I’m Not Ok (Ambae Volcano, Vanuatu)

It may only be a small Island, but when the volcano on Ambae Island (Vanuatu) erupted, again, thick ash spewed into the sky cloaking the island and its inhabitants in deep ash falls.

For the second time in a few months, 11,000 people, the island’s entire population, was instructed to evacuate. It doesn’t sound like many people, does it? But when you consider that is 5% of the entire population of Vanuatu – that is a lot of people for already resource stretched and small communities to host. (5% of Australia would be about 1.3M people – imagine that news headline!)

Ordered to evacuate to nearby Maewo Island with a population of about 4,000 people, was it any surprise that the host community could not cope and that most people chose to self-evacuate to the bigger island of Espiritu Santo?

The scent of the flowering mango tree is heavy in the warm air as we sit in the shade surrounded by some of the 125 residents of the evacuation centre just outside Luganville (Santo). This is some of the one community from North Ambae, the worst impacted area, and they have been here in the church yard, under canvas, for a little over two months now. Some of their family and community went to Maewo and others are spread throughout host families and centres around Santo.

As they share their stories we hear the grief of leaving everything they own; homes, animals, gardens and belongings and not knowing when, or if, they will ever get back. Scattered around the compound under the shade of trees are an odd assortment of tents and shelters made from all kinds of materials that have been bought, given and scrounged. A young girl stokes the fire under a pot of rice as she fights back the tears as the smoke wafts into her face and filters the sunlight.

One of the most urgent needs in this evacuation centre, and across the entire evacuated population, is safe reliable water and sanitation. Some are having water trucked in and stored, but that is expensive and unsustainable, others are transporting water in twenty litre jerry cans from community wells distant from their location – but very few have water, or enough water, at the door or in the compound. Even fewer have safe, dignified sanitation options.

In the face of the difficulties and the stories of uncertainty, as I have seen so often in similar contexts, there are gems of creativity and innovation, hints of resilience and hope despite the hardship and the circumstances. I saw this here, again: one man has laid a new tarpaulin across the roof of his tent and formed a small reservoir at the base to collect rain water.

The Chief speaks with passion as he tells the story of their evacuation and their re-settlement here. But, then there is a moment of raw emotion that threatens to overwhelm us when he tell us of the previous groups that have been to hear their story and offer help: “People ask me if I’m alright,” he says, “I say yes. But on the inside,” he puts his hands over his heart, “I’m not ok! On the inside,” his hand points to his head “I’m not good!”

For a second I wonder why he tells people he is ok when he clearly isn’t – but I suspect I know the answer. Perhaps he feels, or knows, that many don’t really want to know the truth – after all what would they do with that?

With around an extra 7,000 people now in and around Luganville the population has grown by 30%. The Ni-Vanuatu generosity and graciousness has been overwhelming as many locals open their homes and yards to the evacuees. As a result, the world will not see horrific images of overwhelming numbers in IDP centres. But there is no likelihood that the people from Ambae can go home anytime soon – maybe a year or more. Grace and generosity cannot sustain the population that now lives together. In the coming months the annual Pacific Cyclone season will commence; tents, tarps and bush toilets cannot withstand what inevitably (if history is anything to go by) will come. Before a bad situation becomes worse, people need help.