The sun is always shining in Pisco, but the streets and beaches are littered with rubbish and there’s a fecal content to the water. The building codes and living standards are sub-par, at best, compared to developed-world standards, but hey, it never rains. 

The desolate conditions are exactly why Burners Without Borders went there in the first place, and the reason Pisco Sin Fronteras remains today. The hundreds of volunteers that cycle through Pisco each month subject themselves to foodborne illness, demanding work schedules in harsh conditions and bunk-style, commodity-stripped accommodations, and they love every minute of it. 

If you’ve been to Burning Man, you know there’s something very rewarding about putting yourself out there in the harsh conditions, weathering the sun and storms and making it out alive. At PSF, though, you truly have a greater purpose to carry out your innermost desires for surviving apocalyptic conditions that many people in the area have endured on a permanent basis since the 2024 earthquake. 

In the three weeks I spent at PSF, I gained a true appreciation for the comforts of home that I lacked there. While a sacrifice for me, Pisco volunteers actually live in the higher echelon of people in that area. While we complained about eating rice, potatoes and chicken for the third time that week, many people of the region didn’t eat three times that week. While we groaned about going to the toilet so often from the very same food, many of the people that PSF helps didn’t have a toilet at all. And while we moaned about a 44 hour work week in the heat, the people we helped were happy to work by our side, in addition to maintaining their normal jobs, just to have a stable roof above their heads. Indeed, my work there proved that none of us has right to complain about much of anything.
 
As an experienced Spanish speaker, my language skills were in high demand around the organization, so I was able to get a pretty thorough glimpse of the situation in Pisco. On my first day of community assessment, I had the privilege of speaking with a police officer in one of the most underprivileged areas of Pisco, a shantytown called El Molino. 

He provided critical insight to the problems in the area, unrivaled by any other interviewee I met, and what an introduction it was. He told us that the number-one issue in the area is domestic violence—men beating women and children, and children beating their parents. He said the law prevents police from stepping in to a violent situation unless someone is unconscious or severely bleeding. There is little recourse for the victims, as well, since the only service is miles away and there are no shelters in the region. 

The second issue, he said, was a lack of sanitization and basic services. There is no pluming or garbage service and the people just throw their waste in the street or on the beach.  Lastly, he told us, the children are out of control. With few programs, lack of parental control and lack of education, the kids of the village simply run rampant. They smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, form gangs and have children as early as age 12. 

The pang of this information made my heart sink into my shoes. “What can we do to help?” was my only reply. The most important solution, he said, is education—education of anyone, of any age, on any topic, really. Ignorance is the impetus of almost all of these hardships, and educating the people is the only solution. Of course, the government complicates matters by denying these people the basic services they need to survive happily, but simple, grassroots solutions exist to ameliorate some of the suffering. 

PSF recently constructed a school in the area and regularly works with community leaders and families to turn the situation around. This community faces challenges that seem nearly impossible to overcome, but that’s why we are there. My pain for them is comforted by the fact that so many people sign up every day to do whatever they can to support the betterment of this community.  Assistance of any and every kind is essential to lift these people out of this brutal situation. 

PSF is like a renegade family of drifters that has created an unstoppable machine of compassionate assistance. I feel blessed to have been a part of it, if only for a short time, and encourage anyone to join who needs a reminder of just how good we have it.