Wind blows through the trees sending a shower of fine grey ash down over the car below, itself already covered with a thick blanket of toxic dust. A group of young men stub out cigarettes and pause conversation, squinting as they pull their shirts up over their mouths and noses. An elderly woman shuffles along the road towards me. She meets my eye then nods up to the haze above, a brown-grey cloud masking the normally Pacific-blue sky.



Clockwise from top: Residents living temporarily at Lone evacuation area, West Ambae, gather on the beach with their belongings, waiting for a privately arranged ship to transport them to nearby island, Espirito Santo. Fine grey ash blankets much of Ambae Island in Vanuatu

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This is Ambae, one of 83 islands comprising Vanuatu. The island is home to Monaro Voui, an active volcano that has sent plumes of thick smoke and ash into the air over the past 11 months, prompting a complete evacuation of the island last September. Residents returned a month later when the activity settled but the authorities have this month ordered another mandatory evacuation when monitoring revealed the chance of an eruption.

Clockwise from top: Residents of a temporary evacuation site at Lone, West Ambae, a resident of Ambae waits to board a ship, A man watches the sun set over Ambae Island, a thick layer of volcanic ash covers a disused car in West Ambae.

This is the second mandatory evacuation in 12 months the first being in September 2017

The dust sneaks into fresh water supplies and covers gardens, reducing the quality and yield of food crops. It gathers on rooftops and changes the coastline appearance. Once rocky coastlines are now black sand beaches, an ominous symbol of the volcano’s power and energy.

Clockwise from top: Kwevrie*, 35, makes dinner for her five children with the aid of a solar light, in the open kitchen of an evacuation centre in Lone, the night sky above an evacuation centre in Lone.

In April, villagers from high up on the volcano descended the mountain to sea-level evacuation centres inside church buildings and schools. Last month, the ash blocked out the sun completely, sending residents scrambling for torches in the middle of the day.

The government’s evacuation notice means residents have to relocate within a week to nearby Maewo, providing incentives such as free transport, food contributions and health services. But many prefer to go to Santo, Vanuatu’s second-biggest island. Maewo is still at risk of ashfall, some tell me. Others admit Santo presents better opportunities for earning a living and the opportunity to be closer to family.

Approximately 4000 of the 11,000 Ambae residents have officially registered to relocate to Maewo

Residents from nearby villages gather with their belongings on beach near Lone, West Ambae awaiting evacuation to Santo

I’m in Lonae, West Ambae where families are packing up their belongings for a second time in a year. As dawn breaks, small piles of boxes and belongings slowly appear on the beach and by 10am, a large crowd has gathered. This group has decided to go to Santo and word has it a ship funded by the Mormon church is due to arrive. The mood doesn’t feel exactly sombre. A young man plays guitar while children laugh and play on the sand. It’s clear the evacuation is considered a temporary measure for many.

Clockwise from top: A ship pulls away from Lolowai, East Ambae carrying more than 200 evacuees onboard, a small banana boat carries its first group of evacuees away from Ambae Island towards a ship that will travel to Espiritu Santo, Health workers from Vanuatu Family Health Association set up an improptu health clinic on board one of the ships evacuating residents from Ambae

Eventually the ship arrives, anchoring two hundred metres offshore, and a small boat begins the cycle of trips back and forth. The disabled, sick and elderly board first. Women and children second. Finally, on perhaps the tenth trip, men board the boat. A dog swims furiously, chasing its owner, but eventually gives up and circles back to land.

The scene is duplicated on East Ambae the following day, this time with a much larger ship headed to Maewo and officiated by a local policeman. I end up on the boat and this time the mood is tense. The evacuees cast their eyes back toward Ambae as we pull away from the island, uncertain what lies ahead and what will happen to the homes they have left behind.