‘I'm here': Montserrat 30 years on from devastating volcanic eruption

The Guardian

5 days ago

This year marks the 30th anniversary of the volcanic eruptions that devastated the small Caribbean island of Montserrat. In July 1995, the Soufrière Hills volcano erupted for the first time in centuries, leaving 80% of the self-governing British overseas territory uninhabitable.
Soufrière Hills, exclusion zone, Montserrat, 2024
The area known as the exclusion zone is now deserted and overgrown. The eruptions forced a mass exodus, depopulating the island from 14,000 to just over 4,000 people and rendering it one of the world's least populous sovereign states or dependencies. Those who stayed migrated north while Brades, once countryside, became Montserrat's de facto capital. The sense of what could have been permeates the island. Montserratians – including Alvin Ryan, the director of the Disaster Management Coordination Agency – are proud of the island's heyday. The holder of the proverbial and literal keys to the exclusion zone, Ryan speaks wistfully about a nation once on the precipice of independence, priding itself on its economic sustainability – exporting agricultural produce to neighbouring islands – and a robust musical and cultural identity.
Shanna Johnson and Sheviyona Thomas take a break from the Miss Montserrat pageant opening ceremony at Carnival City, Little Bay
As we drive into the boundaries of the exclusion zone, Ryan radios the Montserrat Volcano Observatory to announce our arrival – 'Two souls, one vehicle' – emphasising just how secure this area truly is. Once inside, he reminisces about his past life, from boiling eggs in the volcanic hot springs as a child, to believing in the myth of a beautiful mermaid living at the peak of the mountain, unaware then that it was an active volcano.
There is an implicit kinship with those who hail from the same village in the old Montserrat or 'town' as it is affectionately called. This is what binds them – shared fond memories of belonging, flickered with grief.
The interior of a dilapidated building, filled with ash in Plymouth – the centre of the exclusion zone
Alvin Ryan in front of the supermarket he was in on the day of the first eruption in 1995
While we admire the scope of Soufrière Hills, Ryan's radio crackles with the voice of Montserrat's then governor, Sarah Tucker, imploring us to leave the zone immediately because of volcanic activity. We jog back to our vehicle. 'I always park my truck facing the exit in case I have to leave quickly,' says Ryan, crystallising the realities of life in the shadow of an active volcano. Despite this risk, a recently introduced government incentive is offering returning nationals duty-free concessions on materials to rebuild or fix abandoned homes in Cork Hill, an area on the periphery of the exclusion zone. This incentive is part of a wider governmental drive towards capital development and ecotourism, including a new seaport to accommodate bigger cruise ships and super-yachts.
Allyaha entertains her little cousin outside their home in Davy Hill
Even with this potential to increase economic activity on the island, Alford Dyett II, a young architect who splits his time between London and Montserrat, has his doubts. 'At some point there's not going to be enough people to sustain this country and we're getting very close,' he says. 'The people won't say it, the British government won't say it … a lack of population might be a reason why we have [low] crime and a great sense of community … but within this tranquillity we have no economy. We have a population crisis.'
It is a catch-22 situation. Foreign investment can increase job opportunities, which are scarce (many young people feeling compelled to leave the island after secondary school graduation). It can also intensify fear of potential economic exploitation.
Miss Montserrat 2021 to 2024, Nia St Claire, watches the procession as she anticipates handing over the crown
Those remaining in Montserrat often juggle multiple jobs to survive. This is the case for Nia St Claire, Miss Montserrat between 2021 and 2024, who has several customer service jobs to stay afloat.
The exclusion zone is incredibly fertile because of volcanic nutrients in the soil, but local residents are unable to take advantage and farm on it. As a result, fresh produce is scarce. Those not growing their own produce are dependent on processed foods. 'There are major health issues on the island like high rates of cancer and diabetes because of these processed foods,' says John Osborne, Montserrat's minister of agriculture.
In an effort to contribute to the food economy, groups of men defy boundaries by camping off grid for days or weeks to illegally hunt in the exclusion zone. With limited access for rescue vehicles and the prospect of being mauled by wild pigs, they are risking their lives to catch and sell their bounty. Beyond this, it seems to be a peaceful protest – a noble persistence to roam a land they feel is rightfully theirs.
Young masqueraders prepare for their performance at the opening ceremony of Montserrat carnival in Carnival City, Little Bay
'Sometimes I spend more than two weeks out in the bush,' says one of the island's hunters, who has agreed to speak on condition of anonymity. 'I love it. It's beautiful. And people pay big money for hogs – alive or dead.' The hunters are an anomaly, since many Montserratians have never returned to their villages after having to evacuate.
Carmelita Kirwan stands outside her home with her family
'I've never been back,' says Carmelita Kirwan, a mother of 13. 'I don't go past Caulk Hill.'
Kirwan's youngest, Joshua, a member of the local masquerade group, dreams of gaining an overseas basketball scholarship. Her third youngest, Kenville, is a popular musician on the island. When Kirwan and I first meet she insists she is 'here' – 'I always have been. I'm here.' Her emphasis on the word seems to betray a desire to be witnessed so her existence is not overlooked or forgotten. 'I am Montserrat's history, and my children are too,' she says. 'I stay here, and I give Montserrat 13 children. They will carry it on. [I hope] that someday we will turn to some brightness.'
Zeekee and his dog pause before descending into the valleys of Silver Hills
Montserrat is grappling with this need to be remembered – a desire to move beyond a past shaped by natural disaster and British colonial rule.
The quotidian is demanding, yet it is remarkable how much people have forged a new identity in the past 30 years. There is much to be proud of. It is more than resilience – it is fortitude. It is no wonder that hunting, easy communing on patios and bars, elegant pageantry and everyday family life add up to both a way of living and a quiet persistence of sorts.
Montserratians are determined to remain on a land that has shaped its people, irrespective of how much of it they are able to inhabit.