Landing back in the dirt poor desert of Pisco after the serenity of Huaraz was enough to make me head stright back to the hills and buy myself a pair of walking poles. The fact that it was a complete shithole, was of course the reason I was there. 2 years after an earthquake destroyed the already destitute town, all the NGOs and buggered off to patch-up some other god-forsaken place, leaving just one totally independent (and as I soon find out totally mental) organisation to try to help put the place back together.
PSF, is hands down the most out there, grassroots, anarchic, chaotic and awesome project I have ever seen, lewt alone be lucky enough to be part of. Anywhere between 50 and 100 people living, eating and working together, paying just 5 dollars a day for food and board, working tirelessly to help the people of Pisco put their lives back together. They have no NGO status, no outside funding. They just do it themselves. In the two weeks I was there I met some of the most amazing and downright crazy people ever, amd made friends for life.
Its hard to describe what its like to be one of 30 people working in the middle of the desert, no electricity, water, sanitation, just dust and a load of rubbish. Two cement mixers going full blast, 10 wheel barrows, 20 shovellers alogging it out in the heat of the day, in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Until that it, you realise that the piles of blankets, the couple of pots and pans, and the tables and chairs scattered around the place are in fact what is left of these peoples homes.
Once the floors have dried (which in 90 degree heat does not take long at all), they can start to rebuild their houses round solid foundations often for the first time ever. I cannot put into words how good it makes you feel to see that happening. Or how humbling it is when they somehow manage to feed all 30 of you huge plates of pasta (and ceviche!), in tin bowls borrowed from friends and family, cooked on calorgas.
When not laying floors, or digging trenches, there were day centers for kids to go to, only to find they didnt even have any paper of pens. Or they had tennis rachets, but no money to buy any balls. Heartbreaking, though a quick trip to the market and about 20 quid means that they do now have enough stuff to keep them busy for a while at least.
As you can imagine, by the end of the week, we were ready to let our hair down. And that we would. Off to the oasis in the desert now foundly and forever known as "Wakichina", we would book out the whole hotel: pool, bar, a BBQ in the Discoteca. We´d go sandboarding and generally go beserk. Goodtimes. But not a patch on having the life squeezed out of you by the lady whose house you just helped put back together.
I´ll say no more. www.piscosinfronteras.net
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