Flickering Lights: Chronicles of Climate Reality in the Andes

Two months ago, I entered a reality I never imagined we will have to face again: enduring daily power cuts lasting 8 to 14 hours. Each evening, as the lights went out and the steady hum of appliances ceased, I was faced with a stark reality—the once abundant resources we took for granted were dwindling. Far from mere inconvenience, this was a dire wake-up call, even here in the Andes, where water is the lifeblood of the region.

Throughout my years working with organizations like Rare and Birdlife International across Andean nations, I was enchanted by the region’s natural bounty. Majestic glaciers nourished rivers that carved through expansive valleys, supporting agriculture and powering hydroelectric plants. The local communities, confident in this seemingly inexhaustible water supply, often dismissed any concerns of potential shortages. Yet today, their certainty is shaken.

In Ecuador, where I currently reside, a severe drought—the worst in over six decades—has crippled the nation’s hydropower, which generates 80% of its electricity. This crisis has compelled the government to enforce extensive power rationing, plunging millions of homes, businesses, and schools into darkness. Cities fall silent, punctuated only by the occasional drone of a generator. Water scarcity has followed suit, with rationing measures forcing residents to hoard water during fleeting periods of availability.

This scenario is not isolated to Ecuador. The entire Andean region is grappling with the impacts of climate change—glaciers, once reliable water sources, are receding at an alarming rate. In Peru, Lima confronts a severe water crisis exacerbated by urban expansion and climatic fluctuations straining its antiquated infrastructure. Similarly, Bolivia has faced intense droughts, depriving communities of consistent water access for extended durations.

The dependency on hydropower in the Andes highlights the vulnerability of this region to the changing climate. Hydroelectric dams, reliant on steady rainfall and glacier melt, are pillars of sustainable energy. However, these systems are now compromised by prolonged dry spells and unpredictable weather patterns.

Living through this upheaval has profoundly altered my worldview. Raised with the belief that Andean nations were endowed with endless water, these past two months have exposed the fragility of this bounty. It’s both humbling and frightening to witness how rapidly systems can fail when the environment deviates from historical norms.

This ordeal has prompted me to contemplate our collective response—both immediate and long-term. Reducing emissions is undoubtedly essential, but we must also fortify our resilience. This entails designing adaptable urban areas, investing in water-conserving infrastructure, and cultivating community awareness about sustainability.

Moreover, regional collaboration is crucial. The Andean nations, linked by shared watersheds, ecosystems, and histories, must unite in resource management. Cross-border water agreements, regional climate adaptation plans, and community-driven conservation initiatives are vital.

As I write this, enveloped in darkness once more, I'm using candlelight—a poignant reminder of our ancestral past—to record a distinctly modern crisis. The quiet around me underscores the urgency of our task: not merely to avert further deterioration but to forge systems robust enough to endure.

The Andes have always embodied breathtaking beauty and resilience. It is this resilience that we must now channel more than ever—not just in our infrastructure, but in our collective resolve to confront these challenges. For if this crisis has taught me anything, it’s that the unthinkable can indeed happen. And when it does, our only recourse is to act, decisively and together.