Voices of the Valley: Meet Mary Suarez Flores
From: Mexico, Current City: Eau Claire
It had been a week since the Chichonal Volcano, located three hours from where we lived, had erupted. It was still Tuesday April 4, 1982. I was 12 years old. My family and I lived in Pueblo Nuevo Solistahuacan, Chiapas, Mexico. During that whole week, refugees were arriving in our town. On the morning of April 4, my sisters and I were getting ready to go downtown and see the people who had arrived and be able to help with something.
But as the day progressed, we noticed something queer. The sun did not rise and it was getting darker. When it was 12 noon, the day began to get darker. So my mom went looking for us and she gave us the news that the volcano had erupted again and now it had been stronger than the first. She said it was dark because there was a layer of sand and ash covering the sky. It started to rain sand and ash. We returned to the house and the street was dark, as if it were midnight. We arrived at the house and the kitchen roof, which was made of tin, had collapsed, as the roofs of many other houses had done. Then an uncle who lived 30 minutes away arrived from the area closer to the volcano. He said that they were fleeing because the volcano had erupted again, and that there was increasing risk. My uncle said we should run away.
We left in the green Volkswagen we had. I only remember taking my two cats, Minina and Kiri. We began to travel. It was raining sand and ash. When we had advanced about an hour or less, the car stopped. My dad checked it and said it wouldn’t work because the hoses were clogged with sand. I remember that when we got out of the car my cats got out and Kiri ran away and we didn’t find him anymore. It took us a while without receiving help because all the people went with their cars full and loaded with some things.
Suddenly, a van carrying students from a school passed by. They knew us because my mom worked there. They took us with them and the car stopped there. We arrived in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, the capital of Chiapas. We were all covered in ash. We looked like ghosts. I remember seeing the television cameras recording the news.
Two hours later we advanced to a city called Villaflores Chiapas. There we were received by the family of one of the students. We were with them for two months, more than 30 people in one house; they gave us food and shelter. My parents really liked that city and they said that I could find work there. We decided to stay and lived there for three years.
My dad returned to Pueblo Nuevo for the furniture. Villaflores is a place that brings back fond memories, we met very kind people.
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