A Bit About Landslides
Note to readers: I wrote this entry at home this morning. This afternoon on my way down to the city, we were stuck waiting for an hour and a half and they worked to clear a landslide from the highway...
Now that the threat of Hurricane Dean has long passed, I am going to explain to you all a bit more about Guatemala’s vulnerability to hurricanes and tropical storms. Guatemala has a very short Atlantic coastline, which is not heavily populated. It is not the wind of a powerful storm making landfall that we are afraid of, but the heavy rainfall we will receive if the tail end of a storm stalls out over us.
There have been two major disasters here in the past ten years: Hurricane Mitch (1998) and Tropical Storm Stan (2005). In both cases, large amounts of rainfall received after the storm had already weakened considerably provoked flooding and landslides. In my municipality, three villages (including the one I now live in) were forced to relocate after Mitch, and another eight or so moved after (in reality, during) Stan.
Why is Guatemala so vulnerable? A number of factors are at play. The country is located at the nexus of three tectonic plates. This creates a very mountainous landscape with a lot of steep slopes and very little flat ground. It also produces a good deal of volcanic activity, and the volcanic soils that now cover most of the country tend to break away and slide much more easily than non-volcanic soils. Land use also plays an important role. The primarily indigenous campesino population of the country had all the good land and resources stolen from them long, long ago, forcing them to eke out a living from the mountains and forest. Deforestation is very prominent, to exploit the forest resources and to clear land for subsistence farming. Deforested slopes are much more prone to slide than slopes covered with trees.
It is this combination of natural and human factors that create a high vulnerability to landslides, particularly here in the Western Highlands of Guatemala. Every time it rains a lot, people worry about what might happen. The relocated villages are no longer in danger here in Ixtahuacán, but there are still over a dozen other villages in areas of high risk, as well as some folks that never left the old towns.
I’ll share with you the story of Stan from Don Francisco, a Mayan elder from the village of Xolja II. The old village of Xolja was located deep in the mountains at the foot of a sloped that climbed several hundred vertical meters above the town and is totally cleared of forest (see below). The townspeople thought it strange that it would rain so hard for more than one day, and most stayed in their houses. It was the second or third night of the storm when the people began to hear the sounds of landslides coming from the mountain above them. Don Francisco said it sounded like the howling of the devil; Don Jacinto described it as the sound of a freight train. Francisco ran out of his house to see what was happening. He immediately sank into the mud up to his thighs. He saw a river of trees and stones passing by. He then was surprised to see the house of his father whiz by, still intact!
The people of Xolja met and decided to flee to the mountaintops above in Alaska. They grabbed what they could carry and left at daybreak. Small streams had turned into raging rivers and the journey was very dangerous and difficult. A woman had to give birth on the way. Finally they arrived in Alaska, but the hardship was just beginning. They did not have clothes suited to the frigid climate of the mountaintop; everything was soaked. They built shelter, first with cloth and tarp, and later with corrugated metal láminas. Help came first from neighboring villages, and later as word of their suffering spread domestic and international NGOs arrived as well. Two years later almost all those people have houses of cinderblock, latrines, and schools. Potable water projects and electrification are taking longer to complete. The climate of the new towns is difficult: cold, cloudy, and dusty. Everyone suffers from a lot of respiratory problems, and sanitation is difficult without reliable water sources. But the people seem to think that ultimately their lives will be better in the new communities and don’t regret the move. They feel much safer as we pass through another rainy season.
Currently I am working in three of the new communities, though I am trying to get a foothold in a group of four more. The history of the construction of each community is distinct, as well as the NGOs that are working there currently and the pending needs for projects, so I am taking my time trying to get to know people and the language. As many of these towns relocated from roadless areas of the mountains, Spanish speakers are rare and it is clear I will need to improve my K’iche if I want to collaborate with a broad group of villagers, including women.
I’ll keep my readers up-to-date as projects develop and if there is a way that people can support the work. Be well!
