Take note

by Danielle Holt (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Peru

It was the most liberating experience, in the least expected place. The summer after my freshman year in college, I found myself in Peru, volunteering with an NGO and building wind turbines to provide electricity for light and small appliances to rural households without access to grid electricity. Our group spent the first two weeks of the program in Trujillo- the third most populous city in Peru. Here, we constructed a small turbine from scratch, start to finish. To form the blades, we poured resin into molds wrapped in fiberglass, and once cooled, we sanded the mass with a million shards of fiberglass twinkling in the air like a million tiny stars. We rotated copper wires hundreds of times, around and around and around, connecting the stripped ends to a variety of gears that would convert the mechanical power of the wind into electricity. Lastly, we prepared to take a seven hour combi ride north of Trujillo to install the turbines in the households of residents of a small coastal community called Playa Blanca. We were aware that Playa Blanca would be remote compared to Trujillo. There was no cell service, no potable water, and we would have to sleep in sleeping bags for the next ten days. However the leaders of the program neglected to tell us the most jarring detail until shortly before our departure. There was no running water at all. No showers. No toilets. Not even outhouses. In the desert. For ten days. We were instantly in denial. All of the volunteers came from households where we never contemplated where our excrement went once we flushed the toilet. Here we were being told that this facet of life that we had used multiple times a day, every single day of our entire lives save for infancy, would be no more. Shock and disbelief were all that registered. We set out on our expedition in our combi and later arrived in Playa Blanca, with the community children trailing after the vehicle. We emerged from the vehicle to joy-filled shouts of “Gringos! Gringas!”. These chants- although harmless- served as reminders that we were outsiders, and would have to adapt to their way of life as best we could. After setting up shop in the community center, one-by-one we took turns exploring our surroundings to follow nature’s call. One early morning, I awakened early before my companions in efforts to maintain the shards of my privacy that were still under my control. I began to walk away from the community and towards a cliff. The sun was beginning to rise and Playa Blanca was doing the same. Roosters were crowing in the distance, and as I passed a pig pen, I noted that the pigs too had set about their morning duties. A few hundred feet more and I arrived at my destination of choice for the morning. A spot a mere feet from the edge of a steep cliff that towered over the ocean, facing the east with the rising sun painting the sky and a boundless horizon before my eyes. Out in the distance I could make out the community’s fishing boats which dotted the sea. The waves crashed below. The air tasted and smelled like salt. I sat there with the sand beneath my feet, crouched down with my pants around my ankles, and realized that my biggest fear had soon become the favorite part of my day. Advances in infrastructure have made it so that for much of my life, many of the modernities I enjoy, I never had to think about. I walk into buildings without fear of them collapsing. I flick a switch and turn darkness to light. I turn a faucet and drink what comes out. I flush my waste without ever wondering where it goes. Despite lack of access to said modernities, and to my surprise, Playa Blanca’s community members were very fulfilled people. Although to outsiders they had nothing, to themselves they had everything. As an engineer who has gone through formal schooling in providing public access to very modernities, Playa Blanca serves as a reminder that less can be more than you could ever imagine. We should take note.