A Red Alert. A Photo of a Smoking Earth. A Caribbean Twitter in Panic.
Perhaps the words of the 19th-century author, at this moment, reign true, “the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.” I stood in front of my television and watched about 16,000 citizens of Saint Vincent march to their safety, as far away as possible from the La Soufriere volcano that had had a curious upsurge of activity within the past few weeks. As I watched, I thought of an exodus that we all know well, that of the Israelites, who spent years trodding to an unknown land, the parallel between these two stories was quite clear. I knew it by the faces of those many Vincentians, their lost eyes, their mouths that were sewn shut by their fear, and by their inability to answer the question of where their next destination will be.
Back home, I decided to deal with my newfound anxiety which was triggered by this pending disaster by completely unplugging myself from the real world. Of course, this was not easy due to my father’s commitment to keeping the entire family updated on the pending eruption and what felt like my mother’s duty to give her account of what had happened when the volcano erupted for the first time in 1979. She told me of the old women who stood on their doorsteps and stomped their feet with fiery passion as they urged passersby to repent because the coming of the Lord was at hand. She also told me of the ash which made its way from the volcano to Barbados, burying the island under its white coat. This was a phenomenon that I did not know was possible, but one that became very real for me soon.
Surely enough, a new day came around as I got word that the volcano had erupted. The helplessness in my heart grew, and my prayers that a god would bring about a change in the elements became a prayer, that a god would allow them to be merciful. The word from Saint Vincent was that no one had died or was injured - and the only issue, at hand, was the relocation of thousands of citizens, women, men, and their families. All of whom, every CARICOM Nation had stepped into aid. At home, I was locked in by a dusty and apocalyptic scene. The day was dark and the sun was nowhere in sight. Outside had the tones of an abandoned house that had been sitting for ages, and a hush and blanket of ash had fallen over Barbados. A hush, and a blanket of ash that has found rest in the streets of our nations for days now. However, I welcome the ash, the burning eyes and dust-panned feet, and a clay-looking car that comes with it, and I will welcome this ash every day if it means that my brothers and sisters in Saint Vincent can have their lives and their safety.
