Volcano Casts a Shadow Over Displaced Mexicans’ Yuletide

Christmas Eve under the volcano was a time of melancholy and resolve for 40,000 villagers who took refuge in homes and makeshift shelters and restlessly awaited another big eruption of the feared Popocatepetl.

At the Miguel Aleman School in this town about 18 miles from the crater, 1,045 denizens of the volcano’s slopes spent Sunday night on thin mattresses in unheated classrooms that are being used as dormitories.

“Christmas will be both sad and happy,” said Francisca Sanchez, a mother of two. “Sad that we are away from home, but happy that we are out of danger and we have the basics. And it doesn’t even matter what we eat [for Christmas]. What matters is that we are together.”

The nearly 18,000-foot-high volcano sent a column of ash and smoke three miles into the sky and threw incandescent rocks more than two miles Sunday afternoon in what the National Disaster Prevention Center called a “moderate explosion.” Volcanologists said Popocatepetl appeared to be “recharging” and within days could unleash another explosion of molten rock like the ones that occurred last Monday and Tuesday--the worst in 1,200 years.

Carlos Labat, a government doctor treating evacuees, said that most of the physical complaints he had dealt with had been minor. But “there is melancholy at being outside the home in these most important days of the year.”

Still, community leaders at the shelter ensured that spirits remained high and discipline strict. Men scrubbed the floor of the corridor outside their rooms, and people stacked their blankets, mats and clothes in neat piles during the day.

And they did manage to celebrate, holding the traditional posada ceremony Saturday night, complete with a candle-lit procession and the bashing of a pinata. Neighbors and area companies donated simple toys and candy to cheer up the children.

Officials from the largest town on the mountain, San Nicolas de los Ranchos, transported the village’s entire beloved creche and erected the figures of Joseph, Mary and the Christ child on the stage of the school’s outdoor auditorium.

The impromptu army mess kitchen promised that Christmas Eve dinner--fried chicken and a traditional punch--would be festive under the circumstances, even if served on red plastic plates.

San Nicolas residents festooned the school courtyard with balloons and a flower-bedecked arch, just as they would have decorated their village square, ready to say the rosary and attend Mass.

“I think it will be impossible to have as special a night as we have at home,” said Trinidad Techachal, a 43-year-old mother of two from San Nicolas who was trying to distract herself by embroidering a tray cloth.

But she broke into tears as she added: “We are very sad. We are very used to being together in our town. The hardest part is that we don’t know when we can go home.”

Techachal was among those who heeded the government’s initial call on Dec. 15 to evacuate towns within eight miles of the crater. Her husband stayed behind to tend the family’s few chickens and a donkey but left after the volcano, whose name means “smoking mountain,” put on its immense fireworks display last week.

Nearly all of the 41,000 villagers in 11 municipalities on the slopes of the volcano have been evacuated, about half to shelters and the rest to homes. There’s no hint when they will be allowed to return.

As pressure built up inside the volcano, soldiers at a roadblock on the outskirts of San Nicolas kept residents and reporters at bay Saturday. Anxious men challenged the soldiers, asking who would provide food for their animals and prevent looting of their houses. An officer replied that army patrols were guarding the deserted communities and that food was being spread out for the animals to graze on.

“Everybody wants to go up and feed their animals, but each minute the danger is increasing. The lives of our people are worth more than the animals,” said San Nicolas Mayor Abel Apanco, who had stopped at the roadblock after persuading a truckload of men to evacuate the town. He said only about 50 villagers, out of a population of 6,000, were still holding out.

At Miguel Aleman School, a notice board in the gym where the army was coordinating support activities said that 42,038 hot meals had been served in the week since the shelter opened and that 2,220 blankets and 1,140 thin mattresses had been distributed.

The school is the largest of five shelters in San Pedro Cholula; seven more could be opened if needed.

President Vicente Fox said Saturday that sheltering evacuees would not be manageable for long. If the danger didn’t subside soon, he said, the government would consider permanently relocating some of the residents closest to the crater. The volcanic national park would then be expanded to embrace the abandoned towns.

Mayor Apanco said that “if there is a devastating eruption, the people would accept moving, but if it was just a matter of living with danger, they are going to want to return.”

The volcano and its nearby partner, Iztaccihuatl, have generated myths and legends for centuries. The Nahua people of the region refer to Popocatepetl as a person, using the name “Don Gregorio,” because it looks like a man kneeling before the reclining Iztaccihuatl.

The volcano inspired British author Malcolm Lowry to write the despondent 1947 novel “Under the Volcano” after Lowry lived in the city of Cuernavaca, about 30 miles southwest of Popocatepetl.

Procopio Sanchez, an 89-year-old evacuee staying with friends, repeated an infamous recent rumor: that the volcano had become active again because former President Carlos Salinas de Gortari, whose term ended in economic chaos in 1994, had sold it to the Japanese.

“That’s why Don Gregorio is angry now,” said Sanchez, who is old enough to recall the last moderate eruption, in 1927, before the volcano went silent until the latest bout of activity began in December 1994--when many people also spent Christmas in shelters.

Procopio’s son Everardo said he hadn’t earned any money in a week because he had been unable to sell the milk from his five cows.

But he assured a visiting reporter: “We won’t abandon our traditions, even if we aren’t home. We won’t miss out on Christmas.”

A relative, Aida Jimenez, took the Sanchezes and other refugees into her home in a hamlet outside Cholula, a devoutly Roman Catholic town famed for its 365 churches. At one point, she had staying with her about 50 villagers, half of whom later moved to shelters.

“We’ll put together a little Christmas Eve supper for everyone, whatever we can scrape together, probably fish with stuffed chiles,” she said.

Bernardino Alvarado, who was helping install the creche at the school, said: “This is a motivation for the people, to raise their spirits in this situation. . . . It is very unpleasant that this is happening just when the families should be the most united.”