In the Andes, a lesson in listening

The solar shower burned her hand. But the real issue wasn’t the heat. It was the silence around who controls the water, and who gets to speak.

The year is 2012, and I am living in the Andes. I work for a Finnish public–private partnership programme that aims to improve living standards for local people, especially women. The initiative has a strong focus on renewable energy in low-income regions across the world. Today, we are on our way to visit one of those projects.

After a bumpy ride down a winding mountain road, we arrive at our destination: a village near the Chimborazo volcano in Ecuador. As we enter the village, we pass a school where a solar collector has recently been installed to heat water. The installation has three goals: to reduce the need for firewood, to save time for school caregivers, and to improve hygiene among children.

While our technical experts inspect the rooftop system, I speak with the teachers and the parents’ committee. Everyone is enthusiastic. Adults can also use the warm showers outside of school hours. In return, they pay a small fee that supports maintenance. It seems like the perfect solution.

Then I turn on the tap.

The water is scalding hot. I nearly burn my hand. Why?

The parents and teachers explain that there isn’t enough running water to cool it down. The system can only deliver hot water — dangerously hot — because there’s not enough fresh water available to dilute it.

When decisions ignore lived experience

Why is there a lack of running water?

The water board had decided to prioritise irrigation for nearby farms over supply for the school. These large-scale farms — and the water board itself — were run entirely by men.

Perhaps these men were not entirely wrong. After all, the quality of life does depend on a stable food supply. But does it not also depend on balancing agricultural needs with the wellbeing of children, teachers and the broader community?

This is where many projects go wrong. A technology may be in place, but without understanding the full context, it won’t serve the people it’s meant to help. Every development project needs a reality check. Coordinators must actively involve all groups — especially those most affected — from the beginning, and listen with care. Without this, expensive systems fall into disrepair. Worse, they can cause harm.

In practice, early consultation often proves difficult. There’s pressure to deliver results, to show donors or taxpayers visible success. Metrics such as the number of solar panels installed are easy to report. User experience and long-term maintenance are secondary.

The trap of technological bias

This is the trap of technological bias: the belief that technical solutions alone can solve social problems. Often, the expert team — usually men — are so caught up in doing that they forget to ask what is needed. In this case, asking early on who had access to water, and why, would have exposed deeper power dynamics. It would have revealed that women and marginalised groups often have different water needs and are rarely included in decision-making.

If we want water systems to work and last, we must bring feminine values into all levels of water governance. We must create space for women’s voices and leadership.

Towards a different balance

A Finnish colleague once asked me, “Why is it always men who speak for the Dutch water sector at conferences?” I had no good answer. She was right.

The Dutch water sector still reflects masculine values: problem-solving, competition, linear thinking. But change is possible.

One promising example is the Blue Deal, an international programme launched by the Dutch government and all water boards. It aims to ensure access to safe and sufficient water for 20 million people in 40 river basins by 2030.

This is more than an engineering task. It is an opportunity to embed good governance, inclusiveness and cultural understanding into international cooperation. Many Blue Deal partner countries are not dealing with floods like the Netherlands, but with droughts and scarcity. In these contexts, access to water is shaped by complex histories, social inequalities and local customs.

By paying attention to these patterns — who has water, who doesn’t, and why — we can begin to address the real challenges. If the Blue Deal takes gender, power and participation seriously, it can create partnerships that are both fair and lasting.

A final lesson from the Andes

The time I spent in the Andes shaped my understanding of water and development. I learned to speak with both national experts and local communities, and to see how priorities shift depending on where people live, their age, gender or ethnicity.

So why not let these different priorities be heard?

We must learn to observe before acting. To listen before designing. To sit with the people who live with these systems every day — especially women — without rushing to offer solutions. A technical fix only works when it’s rooted in a cultural reality.

And you only understand that reality when you’re willing to let go of control.