BY TARA KIM
On the outskirts of Lima, Peru’s sprawling capital, thousands of homes cling to desert cliffs. They shouldn’t be there—these precarious dwellings built hastily with concrete blocks, wood, and even scrap materials, defy both gravity and common sense. Yet, there they are in these “pueblos jóvenes” (young towns), standing as a testament to resilience, built by families who had no other choice. Their existence tells a story about climate change that few are talking about: how climate change is reshaping human geography…one landslide at a time.
I first arrived in Lima as a Yale student and board member of the MedLife chapter we founded last year, a global non-profit that provides healthcare and education to underserved communities. Volunteers assist in mobile health clinics, offering care and preventative resources. I expected to focus on healthcare delivery—but instead, I confronted one of climate change’s most overlooked consequences: the displacement of entire communities perched precariously on desert cliffs.
The journey to these communities begins with a steep climb—if there are stairs at all. In some settlements, residents or Medlife have built concrete stairways by hand, a lifeline that turns treacherous when rain turns them into slick, crumbling slides. But many aren’t so lucky. Most people, including children on their way to school and workers heading into the city, must scale the loose, sandy cliffs by foot. Every ascent left me breathless, my legs burning, while toddlers and pregnant women navigated the terrain with effortless skill. I woke up the next morning sore from the climb, while they made the journey again—just another part of their daily routine. The higher up they live, the harder life becomes—a striking metaphor for the social hierarchy at play. Yet for these residents, the precariousness of their homes isn’t the biggest concern. More pressing are the daily struggles: getting to work, feeding their families, and holding onto a sense of normalcy in a place where even the ground beneath them is uncertain.
One day, some community members invited us, the volunteers, to a soccer field they had built themselves—a patch of dirt cleared and leveled by hand. More than just a makeshift sports ground, it serves as the heart of the community, a space for celebrations, family gatherings, and moments of respite. Despite having so little, they welcomed us with food, embodying a generosity that speaks to their values and resilience. They served us panetón, a sweet, bread-like cake studded with raisins and candied fruit, and steaming cups of spiced hot chocolate, thick with milk and rich cocoa.
Throughout our visit, we were guided by Gladys, a native Peruvian who has dedicated years to these communities. While sitting in the soccer field with us, she shared stories of similar gatherings she’d witnessed over her years leading trips like ours. She pointed out how remarkable their generosity was, offering us their best despite having so little themselves. Gladys cares deeply for the people here—not just directing volunteers but immersing us in the history, politics, and daily realities of the settlements. Always ready to answer questions, she remained eager for us to understand what she calls home: the resilience, the hardships, and the shifting landscape.
It was during one of these1 conversations with Gladys, as we set up a clinic the following morning, that she gestured toward the flat rooftops stretching across the hillside. “These houses weren’t built for rain,” she explained simply. “Lima is a desert city. But now, when it rains, it really rains.” Her observation, following our experiences in the community, captured a complex truth I would continue exploring with her even after our trip concluded: these communities, built out of necessity, now confront threats their founders never imagined.
The story of these settlements stretches back to the mid-20th century, when rapid population growth in Lima led to an influx of migrants from rural mountain regions, all seeking better economic opportunities.1 Between the 1940s and 1980s, these migrants built makeshift homes on the outskirts of the city, often on steep hillsides deemed unfit for habitation by urban planners. With limited resources, these homes were constructed quickly using whatever materials could be found—concrete blocks, wood, and even scrap materials—often with makeshift methods. The informal nature of these settlements meant most homes lacked proper permits, solid foundations, and basic amenities like plumbing and electricity. What began as temporary shelters gradually evolved into permanent communities, despite their unstable foundations.
Today, these communities face a new threat. Climate change is altering Peru’s weather patterns in ways that make these already vulnerable locations increasingly dangerous. Now, a slow-motion catastrophe unfolds on these hills. Climate change has introduced rain to a city built for desert. El Niño events, once predictable decadal occurrences, now arrive with unsettling frequency, each bringing downpours that these improvised structures were never designed to withstand. “We have less time to prepare,” Gladys explains as we set up another clinic, “less time to strengthen homes or move people to safety.”
