A Heavy Heart in Molino

In my entire life I have never been somewhere with more informational posters about tummy trouble remedies and what to do when you have the shits. I have also never had more tummy troubles, or the shits, in my entire life. Pisco is dirty, the water is unsafe, and the people are disheartened. Why then do I find myself in tears at the thought of leaving? We have been here only 2 weeks, yet I have already seen more than my eyes can take in. And I have not even begun to crack the surface of the problems among this city. Yet something pulls me in, makes me want to stay longer, to see more...

Molino, a shanty town that sprung up in 2007 after the earthquake, lies on the outskirts of Pisco, Peru. Those left homeless plopped down on what was formerly desolate wasteland, making houses out of anything and a living any way possible. Four years later the government has finally turned an eye in these residents' direction; realizing the people aren't going to move, the authorities decided to create a more "organized" neighborhood that will lie on a grid system, allotting each house a measured plot.

On Monday I walked through the sagging houses and along the dirt roads with the neighborhood president to decide those we would assist first. I saw the situation, I was exposed to the poverty; yet it was still distant. But now after a week of ripping houses down and reconstructing them, after being approached countless times asking for help, extra materials, money, after coming home beyond congested from constantly breathing in dust and trash smoke, I find myself restless and itching to do more.

It is complete chaos in Molino; all the residents must move their homes, whether it is 4 feet over, or around the block. Everyone's ability to move their house is dependent on their neighbors' progress. Maria can't shift her house over because she is waiting on Olga's chicken coop to get out of the way, yet Olga's chickens need to be put where Sandra's kitchen currently is and the kitchen can't move until . . . the list goes on. And the frustration builds, the impatience mounts, and the fights are beginning.

The last two days we have been helping Sami move. She is a single mother of 2 beautiful children, and works at the market in downtown Pisco during the day. Another volunteer and I dismantled her entire home in 1.5 hours; the only tools we had were gloves and wire cutters. We cut the rusted wire, carefully removed the bamboo mats that serve as walls, and jiggled wooden poles out of the ground. As we worked, Sami cooked lunch for us over a small propane stove, swatting at gnats and washing dishes out of a bucket hauled from the communal water pump down the street. As we sat down on metal chair frames with plywood stretched across the seat, the brutal sun beating down on us, she told us embarrassed: "Lo siento para mi pobreza." I'm sorry I'm so poor. Nervous about neighbors stealing her building materials, her home, her 7 year old son ate his lunch down the street sitting in the dirt so as to keep an eye on the scraps of wood.

This afternoon as we packed up our tools to head back home having finished enough of her house for her to at least sleep safely tonight, she cried out of gratitude, but also out of frustration. Muchisimas gracias, I have family in the city but no one comes to help me out here, I am so far away and so alone. What does one say? I mumbled something about how she shouldn't cry and how it will all work out OK. Yet . . . I have a place to shower, I have a secure roof, I don't have to go to the bathroom in a bucket in the corner of my one room home, and I am not constantly covered in a sheet of dust. Sami will huddle against the wind hugging her children and I will return to drink a beer around a bonfire and laugh with my fellow backpackers. How does one balance this dynamic? It is not conducive to get too caught up in the poverty, for distressed cannot aid depression. To be aware is one thing. But how does one see just enough to understand and assist, but not so much as to be weighed too heavily down? For as Amanda reminded me, this organization is so successful because the volunteers are able to come home and laugh, relax and revamp for the next day. Where is the balance, and how does one find a way to foster understanding while simultaneously keeping one's spirits high?

(And no, I'm not being poetic in writing these questions here. I am currently searching for answers. Any advice or thoughts welcome...)