Hitchhiking the Hills

by Annie Tompkins (United States of America)

Making a local connection Montserrat

“You know how I know that this is a nice place?” My driver asks. “At any time, you can find a woman walking alone, unprotected, jogging in the morning light, or after the sun has set. That’s how I know that this is a nice place. When a woman can walk without fear, she is free.” This was Judy, an expat from England, now living on the Caribbean Island of Montserrat. She is part of a community of expats, who can be found populating the stools of Hanks, the island’s only beach bar. Judy’s words put my nerves at ease. I am hitchhiking for the first time. Sitting in the torn passenger seat of her pickup truck, I listen as she speaks of her new home. Montserrat is a small island, sculpted by the Soufrière Hills Volcano. Beaches surround the island in volcanic shades of black and grey. I find myself alone on these beaches, joined only by fishermen and pelicans, fighting for the day's catch. Occasionally, divers wash up to shore, proudly displaying their speared fish. As I return from the beach, I meet Judy for the first time. Montserrat's volcanic history has left it wrinkled with steep green hills. As I begin to climb up and away from the beach, Judy pulls up beside me. Her head of white hair pokes out of the truck, as she asks, in a thick British accent, if I would like a lift: “It’s a far way up that hill.” I refuse the offer, unaccustomed to hitchhiking. “Hop in. It’s the island way,” she replies. Hesitating, I take in the worn down truck, showing signs of bumpy roads and salt air. I glance back up at the hill, feel the blisters on my feet, and get in. Montserrat has a reasonably low crime rate. The local jail, which holds only a few prisoners at a time, is currently empty. Judy informs me that most people on the island leave their doors unlocked. “Moving from England, it took me a beat to get used to. But now, this is the only place in the world that I wouldn’t even think twice about picking up a man, on the side of the road, holding a machete—even at night. It happens more often than you’d think.” She explains that there is a lack of viable public transportation on the island. Hitchhiking, is how anyone without a car, navigates the hilly terrain. I leave Judy at the top of the hill, and continue the rest of the way on foot. The next time I walk up a hill, Ron, a local on his way to work, offers me a ride. The pattern continues. I rarely walk upwards on an island filled with hills. Each ride, usually only as long as the length of a hill, brings with it a new person. Every driver has a story to tell, and most of them are of evacuation and loss. Montserrat, while safe from the crime rates of big cities, is not a place without fear. In 1995, the Soufrière Hills Volcano became active again, beginning a path of irreversible destruction . In the following years the entire South end, including the capital city of Plymouth, was overtaken by the eruption. Previously the center of island life, this area now forms the Exclusion Zone. Two thirds of the island’s population was evacuated; many people having lost their homes, went to England. Thousands of homes remain unreachable, covered in Ash, half destroyed, and half preserved. Up the North hills of the volcanic terrain, they drive, and I listen. My drivers include, people who chose to stay on the island, and a few who have since returned, hoping for a safer future. Some, lucky enough to be living in the North, continue to do so, others, their possessions now belonging to the volcano, were forced to relocate. The stories are of homes abandoned, belongings left hanging in closets, and businesses that will never reopen; But they are also of a great love for their home, their neighbors, and the island. In the shadow of the Volcano, Montserrat rebuilds, embracing hope, and safety. As Judy said, it is a nice place.