Each morning begins for Rosa Chamami with the sight of flames consuming cardboard scraps in her makeshift yard stove.
These discarded boxes once contained 800,000 state-of-the-art solar panels, now reduced to fuel for her fire.
Installed between 2018 and 2024 at Rubí and Clemesí, two expansive solar plants in Peru’s Moquegua region, approximately 1,000 kilometers south of Lima, these panels comprise the nation’s largest solar complex – a significant installation within Latin America.
From her residence in the small settlement of Pampa Clemesí, Rosa observes the panels illuminated under bright floodlights. The Rubí plant stands a mere 600 meters away.
Yet, her home – along with the rest of her village – remains shrouded in darkness, disconnected from the very grid the plant powers.
None of Pampa Clemesí’s 150 inhabitants have access to the national power grid.
A select few possess solar panels donated by Rubí’s operator, Orygen, but most cannot afford the necessary batteries and converters. At night, they rely on torches – or live without light.
The irony is palpable: the Rubí solar power plant generates roughly 440 GWh annually, sufficient to power 351,000 homes. Moquegua, the plant’s location, is ideally suited for solar energy, boasting over 3,200 hours of sunshine each year, surpassing the average for many nations.
This contradiction is amplified within a nation currently experiencing a surge in renewable energy adoption.
In 2024 alone, electricity generation from renewables increased by 96%. Solar and wind power are heavily reliant on copper due to its high conductivity – and Peru holds the position as the world’s second-largest producer.
“In Peru, the system was structured with profitability as the primary focus. Minimal effort was dedicated to connecting sparsely populated regions,” explains Carlos Gordillo, an energy expert at the University of Santa María in Arequipa.
Orygen maintains that it has fulfilled its obligations.
“We have participated in the government’s initiative to provide electricity to Pampa Clemesí and have already constructed a dedicated line. Additionally, we have completed the initial phase of the electrification project, with 53 power towers ready for operation,” stated Marco Fragale, Orygen’s executive director in Peru, in an interview with BBC News Mundo, the BBC’s Spanish-language service.
Fragale further noted that nearly 4,000 meters of underground cable have been installed to establish a power line for the village. The $800,000 investment is complete, he affirmed.
However, the lights remain off.
The final step – connecting the new line to individual residences – falls under the government’s responsibility. According to the plan, the Ministry of Mines and Energy is tasked with laying approximately two kilometers of wiring. Work was scheduled to commence in March 2025, but has yet to begin.
BBC News Mundo attempted to contact the Ministry of Mines and Energy but received no response.
Rosa’s small dwelling lacks electrical sockets.
Each day, she walks around the village, hoping to find someone who can spare enough electricity to charge her phone.
“It’s crucial,” she emphasizes, explaining her need to stay connected with her family near the Bolivian border.
One of the few who can offer assistance is Rubén Pongo. In his comparatively larger home – featuring patios and multiple rooms – a flock of speckled hens compete for space atop the roof, amidst the solar panels.
“The company donated solar panels to most villagers,” he recounts. “But I had to personally purchase the battery, the converter, and the cables – and cover the installation costs.”
Rubén possesses what others can only dream of: a refrigerator. However, it operates for a maximum of 10 hours per day, and not at all on cloudy days.
He contributed to the construction of the Rubí plant and later worked in maintenance, cleaning the panels. Today, he manages the warehouse and is transported to work by the company, despite the plant’s proximity.
Crossing the Pan-American Highway on foot is prohibited under Peruvian law.
From his rooftop, Rubén gestures towards a cluster of illuminated buildings in the distance.
“That’s the plant’s substation,” he explains. “It resembles a small, lit-up town.”
Residents began settling in Pampa Clemesí in the early 2000s. Among them is Pedro Chará, now 70. He has witnessed the construction of the 500,000-panel Rubí plant almost at his doorstep.
Much of the village is constructed from discarded materials from the plant. Pedro states that even their beds are made from scrap wood.
There is no water system, sewage, or garbage collection. The village once had 500 residents, but due to limited infrastructure, the majority have left – particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic.
“Sometimes, after waiting for so long, fighting for water and electricity, you just feel like dying. That’s it. Dying,” he laments.
Rosa rushes to her aunt’s house, hoping to catch the last rays of daylight. Tonight, she is preparing dinner for a small group of neighbors who share meals.
In the kitchen, a gas stove heats a kettle. Their only source of light is a solar-powered torch. Dinner consists of sweet tea and fried dough.
“We only eat what we can keep at room temperature,” says Rosa.
Without refrigeration, storing protein-rich foods is challenging.
Fresh produce requires a 40-minute bus ride to Moquegua – if they can afford it.
“But we don’t have money to take the bus every day.”
Without electricity, many in Latin America resort to cooking with firewood or kerosene, increasing the risk of respiratory illnesses.
In Pampa Clemesí, residents use gas when they can afford it — and wood when they cannot.
They offer prayers by torchlight for food, shelter, and water, then eat in silence. It is 7 p.m., their final activity of the day. No phones. No TV.
“Our only light is these small torches,” Rosa says. “They don’t illuminate much, but at least we can see the bed.”
“If we had electricity, people would return,” Pedro asserts. “We stayed because we had no choice. But with light, we could build a future.”
A gentle breeze rustles through the desert streets, stirring the sand. A layer of dust settles on the lampposts in the main plaza, awaiting installation. The wind signals the approach of dusk – and the imminent arrival of darkness.
For those without solar panels, like Rosa and Pedro, the darkness stretches until sunrise. So does their hope that the government will one day take action.
As on countless nights before, they prepare for another evening without light.
But why do they still reside here?
“Because of the sun,” Rosa answers without hesitation.
“Here, we always have the sun.”
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