“Doing things for free” is “God’s job”: ‘Operation Mato Grosso’ in Peru

by Domitia Caramazza

Lima (Fides News Agency) - “Chacas seems closer to heaven than to the rest of the world…”. The words of the writer Mario Vargas Llosa inevitably comes to mind as one travels through this village nestled in the Cordillera Blanca, where for almost sixty years a fascinating experience of the Latin American missionary adventure has been unfolding. It is here that the Salesian priest, Father Ugo De Censi, gave shape to the intuition of Operation Mato Grosso: to involve young people in serving the poor through work, sharing and an embodied faith.

“It all began in front of the old altarpiece in what is now the Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Assumption,” says Mattia, a Lombard who settled permanently in Peru in the historic home of the ‘Don Bosco of the Andes’.
Hospitality offered freely: “This place is a haven. Anyone who arrives can ask for a bowl of soup, a coffee, a listening ear… Father Ugo has always wanted this house to be open to everyone, 24 hours a day,” says Mattia.
Father Ugo arrived in these mountains in the 1970s, after founding Operation Mato Grosso in 1967 together with groups of young Italians eager to help the people of the Andes. He did not just want to assist the poor, but to live with them, sharing their struggles and hopes. This is how the workshops and cooperatives were born, where dozens of young Peruvians work on creating mosaics, stained-glass windows, sculptures and religious works commissioned from all over the world. Some have even reached the Vatican. Among these are the Marian mosaic by Lenin Alvarez and the statue of Saint Rose of Lima by the sculptor Edwin Morales, inaugurated and blessed by Pope Leo XIV in the Vatican Gardens, a gift from Peru to the Holy See.
Father Ugo used to tell his young people: “When you lose God, you lose everything.” And again: “You reach Him through work, through effort, with your hands and your feet.” From Chacas to Lima, this is the difficult, far from guaranteed journey that young people from the poorest rural areas decide to undertake in the hope of a better life.

“Casa Argentina”: an answer to the questions in the hearts of young Peruvians
Claudia and Lorenzo, together with their eight children, have become a family to the young people from the poorest rural areas. A missionary family that has lived for eleven years in the boys’ boarding house of Operation Mato Grosso in Lima, becoming “their parents” to thirty young people from the Sierra. “We are a perfectly ordinary family with the simple desire to be open to others and to life.” In the heart of the Peruvian capital, this house is neither a boarding school nor a care centre; it is a family where everything is shared, from prayer to meals, from study to daily work.
Claudia and Lorenzo, originally from Tivoli, discovered Operation Mato Grosso when they were teenagers. "It was in high school that we began to learn about this reality," says Claudia. "We discovered it and fell in love with it." A choice born from a quest for meaning that still guides them today. Lorenzo speaks with disarming sincerity: "You have to put yourself in the shoes of an eighteen-year-old who cannot figure out what meaning to give to his life. There are those who smash shop windows, some take a gap year, and some find meaning in devoting all their energy to helping others.” For him, the prospect of a life that was ‘already mapped out’ was suffocating: “It really made me sick to think that life was already all mapped out: get your degree, settle down, get married…all that was left was to die." Today, this search has resulted in a house full of life. The young people welcomed come from the poorest provinces of Peru, often from illiterate peasant families who "sign with an X." Many arrive in Lima without ever having seen an escalator or knowing how to use a refrigerator. But above all, they must be guided in discovering a new world without losing their roots. Here they find free board, lodging and education for up to six years, but what matters most is community life. The days start very early. “At six o’clock I go round the rooms and wake them up one by one,” says Lorenzo. “Then we go to the chapel, we meditate, have breakfast while singing and praying, and that’s when the fun begins.” Some young people go to university, others stay for the afternoon sessions. Meanwhile, some take care of the garden, others of the animals, and still others go to the childcare center to play with the orphans. In the evening, everyone gathers together: dinner, prayer, and “goodnight,” the moment when the young people are left with a thought about the day or about what is happening in the world.
"Something that can accompany them as they sleep, something to think about." Education begins first and foremost with concrete acts of charity. At weekends, the young people prepare shows at the traffic lights in Lima: juggling, music, impromptu flash mobs in front of cars stuck in traffic jams. "Young people appearing at the traffic lights for a 120-second show," Lorenzo says with a smile. The proceeds are donated to the poorest missions. These funds help build schools, support daycare centers, and assist parishes. Last April 24th, a new school was inaugurated in Chimbote, built thanks to the sacrifices of young people like them: five daycare centers, a primary school, and a secondary school that welcome more than 1,500 students. Over the past two years, Claudia and Lorenzo have also opened a small after-school daycare center in a shantytown not far from their home. “For now, we can only go once a week,” says Claudia, “but given the situation, we should be there day and night.” This commitment stems from responding to the needs they have encountered. Their children are also growing up within this shared experience. And the youngest children mingle with the other young people “in a natural and simple way,” experiencing this community as an integral part of their lives.
For Claudia and Lorenzo, this is not a finished project, but an ongoing journey. It is an open path to the aspiration for a rich and shared life, a life of renewal.

