Give me the map

Since Peru does not yet appear on Google maps and since I'm sure most people's knowledge of Peruvian cities and towns doesn't extend much beyond Lima, Cuzco, Arequipa and Iquitos at best (mine didn't extend at all past knowing that Lima was the capital until March this year), I'm attaching a map of the region I've been talking about to give some geographical context. Pueblo Nuevo (near Chincha Alta) and San Juan Bautista (near Ica) are the two areas I've been working in, both circled.

This map was drawn up by the Instituto Geofisico del Peru and interestingly shows where the epicentre of the original earthquake and subsequent tremors were located. It's clear from the map why Pisco and surrounds were the towns worst affected by the earthquake, suffering the lion's share of the fatalities and structural damage. It was in Pisco that the church collapsed during mass, killing 148 people, more than a quarter of the total number of deaths reported so far for all of Peru following the earthquake.

Please click on the map for a larger view.

The suffering doesn't let up

Last week I was working with a third NGO called Comunion Peru (in case you missed the first two, please see blog entry of 10th August), started by the Anglican Bishop of Peru, William Godfrey. Comunion Peru has set up eight kitchens (so far) in the regions of Chincha, Pisco and Ica where the earthquake had its most devastating effect. My main goal has been to raise funds to keep these kitchens, and the additional ones we plan to open, supplied with food to keep them running and to keep the citizens of the surrounding communities fed.

The situation the people of San Juan Bautista, where I was on Friday night delivering storage sheds to three of our kitchens, and Pueblo Nuevo, where I was last weekend, find themselves in is desperate. When your house collapses, you don't just lose a place to live, a safe place to sleep, a place to congregate, a place to cook, a place to wash, a place to be. You lose most of your possessions. They get buried, crushed, smashed or just lost. The money you make which in normal times goes primarily to feed and clothe the family, to pay the lighting and water bills and in miniscule amounts, if there's any left over, to a little home improvement, suddenly is required to pay for new everythings. Plates, glasses, forks, knives, spoons, cups, beds, blankets, clothes, lights. There's no insurance policy. Even if you could afford it, who's going to provide contents insurance against an earthquake for houses built of mud brick lying near a major fault line, or if you could find that person, how could you afford the necessarily stratospheric premiums?

The kitchens which Comunion Peru (and others) have set up and are setting up provide a small amount of relief to people from the overwhelming challenges they now face, one less thing they need to worry about. All are looking to their government for help. And millions of dollars have already been earmarked for reconstruction by President Alan Garcia. When this will begin however is anyone's guess and in the interim, life must go on. The only visible contribution the government is making to this end thus far is to demolish the structurally unsafe houses and cart away the remains. In San Juan Bautista that duty falls to one man with a loader for what must be heading for 200 houses to be cleared (related article from El Comercio).

In the mean time, people are sleeping in tents or temporary straw shelters, visible in at least one of the photographs I took. On Friday night I passed the night in a tent in San Juan Bautista's main square, fully clothed all the way to my jacket in a sleeping bag and I barely slept from the intense cold. I'll admit that I couldn't wait to get home to a warm shower and my bed. One of the ladies we spoke to last week, when we were conducting the census in Pueblo Nuevo, told us that the worst part about the nights was not the dark from lack of electricity, nor the cold, nor the uncomfortable sleeping conditions, but the screaming of children. Screaming out of fear of further tremors. Screaming out of suffering from the cold.

A minor miracle

Miraculous.

This weekend I was down in the province of Chincha, three hours by road south of Lima. I was asked by a group unaffiliated with my organisation to help out with a census the government has been conducting in the last week in the three provinces of Chincha, Pisco and Ica. Several of my new Peruvian friends are members of the Movimiento de Vida Cristiana which at the government's behest mobilised 650 volunteers in the space of a few days to spend the whole weekend, from very early on Saturday to late on Sunday, in Chincha and go house to house, filling out one questionnaire per household on the status of the occupants and their dwellings.

The number of people who died in the whole province of Chincha, as reported by the government as of late Sunday (26th Aug), was 99 out of a total population in that province of 182,000. The miracle I refer to should be evident from the photos I took (please see Picasa link top right to view whole album). I wasn't able to be fully adventurous in taking shots for fear of being relieved of my camera so the angles are limited. However from the shot at right, you get some idea. It's difficult to describe how this view should look without having been there, but take my word for it that you're looking straight through three houses, at least. The lower of the two walls at middle left of the shot is almost all of what's left of the house on the corner of the street, which if it were still standing would take up most of the picture. Just above that wall an old lady in dark blue is visible, reduced to washing her family's clothes in the street, outside of the temporary straw and bamboo hut which for the forseeable future counts as home.

Not one of the households which my partner and I censused, approaching 50 in number with perhaps an average of 6 inhabitants each, had suffered much more than a few scrapes. Despite the fact that in my estimation fully a third of the houses were razed to the ground and heading towards four fifths would have experienced flying debris of the very heavy variety during the quake or subsequent tremors. An aerial shot of the surrounds, though impossible due to lack of a helicopter, would have shown that despite the mercifully low number of deaths, the scale of the tragedy is yet mammoth and urgent. How more people were not seriously injured or worse I don't know.

Total destruction

Thank you to all those who sent me emails and texts or who called (at three in the morning!) to check up on me, following the earthquake last week. Lima escaped largely unscathed from the disaster with minor damage to buildings. As nothing compared to the total destruction of the towns in and around Chicha Alta and Pisco to the south. The mayor of Pisco started to cry during a press conference in the days following the earthquake whilst describing to the media the full extent of the damage and the aid they required. The town has been utterly overwhelmed by the scale of the rebuilding effort required, both physical and mental. Here at ECLOF Peru we're looking at sourcing funds to purchase more aid for those still suffering. Almost a week later and of course the press has moved on (almost immediately to Hurricane Dean which just hit the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico where I spent a month studying Spanish in July), but the emergency needs of the population are as pressing as they were five days ago.

