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The entire landscape is gray. Several Chilean flags wave as if to remind us where this piece of land is, as the fire destroyed everything. The fire began on Friday, February 2. The hills burned through the weekend, destroying a large part of the city and killing people. It took three days to get most of the outbreaks under control. More than 13, homes were destroyed. It is known internationally for its music festival and as a vacation spot for domestic and foreign tourists. These encampments were not only hard hit by the fires, but also the last places to receive aid from the city and the state. Just before the fire devoured everything in its path, Guerra was visiting her cousin up the hill. They watched the embers dance across the landscape. In the distance, a huge cloud of black smoke filled the sky. The flames reached the Botanical Garden across the street in no time. Guerra had only minutes to react and run. Thirty years ago, she and her family arrived to what was then a land occupation. They built their houses as their budgets allowed: they improved the roof, got electricity, sought out water, etc. There was no sewage and authorities never formally recognized the settlement, which Guerra believes explains why nobody maintained the ravines, which were choked with weeds and flammable garbage. During the blaze, fire trucks couldn't enter the area to put out the flames that destroyed her home and everything around it because the unpaved streets were too narrow. Although this zone is highly sensitive and vulnerable to fire, no one prepared residents or told them where to go in the event of an emergency, Guerra explained. Berta Maureira slices a carrot as she prepares the day's menu: rice with chicken and salad. She and other women provide lunches and dinners to almost people who, like her, have lost all of their belongings. Her mother, Berta Vergara, with whom she shares her name and sense of solidarity, hands out plates to a couple of neighbors who come to ask if there is enough left over for them. It's hard to get to Monte Sinai, which is high up in the hills. It takes about 10 minutes by car from downtown and three times as long in public transportation. When I visited in the first week of February, there was no bus, so I had to take a cab to a concourse where aid was being delivered. From there, I scrambled up the slippery slopes of dirt and rock to get to the encampment. Most of the roads are blocked and those that remain open are narrow. Everything in sight seems to be in the process of being rebuilt. Although the government set up shelters to house the thousands of people affected, many, like Maureira, her mother and her entire family, have chosen to stay where they are, sleeping in tents or in their cars. This is not the first time that she and her neighbors have come together. During the pandemic, they formed an itinerant canteen and delivered food to those in need, even those in neighborhoods on the other side of the city. Since the fire, some medical organizations and local institutions have reached out to help. What really worries this mother of five is the mental health of the little ones, who suffered the trauma of seeing everything that they knew consumed by fire. They watched people lose their pets. What immediately struck them as most important was to reach out in solidarity and help address the basic needs of those impacted by the emergency. Once they were on the ground, they got in touch with grassroots organizations, cultural centers, emergency foodbanks and self-managed spaces and built a network that could coordinate how and where to operate. They soon realized what they first had to do was to react and pitch in. She noted that local authorities were slow to arrive, particularly to more distant places up in the hills. Over the medium term, the challenge is to put the fire in a political context. The environmental deterioration of this region is obvious. Many of the destroyed buildings were made of light and flammable materials. Some were prefabricated wooden houses, assembled by the inhabitants themselves, others were built with concrete blocks reinforced with boards, with zinc roofs, sheet metal and plastic. Its members emphasize the role that the communal preparation of food has played, historically done and coordinated by women, in their ability to organize. In the rush to respond, there was some neglect of the gendered dimensions of the crisis, although menstrual hygiene kits were later added to emergency supplies. There was also the issue of childcare, and feminists began to help support to children affected by the fires. As soon as they confirmed that everyone in their collective was okay, they started organizing. Since then, Pizarro and her collective have been a presence in the hills, entertaining the children, and organizing events as well as workshops on mural painting, painting and juggling. They also cook using large communal pots and do their best to address needs as they arise. For now, feminist and grassroots organizations agree that one challenge is to maintain an active presence on the ground, as the number of volunteers gradually shrinks. As the Chilean summer winds down, people are beginning to return to work or go back to school, and the quantity of volunteers in the affected areas is decreasing. Yasna Mussa es reportera freelance. Fue Bertha Fellow Es cofundadora y editora de Revista Late. She was a Bertha Fellow from She is editor and co-founder of Revista Late. Feminist and mutual aid in the wake of Chilean wildfires. Escrito por Yasna Mussa. Sharing meals in a burned out community Berta Maureira slices a carrot as she prepares the day's menu: rice with chicken and salad. Chile fires Organizing Feminism reproduction of life Collective work wildfires. Yasna Mussa Yasna Mussa es reportera freelance.