Warning: this article proposes a narrative according to the route taken from one side to the other of the wall, from the predictable to the most unpredictable. To better situate ourselves, the narrative will be told through my personal experience.
"Do you know the wall that divides the rich from the poor?," asked three Greek travelers who, after visiting the "pretty" side of Lima, suspected that something was hiding behind appearances. But, "how is it that from, even though you're from the other side of the world, you knew about the wall?" Well, news travels. And "why is this wall something that has to be seen in our city?" if it's not a cause for pride. I knew exactly what they were talking about. I spelled it out: the wall of shame. Certainly, I wasn't familiar with it in situ either, since I hadn't left my urban bubble, like many of those who live in these parts, so with the same curiosity, as a tourist of my own city, we made our way.
From this side—the most urbanized—at some point you can see the extensive wall in the distance: high, white, and as impenetrable as it is imposing. In the area of Las Casuarinas (Surco) and part of La Molina hides San Juan de Miraflores (SJM), which is just next to the wall. But we couldn't even imagine the universe behind it. The best way is to see it from the other side, we were advised.
Starting the trip, by electric train, from north to south, going from the most formal part of central Lima to the most informal there is a very strong contrast. The solid and well-designed houses begin to disintegrate to a minimum, from concrete to ground. When arriving at SJM, we take a taxi to Pamplona Alta, a neighborhood that borders the wall. We feel a sense of light fear of the unknown. As the car was traveling along a dirt road and getting further into the neighborhood, we suddenly began to be surrounded by hills, more than in other parts of the city, with seas of colorful houses. Then, without realizing it, we were literally at the center of the problem.