Now that the threat of Hurricane Dean has long passed, I am going to explain to you all a bit more about Guatemala’s vulnerability to hurricanes and tropical storms. Guatemala has a very short Atlantic coastline, which is not heavily populated. It is not the wind of a powerful storm making landfall that we are afraid of, but the heavy rainfall we will receive if the tail end of a storm stalls out over us.
There have been two major disasters here in the past ten years: Hurricane Mitch (1998) and Tropical Storm Stan (2005). In both cases, large amounts of rainfall received after the storm had already weakened considerably provoked flooding and landslides. In my municipality, three villages (including the one I now live in) were forced to relocate after Mitch, and another eight or so moved after (in reality, during) Stan.
Why is Guatemala so vulnerable? A number of factors are at play. The country is located at the nexus of three tectonic plates. This creates a very mountainous landscape with a lot of steep slopes and very little flat ground. It also produces a good deal of volcanic activity, and the volcanic soils that now cover most of the country tend to break away and slide much more easily than non-volcanic soils. Land use also plays an important role. The primarily indigenous campesino population of the country had all the good land and resources stolen from them long, long ago, forcing them to eke out a living from the mountains and forest. Deforestation is very prominent, to exploit the forest resources and to clear land for subsistence farming. Deforested slopes are much more prone to slide than slopes covered with trees.
It is this combination of natural and human factors that create a high vulnerability to landslides, particularly here in the Western Highlands of Guatemala. Every time it rains a lot, people worry about what might happen. The relocated villages are no longer in danger here in Ixtahuacán, but there are still over a dozen other villages in areas of high risk, as well as some folks that never left the old towns.
I’ll share with you the story of Stan from Don Francisco, a Mayan elder from the village of Xolja II. The old village of Xolja was located deep in the mountains at the foot of a sloped that climbed several hundred vertical meters above the town and is totally cleared of forest (see below). The townspeople thought it strange that it would rain so hard for more than one day, and most stayed in their houses. It was the second or third night of the storm when the people began to hear the sounds of landslides coming from the mountain above them. Don Francisco said it sounded like the howling of the devil; Don Jacinto described it as the sound of a freight train. Francisco ran out of his house to see what was happening. He immediately sank into the mud up to his thighs. He saw a river of trees and stones passing by. He then was surprised to see the house of his father whiz by, still intact!
The people of Xolja met and decided to flee to the mountaintops above in Alaska. They grabbed what they could carry and left at daybreak. Small streams had turned into raging rivers and the journey was very dangerous and difficult. A woman had to give birth on the way. Finally they arrived in Alaska, but the hardship was just beginning. They did not have clothes suited to the frigid climate of the mountaintop; everything was soaked. They built shelter, first with cloth and tarp, and later with corrugated metal láminas. Help came first from neighboring villages, and later as word of their suffering spread domestic and international NGOs arrived as well. Two years later almost all those people have houses of cinderblock, latrines, and schools. Potable water projects and electrification are taking longer to complete. The climate of the new towns is difficult: cold, cloudy, and dusty. Everyone suffers from a lot of respiratory problems, and sanitation is difficult without reliable water sources. But the people seem to think that ultimately their lives will be better in the new communities and don’t regret the move. They feel much safer as we pass through another rainy season.
Currently I am working in three of the new communities, though I am trying to get a foothold in a group of four more. The history of the construction of each community is distinct, as well as the NGOs that are working there currently and the pending needs for projects, so I am taking my time trying to get to know people and the language. As many of these towns relocated from roadless areas of the mountains, Spanish speakers are rare and it is clear I will need to improve my K’iche if I want to collaborate with a broad group of villagers, including women.
Playing with the kids in Nuevo Chuicutama.
A little friend wishing me off as I leave the school.
I’ll keep my readers up-to-date as projects develop and if there is a way that people can support the work. Be well!
posted by John Engler at 4:58 PM
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