The Elders of the Volcano
Photos by Sergio Tapiro Velasco. Translation from Spanish by Doug Dosdall.
We've forgotten that there are many like us, scattered and isolated.
Octavio Paz
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The volcano at night from Yerbabuena |
Anyone arriving in Colima feels the need to have a souvenir of the moment and take a photo with the famous volcano in the background. If they're lucky, they will get an image of it in action, spitting out a tremendous cloud of smoke. But very few will dare to get to know it closer. Instead they will leave this city on the Mexican Pacific coast without knowing that only 8 km from its slopes live a scattering of folks who refuse to leave their ranchos behind, no matter how dangerous it may be. And as crazy as it may sound, the inhabitants of the small town of Yerbabuena insist that they are more afraid of the government than they are of the volcano.
Every day is like this
Doña Chofi is a grandmother like those found in Mexican children's stories, with a long white braid tied with a pink ribbon. She's always wearing an apron tied around her waist since with so many things to do it's easy to get her skirt dirty. Today, for example, she ground coffee all morning in between visits to attend to her guinea hens, poking at the fire in which a few hours later she will toast more coffee, and preparing some bean tacos for her husband who has just arrived for lunch.
Don Rafa, the father of her twelve children, has just finished cleaning a tray of coffee, separating the shell from the grain, and he is now lounging in the hammock hanging in the backyard, with no intention of moving again. From here, he can see the volcano clearly, surrounded by the blue sky so favored by the tourists when they come to take their snapshots. Lately the volcano has been very active, vomiting huge quantities of mud. But rather than feeling afraid, he marvels at the sight. For him and Doña Chofi, who have lived almost their entire married life in Yerbabuena, these manifestations of the volcano's power, which the news has depicted as justifying a red alert, are normal.
'It is hard to think of yourself as dying when you're not ready,' he suddenly says, assuming that whoever is listening knows of the illness that has made him so weak. But this is not what he's referring to. His sadness in the face of death is because he doesn't want to leave this world without knowing how their struggle will end, without knowing if it was worth it to put up such a fight.
He is a man in his seventh decade and although for many years he was a policeman, he is now a rebellious elder. Like many others in this community he is very clear about the motives of the authorities who 'due to the high risk situation' want to relocate all the residents from their homes near the volcano to tiny 30 square meter (320 square feet) houses on the outskirts of the nearby town of Cofrad'a de Suchitlán. According to him and the 43 residents who have come together to resist the eviction, the real reason the government wants them out is that tourism developments are planned for the area similar to one that was built in the neighboring town of San Antonio. There, the residents were displaced in order to build a 5 star ecological hacienda where a room costs a thousand dollars per night. 'This is why we won't leave, even if they arrive in force.'
Big Words
They say in Yerbabuena that one afternoon a couple of years ago soldiers came to the house of Don Leandro, another one of the elderly leaders of the resistance, warning him of the risk he was taking by not agreeing to the relocation. His 106-year-old mother, whose years confine her to a wooden chair, with full consciousness of what was happening and with a tiny voice coming directly from her soul, answered: 'We are more afraid of the army that we are of the volcano.' And there was nothing more to be done.
Many months later, she can be found in the same place, immovable, watching a black & white television that scarcely receives a signal and then suddenly she's asleep, taking a siesta that appears eternal. With her is her daughter in law, another storybook grandmother who doesn't need teeth to burst out laughing. Nor does she need much of a reason.
These two elderly ladies live in a modest house which everyday is more deteriorated, because there is no one to lend them a hand. They live quiet lives but they don't take long to answer when they are asked why they won't leave: 'This is where we're from. Why would we leave?'
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One of Yerbabuena's grandmothers |
What Nature Says
He doesn't look like he's a grandfather yet but you need only listen to him to know that in Yerbabuena, Don Toño is one the most experienced regarding the resistance. In the shop/living room/bedroom of his house he not only keeps the plastic bottles of honey that he collects and sells but also flyers that he gives to everyone who comes to let them know what is happening in his community. His days are spent in his relationship with nature, thanking her for all she provides, and in mediation to invoke positive energy because he says, 'there is a lot of evil in this world,' above all around here.
Like the other members of the elder's council, Don Toño has learned not to complain. He simply resists and dreams of a system in which oppression and abuse do not play the lead role. But he does demand, on behalf of his community, that they retain the right to stay on their lands. And he demands that the soldiers who are unconstitutionally occupying the local school leave immediately. And that the teachers, who were fired for their part in the resistance leaving the local children without any classes, be allowed to return.
His wife, Doña Olga, has very strong indigenous features and is asthmatic. She knows of the fight but, perhaps because it isn't women's work, does not want to be actively involved. Instead, she'd rather sew clothes for her six year old daughter Heiby, make tortillas with corn she grows herself, grind coffee, make green chile salsa, weed the land to enlarge the garden which provides for her family, and paint landscapes on any canvas she can find, always giving the volcano a prominent spot. Such is her closeness with this giant neighbor that some afternoons, with Heiby, a daughter in law and her children in tow, they hike the slopes of the volcano to collect firewood. On the path that goes all the way to the top is a gigantic tree which is the symbol of the resistance for the residents of Yerbabuena because, as Doña Olga says, 'this tree is so big because it has been growing here for thousands of years and look how close it is to the volcano. So clearly the volcano is not dangerous.'
Those that remain
Of the fifty families living in Yerbabuena, less than 15 decided to remain on their ranchos after five evacuations brought about by eruptions from the volcano between 1999 and 2001. This is why the cobblestone streets of the village are lined with many closed up and abandoned properties. Within their fenced yards, fruit rots on the ground with no one to harvest it.
But the position of the resistance is clear and this is expressed by Don Toño's flyers: 'The volcano is part of our history, part of our lives, and of our ancestors. Instead of harming us it has always benefited us. It provides us food, soil, a good climate. It strengthens our souls and brings us friends.'
However, they denounce the Colima state government for pressuring them to leave and accuse the authorities of harassing them. The authorities blame the resistance for the fact that those who did agree to be resettled in Cofrad'a have not yet received the services they were promised.
So there they remain, pushed and pulled, in a fight that seems will never end. This is what makes Don Rafa so sad: he feels that he is closer to death than to a resolution. Although perhaps it's possible that he will find out how this mess is resolved. But this is not because a settlement is near or one of the parties is about to give in. It's because in Yerbabuena there is no cemetery, and when I ask Doña Olga why, she answers, 'because here people have the strange habit of not dying.'
Colima, Mexico, December 2004
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Posted by Koleia Arvila on December 1st, 2004 in Articles.
