It bubbles and writhes, it hisses with toxic breath like something that refuses to sleep. Every so often, it groans and squelches, with a guttural sound — the death rattle of a dragon, or the final gasp of a broken machine refusing to die. Two meters from our tent, yellow, foul-smelling sulfuric fumes rise rhythmically from a fissure in the earth. Now, sharp cracking sounds rip through the air —the unmistakable sound of stones being flung. For a breathless instant, we wonder: Perhaps… it’s not just the mountain exhaling. Perhaps the lava is moving toward us.
XUNICEF News and Views
Written by and for the former staff of UNICEF