Are the walls moving?

It was my first earthquake. In the first seconds it seemed a large vehicle was driving past our office building, but the more the office shook, the more the realisation dawned that the earth was moving under our feet and the walls and ceiling around our heads. There was nothing man-made about it. My colleagues and I walked out into the street, to find that our neighbours in this residential district had done the same. Some were very affected by the tremors, wailing uncontrollably. Night had already fallen (the earthquake hit at twenty to seven in the evening) and suddenly many lights went out and lightning struck. The fear in people’s hearts amplified as many devoutly Catholic Peruvians instinctively attached great significance to the events.

Mobile and landline networks were quickly overwhelmed. Twenty minutes went by before colleagues were able to get in touch with loved ones. Older colleagues were saying it was the strongest and most protracted tremor they had ever felt in Lima, guessing that it must be greater than Richter magnitude 6. In 1970 an earthquake killed an estimated 50,000 people in Yungay, to the north of Lima. Getting home proved difficult. Traffic was backed up and taxis willing to tackle it hard to find. Queues were forming at public payphones as people struggled to contact family around the country. Initial panic had evolved into controlled tension. Back at my apartment building, few wanted to return to their abodes for fear of aftershocks.

The first tremor is always the worst, I told myself, and strode up the stairs, outwardly confident, to my eleventh floor home. Various objects had fallen from shelves, the kitchen floor was inexplicably drenched in a pool of water and a patch of shoddy plastering outside the rear door had crumbled to the floor. Not more than two hours after the first shock wave BBC World was already broadcasting video footage of the quake in Lima. Magnitude 7.9 was being reported by the US Geological Survey. (Since upgraded to 8.)

I left the back door open as I dried the kitchen only to see my neighbours on their way out, packed bag in hand, to spend the night with family, uncomfortable at the thought of being so high up. My initial fortitude in the face of Mother Nature was starting to slip. The first significant aftershock struck at around eleven twenty, causing me to bolt from my bed, grab my shoes and head for the door. Either previous Peruvian experience would have forced them to design earthquake-resistant buildings, or the cost-conscious contractor might have cut corners in construction. Ignorant of which might be the more accurate, I was taking no chances. But the swaying quickly subsided.

Very sadly the relatively low casualty rate being reported late that night had been revised upwards significantly by the early hours of the morning and still further in the early afternoon. As I write, a day and a half later, estimates are that more than 500 are dead. Many thousands have lost their homes, mainly in the areas surrounding Pisco to the south of Lima where mud brick is commonly used in construction. A significant amount of help is needed with hospitals operating without power, bodies lining the streets and aid struggling to travel down the ruptured Panamerican Highway. Speed of response is critical in these situations. Let us hope it arrives in time for those in need.

Meeting good people

The organisation I'm working for here in Lima is called ECLOF (Ecumenical Church Loan Fund) Peru. I've been seconded to them by the organisation that hired me in London, Five Talents. ECLOF's set up here includes a central office, where I'll be spending most of my time and three regional offices, one in the northern suburb of Lima, one in the southern and one outside of Lima down near Lake Titicaca (the highest commercially navigable lake in the world, so they tell me). In each of the regional offices, between one and five credit analysts meet clients, provide business training and moral support and of course cash.

I've been spending this week in the two suburbs of Lima, following the credit analysts around as they visit clients. It's been a humbling experience to witness both the work the credit analysts perform day in, day out in uncomfortable conditions, as well as witnessing the habitats of our clients. These run the gamut from those who have the basic necessities of a decent amount of space, four walls with a solid roof, running water and waste disposal services to those who live in shacks to which a stiff wind would pose a problem, to which water has to be brought by tanker (not by the government but by enterprising private individuals) and whose toilets are communal outhouses.

At the end of each day this week, I've been able to come home to my brand new apartment in a quiet area of the swankiest part of town. Those clients are still in their little abodes in the hills around Lima probably somewhat cold as the evenings close in. And the credit analysts also live out in the burbs in (obviously) much better conditions than most of our clients, but probably still in areas that many of us would find difficult to cope with. I've met a few people over the years I've thought were doing virtuous work. These credit analysts rank with the best of them. A lesson in humility.

The cost of living in Lima

A chocolate bar - 8p. Twenty five minute bus ride to work - 20p. A can of beer - 37p. Lunch of fresh fish with rice and veg - 65p. Taxi ride to work - ₤1.30 (and I'm more than likely being ripped off at that). Cinema - ₤2.50. 100 channel cable TV - ₤9 per month. Rent on a two bed flat on the penultimate floor of a highrise with a swimming pool on the roof in the equivalent of Chelsea - ₤215 per month. The warm welcome I've received from my colleagues and adopted Peruvian family - priceless. [Apologies to Mastercard.]

Mr Fix It

Small differences between life in a top tier bank in one of the financial capitals of the world and life in a non profit organisation in a developing country. Here we have a geezer who deals with everything. Need copies made of the keys to your flat, Juan's your man. Need a local mobile phone number, Juan's your man. Need a new battery for your laptop, Juan's your man. Need someone to "kindly" ask your landlord to lower the rent, Juan's your man. Ok, so the last one's a slight exaggeration. But where was this guy when I needed him in London?