About nine o’clock that morning the speakers on the church tower began: “Necesitamos personas, ropa, comida. Personas, ropa….” We need people, clothes, food. Something had happened.
The towns of our region—Chapala, Ajijic, San Juan Cosala, Jocotepec—lie along the north shore of Lake Chapala, squeezed into a narrow strip between the mountains, or high hills anyway, and the lake. You can walk from the shore to the upslope in about five minutes. The hills, which have little vegetation, are dotted with roundish boulders stuck in raw earth. The vegetation that once held the earth in place has been eaten by goats, which graze in the hills. When enough rain washes away the soil, the rocks begin to roll. This had happened.
A Mexican town manages a disaster without the help of FEMA
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