“Casa Santa Bernardita”: A response to the needs of young Peruvian women

In Lima, at the “Santa Bernardita” house—the girls’ boarding school, a sister institution to the boys’—Mato Grosso takes shape in a daily life made up of faces, stories, and relationships. “Here, I found a family.” These words from Sofía, who came from a village in the Sierra to study in Lima, define this House in the light of the experience of life given and shared.
Thirty-one young women from the poorest rural areas of Peru live together: studies, work, friendship, and faith, learning to give meaning to their lives. For sixteen years, Suelì, a lay missionary, has accompanied them; she describes her role with simplicity: “I am like a mother to all of them…” Her story begins with a seemingly full life in Italy—university studies, work, church commitments— yet was marked by a deep unease: “I had everything, but I was unhappy.” Her encounter with the young people of Mato Grosso changed her outlook: “I was fascinated to see young people working and giving everything to the poor.” She resigned and set off on a mission. Once she arrived in Lima, she never left.
The young women often begin their university studies with limited preparation and from families marked by poverty. “They study until midnight… with great difficulty,” says Suelì, who is committed to their holistic development. Their communal life is governed by rules and shared responsibilities. Many come from Andean villages where everything began in the oratories or groups of Mato Grosso. “My parents passed this path on to me… it is a beautiful way of life,” says Catalina. Fabiola is studying nursing “so I can help those in need,” while Carla dreams of “helping children in Africa.” Arriving in Lima, however, is often a difficult transition. “It was difficult at first,” admits Eidy. The big city can be disorienting, but within the house something develops that binds them together. “A sort of sisterhood is created,” adds Nicole. And Isabel sums it all up in a few words: “Mato Grosso is love.”
The stories that reach us often leave deep wounds: absent fathers, violence that has never been spoken of. “At least thirty per cent have suffered abuse,” confides Suelì. Yet, it is precisely within this fragility that a human richness emerges which strikes her: “They possess incredible sensitivity.” Thus, everyday life becomes a place of healing and growth.
Through this experience, the way they look at the future also changes. Yorli, twenty years old, who came from Chacas to study Educational Sciences, says that at first she “worked out of inertia”, taking part in activities just to be with her friends.
Then something changed. It was the shift from simple participation to responsibility. For Yorli, the meaning of life increasingly lies in self-giving. And if she had to summarize her experience of Operation Mato Grosso in three words, she would choose: “God, gift, and generosity.”
For some young women, this path becomes an even more radical choice. Úrsula, a graduate in Tourism and Cultural Heritage, decided after her studies to take a year off to dedicate herself entirely to the mission. “A year in service to others.” A decision her family struggles to understand: “They think it is a wasted year.” But after her father’s death, Úrsula felt she could no longer live in self-neglect: “I asked myself how to use my life.” That’s how she found herself on construction sites in Mato Grosso, painting walls, building schools, and organizing activities for children and young people in the suburbs. “We try to encourage young people not to waste their time on trivial things.” The common thread that binds their lives into a single, mysterious, colourful tapestry seems to be selflessness. Suelì quotes a phrase from Father Ugo that has become a rule of life: “Doing things for free is God’s job…”
At the end of our meeting, before leaving to serve at the "Puericultorio Pérez Aranibar", the young girls huddled together, smiling at the camera and expressing a wish: to greet Pope León, the "Peruvian Pope," whom they hope to meet during his upcoming apostolic journey to Peru.

