One month ago, just about, I rolled into Pisco after a 17 hour bus ride from Cusco, Peru. The first thing we did was drive over broken roads- completely mangled by the earthquake in 2007 and never fixed- past piles of rubble, mountains of trash, fires,diseased animals, and the unwelcoming stares of locals. Then, finally, we arrive at the volunteer house, where we were politely informed of a few simple rules:
1) Never go out at night alone.
2) Women never travel alone.
3) Never go to the beach with groups less than four.
4) Never go to the beach at night.
5) Never get in a moto-taxi with two drivers. The second driver has a gun (even if the second driver is a women with a baby, there's a gun under the baby).
Where the hell am I? I thought.
I was at the Pisco Sin Fronteras Volunteer House, a gated little compound inside the city of Pisco, Peru. The compound was occupied by about 65 volunteers, no paid staff, two dogs, a cat, and a massive compilation of old and new tools.
The city of Pisco wasn't always the city where mangy dogs lived in mountains of trash, residing next to piles of adobe rubble. In 2007 the city was devastated by an earthquake, measuring 8.2 on the Richter Scale. When the Peruvian government measured the quake, though, they registered it at 7.9- meaning they didn't have to allocate nearly the necessary amount of money to the damaged municipalities. Consequently, towns with little tourism, like Pisco, received next to nothing. Thus, when we arrived in 2010 (a full three years later), the city was still in terrible disrepair.
Pisco Sin Fronteras arrived in Pisco about a year after the earthquake, taking the place of Burners Without Boarders (a organization created by regular Burning-man attendees, using their unique construction skills to save the world). PSF planned on staying for 3 months, and began with only six volunteers. Soon, PSF realized that what Pisco really needed was an organization with real, lasting, and trusting relationships with the Pisco community- so they canceled their withdrawal date and decided to become a permanent piece of the Pisco community.
PSF is unique in it's lack of paid staff. It is 100% volunteer run, with no "hierachy" or structured leadership. It is run similar to the way an idealistic anarchy would; everyone has an even say, can propose and work on any project, and anyone and everyone is able and encouraged to take leadership in the organization or in specific projects.
The first powerful memory that I have of working at PSF was a concrete pour, done at a rural village outside of Pisco. Concrete pours are vital to the reconstruction of Pisco- a concrete floor is one of the primary ways to increase the health, longevity, and quality of life for the people in Pisco.
The first thing that we did when we arrived was tear down the old house, where we would put the concrete floor down, and put the walls back up around it. The walls were made out of crushed bamboo, and the floor was dusty mix of dirt, chicken shit, dog shit, flies, mice, and massive- multicolored and likely poisonous spiders. The conditions were so unpleasant, smelt so foul, and looked so diseased I didn't even want to step on the floor that this family was sleeping on.
We put down the floor as the children ran around where we were working, trying their best to help. When we were done, the family- who lived in the poorest community I had ever seen- insisted on giving us a gift. They came out with pitchers of hot chocolate, tea, and yellow nondescript stale pieces of bread. However menial, this was a huge gesture for people that lived with almost nothing. As we drove away the adults waved and yelled "Gracias Amigos!" and the children chased after the truck. That was when I realized I wasn't going to be ready to leave PSF in 3 weeks.
And then Super Fun Town, which turned out to be the best part of the experience, and the part I've held onto the most. Super Fun Town was the nickname given to the massive, quagmire of a project started in the town of Vista Valle, a couple minutes outside Pisco.
Vista Valle is a suburb constructed out of straw huts in the dusty empty desert outside of Pisco. The "Vista", affectionately labeling the town, is really just miles and miles of empty sand dunes- the type you would picture someone walking through indefinitely until they die of dehydration. It was very poor, and very populated by young children.
The children were just as happy and jovial as children anywhere else in the world, but where they played was in the huge desert sandbox outside of their house. Vista Valle had no reliable trash disposal system, so the kids played in sand festering with trash, broken glass, diapers, and human shit. The ground was diseased.
A group of three volunteers, Sam, Christina, and Ines, decided that what Vista Valle needed was a safe and clean place for children to play. They started the production of Super Fun Town- a large, multipurpose, playing field- complete with volleyball nets, soccer goals, and a distinct lack of festering diapers.
I got involved in the project as soon as I could. Basically, it was a lot of flattening, leveling, shoveling, and moving dirt- lots, and lots, and lots of dirt.
The community was thrilled to have us there. Everyday, they did everything they could to muster a delicious and hearty lunch for us. The people in the community would literally fight for the opportunity to cook meals for the PSF volunteers, and sometimes created feasts comparable to a fancy restaurant in Cusco. How they managed that in a straw suburb in the desert, I'll probably never know.
And then the children. The children at Super Fun Town were amazing. Fun, happy, and tough as nails. Growing up in Pisco hardens you in a way that Americans aren't. The kids would trip, fall, fight, run into each other in wheel barrels, bleed, and I almost never saw a tear shed. They would work with us, doing their best, an army of five year olds moving an army of tiny shovel fulls into the wheel barrels for us. Insisting on "helping" move wheel barrels, and doing their best to become a part of the project.
When they weren't working, the kids were some of our best friends in the community. Everyday they were crawling all over me and the other volunteers. " Me Vuelta" "Spin ME!" Pasarme en Buggy" "Push me in the Wheelbarrow!". Then, everyday when we left they would chase after the Truck, yelling for attention, and trying to jump on the back. When I left Super Fun Town for the last time and the kids were asking for one last spin, one last push in the wheelbarrow, and offering me pogs labeled "Ben 10", I almost canceled my plane ticket home.