The impact of these changes is visible everywhere. Walking through the communities, you see houses supported by elaborate wooden beam systems – testimony to the constant battle against gravity and erosion. Cracks spider-web across walls, marking where the ground has shifted beneath the foundations. These are not just structural concerns; they’re daily reminders of vulnerability that affect every aspect of residents’ lives.
The global crisis of unplanned urbanization intensifies these climate risks. As cities like Lima expand without adequate regulation, millions find themselves living in makeshift settlements lacking basic infrastructure and safety measures. This pattern of development creates a perfect storm: increasing both the frequency of everyday disasters and the potential for catastrophic events.
Climate change and its events have the potential to be devastatingly sudden. In Lima’s hillside communities, a single disaster—such as a heavy rainstorm—can sweep away entire neighborhoods. The houses, built in close proximity and stacked precariously atop one another, create a domino effect: one house collapsing can destabilize an entire row of homes beneath it. With no formal urban planning, the risk of catastrophe increases dramatically. One landslide, one torrential downpour, or one structural failure at the top of the hill can send entire families into disaster overnight.
The healthcare implications are particularly severe. During MEDLIFE clinic sessions, we saw how environmental instability creates cascading health effects. Respiratory problems are common, exacerbated by dust from constant erosion. Injuries from navigating unstable terrain are frequent. Skin infections, gastrointestinal illnesses, and vector-borne diseases spread more easily in these conditions, yet access to medical care remains limited.
These communities bear the brunt of climate change despite contributing minimally to its causes.
Peru’s geographic diversity makes it especially vulnerable to climate change. The country’s ecosystem ranges from the Amazon rainforest to the Andean highlands to the arid coastal deserts. Peru holds 71% of the world’s tropical glaciers, which are rapidly retreating due to rising temperatures.2 This glacial melt not only disrupts local water supplies but also increases the frequency of huaicos, or flash floods, which are particularly devastating in desert regions where the dry, loose soil cannot absorb sudden torrential rains. These climate events, alongside changing rainfall patterns, are pushing more and more Peruvians into displacement, reshaping the country’s urban and rural landscapes.
Specific weather events have already demonstrated the severity of this crisis. The 2017 El Niño Costero, for example, unleashed historic flooding and landslides that destroyed thousands of homes and displaced over 100,000 people across Peru. Such extreme weather is no longer an anomaly but a recurring pattern, making it clear that climate change is an urgent and ongoing crisis for the country.
The situation in Lima’s hillside communities is part of a larger trend across Peru, where climate-driven displacement is forcing more families to move, often to cities in search of jobs or better education. These migrations are putting pressure on urban centers, straining resources and making long-term planning even harder.
The experience deepened my understanding of how climate change affects people. Statistics about rising global temperatures or changing weather patterns take on new meaning when you’ve walked through communities where these changes manifest in cracking walls and shifting foundations. It’s a reminder that climate change isn’t just about environmental metrics – it’s about human lives and communities.
Looking forward, these communities need more than just resilience. They need systematic support to adapt to changing climate conditions. This means infrastructure improvements, better emergency preparedness systems, and potentially, planned relocation options for the most vulnerable areas. More broadly, their situation highlights the urgent need for global climate action that considers the disproportionate impact on vulnerable communities.
As I reflect on my time in Lima, I’m struck by how these communities embody both the challenge and hope of our climate future. Their struggles highlight the urgent need for climate action, while their resilience offers lessons in adaptation and community solidarity. Their story is a reminder that climate change isn’t just about protecting our future – it’s about preserving the present for communities already on the front lines of this global crisis.
Tara Kim is a senior in Benjamin Franklin College.
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References
- Britannica. Demographic trends. Britannica. Available at: https://www.britannica.com/place/Peru/Demographic-trends (Accessed: 9 March 2025).
- CARE. Glaciares. CARE. Available at: https://www.care.org/our-work/food-and-nutrition/water/glaciares/ (Accessed: 9 March 2025).
Yale Global Health Review 