens, I can grab my wife and daughter and flee to my parents’ house and we’ll be safe. But what about the other members of my community? What about those whose whole family lives here? What are they going to do? Where are they going to go?”
And so, Pablo and his family live in Puñapi, directly in the line of fire of Tungurahua, and pray that the volcano will give them time to get out if there is another major explosion. They hope that, like in 2008, they have eight hours of small rocks falling before the big explosion. Although there are frequently a few rocks falling, if it is a steady flow for hours they will take off and head for Pablo’s parents house.
If however, the volcano doesn’t behave like it did in 2008 and there is one big, massive explosion, they will be buried alive in their beds.
“And that is a risk you are willing to accept?” I asked.
“It is a risk we have no choice but to accept,” Pablo explained. “We have nowhere to go.”
Nancy Sathre-Vogel is currently cycling from Alaska to Argentina with her husband and twin sons. She is documenting their journey for Guinness World Records at www.familyonbikes.org and also has a column in the Communities to the Washington Times.
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