Fuego

by Itzel Hernandez (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Guatemala

The destruction the lava had caused looked like an open wound in the ground, grey ash still lingered mimicking the somber grey of grief. I stood there, 5’3ft tall, with a grieving heart, and wavering faith as I looked right ahead to the 12,346ft volcano, Fuego. Fuego had been showing signs of it’s rage, and on June 3, 2018, four days after my father passed away, Fuego unexpectedly erupted on Guatemala’s soil. There had been tremors, there had been diagnosis, there had been sounds emitting from the ground, sounds like a death cry, like a blowing trumpet. But no one had expected to wake up to a day where there sky would turn grey. Months after the volcanic destruction and months after my own heart had erupted, December came. I flew from the U.S to Guatemala, and just nine miles away from Fuego’s skirts I stayed with my family who had made a home for themselves at the mercy of a fire breathing giant. “You can go up to the roof and get a better view of it.” My grandma told me as she swept the cool patio floor and observed me staring at Fuego. Fuego, a green giant that had taken the lives of 165 people and had threatened to take millions more. Homes disappeared under ash and left remnants of what once was. Surviving walls, tumultuous roads, and grieving families. When the world watched through the news they saw children running barefoot, trying to escape grey clouds that seemed to rise from a otherworldly abyss. The hellish ash clouds would pass over people bringing high temperatures and reaching speeds up to 200mph. This menace was always present, but so many civilians were unaware of its power, and as suddenly as it had awoken, it quieted itself again. In the night, on the roof, I watched as Fuego silently glowed. A half moon leaned on its back to watch the open wound of the volcano emit its red glow. I thought of the pain an entire nation carried within itself knowing it had lost so many lives to this giant. I thought about my own grief, how unexpected it had come, how destructive it had become, and how silent it had left me. I stood on that roof waiting, waiting to witness something. To feel something. To be hopeful again. And then Fuego flared a burst into the waiting night sky. Guatemala, and it’s people have been shaped by the constant presence of it’s thirty-seven volcanoes. 37 reminders that life can change at any moment and lands can rearrange themselves in an instance. As I walked the gravel roads of Antigua, Guatemala, a town that had once been hit by a 7.5 magnitude earthquake, I looked around to see a city and people that had built themselves from ashes and ruins. The orange, blues, and faded reds of the cathedrals and monuments painted themselves against a backdrop of three giant volcanoes. Fuego stood there, and people kept walking, their busy lives mocking a volcano that had taken so much. I didn’t expect to come to Guatemala, months after my dad had passed away, and find evidence of resilient people who had experienced grief, but this country welcomed me in acknowledging my loss and simultaneously teaching me how to rise from it. “The sand is black because of the volcanic ash.” My cousin told me through a smile as I drew a heart with my toes into a black painted beach. My cousin’s hair was black and as shiny as the sand. We had come to Puerto San Jose, a beach town on the coast of Guatemala. The sun was now setting and it was emitting a red glow. My mom and youngest cousin walked up to me. “Let’s run!” I said as I bolted with my mom and cousin along the glowy orange waves. My cousin and I laughed as we breathed hard for air. I looked back to see my mom had stayed behind. She kneeled on the black volcanic sand. Her hands up to the sky. She was from Guatemala, in her she carried the ability to build from the ashes and ruins.