Operation Mato Grosso at the "Puericultorio Pérez Aranibar" in Lima

In the San Miguel district, within one of Peru's largest institutes for vulnerable children, managed by the Beneficencia de Lima, Operation Mato Grosso has undergone a radical transformation in recent years. The children's home in the capital is a complex of over 14 hectares that houses minors who have been abandoned or are extremely vulnerable, coming from very difficult family and social backgrounds. Before the arrival of the OMG volunteers in 2016, it was a facility marked by years of educational difficulties, suffering, and gradual degradation.
Father Lorenzo, a priest from Verona who grew up within Operation Mato Grosso, remembers his first encounter with the place as a meeting with a deeply wounded and complex reality, where entire pavilions stood empty and hundreds of children lived in impersonal dormitories. When Father Ugo asked him to come to Lima to “observe and understand,” Father Lorenzo was still a seminarian. In this very difficult situation, he saw the possibility of starting over, beginning with the children. The transformation began with the facilities, but above all with the educational approach. The large communal dormitories were gradually replaced by small family homes. “Each child is a soul,” Father Lorenzo repeats.
“We must do everything we can to make them feel loved.” Today, the complex houses schools, workshops, vegetable gardens, playgrounds, and welcoming, colorful rooms, a weekly pizza oven, a swimming pool… The missionaries are young lay people from Italy who live with the children day and night, sharing their daily lives.
Miriam, a thirty-year-old, lives in the “El amor todo lo puede” house, where fourteen girls aged eight to twelve reside. “It is not right that these girls do not have parents,” she reflects. “I hope that my life can contribute a little to bringing justice to those to whom no one gives justice.”
Elisa, twenty-eight, who is in charge of the children’s home, describes her choice to live there this way: “There was a desire to live a different life, a life of giving, among the children.” Their commitment is total. “We live here 24/7. The children never leave.” “We are one big family,” they say. Their days are filled with school, workshops, homework, birthdays, showers, snacks, and little daily rituals: a pizza made together, a movie watched on the sofa while eating popcorn, a party in the courtyard. Simple gestures, but crucial for children who have never experienced a real home.
Lima's childcare center is now a symbol of rebirth within a reality that, for years, embodied one of the most painful wounds of Peruvian childhood. And it is perhaps precisely here that a visit from the Pope could take on a special meaning: not as a denunciation, but as a gesture of solidarity with the children, young people, and teenagers who await “their” Pope.
“Casa Virge de Guadalupe,” a response to the health crisis in Peru
For the poorest people in rural areas, falling ill and undergoing complex treatments means having to choose between health and survival. They cannot afford the medication, hospitalization, or even the transportation to hospitals. Lima remains their only option. And for many, Illness also means uprooting, loneliness, and fear. It was precisely to address this urgent need that Father Ugo De Censi wanted to create the Casa Virgen de Guadalupe: a house open for over thirty years to sick people from the missions, who can find there free accommodation, food, human support, and assistance during visits, tests, operations, and hospitalizations. The Casa is not just a dormitory for poor patients. It is conceived as a family. The volunteers accompany patients to hospitals, help them navigate the healthcare bureaucracy, book appointments and translate diagnoses for those who speak only Quechua. “Many do not understand either the medical aspects or Spanish,” explain Maria and Elena. “That is why we have to be with them at all times.” “They mainly take in cancer patients, but also children with rare syndromes, and patients requiring dialysis or diagnostic tests that cannot be carried out in small mountain hospitals. “We cover the costs of travel, food and accommodation,” explains Maria, a nurse from Vicenza who lives in the house. “Our commitment is to truly support them as if we were their own family.” Some stay for a few days, others for months, and some until the end of their lives. They share meals, help with small daily tasks, and gather together every evening to pray the Rosary. “Despite the suffering that passes through this house, the atmosphere is very serene,” says Elena, a missionary from Brescia who has been in Peru for over thirty years. “Sometimes you get the feeling that angels pass through here.” That is an impression I had myself when I met Marcellina, a woman in her fifties who came from Apurímac after undergoing dramatic brain surgery for a meningioma. Twelve hours in the operating room, then complications, cerebral edema, a tracheotomy. When she was discharged from hospital, she couldn’t even sit up in her wheelchair and was unable to speak. Her daughter recalls the bewilderment of those days: they had nowhere to go, they didn’t know how to manage her care or her medication. At the Casa Virgen de Guadalupe, however, they found continuous assistance, medical equipment, and people who taught them every necessary medical procedure. “If we hadn’t come here, what would have become of us?” the family wonders.” And it was there, little by little, that Marcellina began to speak again… Her face isn’t disfigured by pain; on the contrary, it seems transfigured by an extraordinary tenderness. For them, this house has become “like a family,” thanks to which healing has resumed, as has hope. Another radiant presence at the House is sixteen-year-old Carol, who came from the Sierra with ovarian cancer. During her chemotherapy, she continues her studies thanks to the help of volunteers who found her a school in Lima. “Here, I receive so much love.” And she remembers that her entire parish prayed for her every Sunday: “There wasn’t a Mass without someone thinking of me.” Today, she dreams of becoming a teacher or a pediatrician. The heart of the Virgen de Guadalupe House is the chapel. The altar houses three stones marked with the blood of Father Daniele Badiali, a missionary murdered at the age of thirty-five after offering himself in exchange for Rosa Maria, a catechist, during a kidnapping for extortion. In the homes of Operation Mato Grosso, Father Daniele is remembered as the “martyr of charity,” and today, for the Church, he is a Servant of God. Thanks to him, Rosa Maria understood what life given to God truly means: “That ‘I’m going’ wasn’t a sudden heroic gesture. It was the culmination of so many little ‘yeses’ spoken every day.” She tells me about the kidnapping on March 16, 1997, in the Peruvian Andes, as they were driving home from a religious celebration: in the darkness of the road, the ambush. “They made me get out of the van,” she says, visibly moved. “Daniele came right up behind me and said, ‘Stay here, I’m going.’” Three days later, his body was found among the mountain rocks, with a rosary in his pocket and a crucifix around his neck. On the altar, beside the stones, the symbol of the pelican and a grain of wheat are carved in wood, in remembrance of the Gospel that Father Daniele was meditating on shortly before his death. A life given, like that of Father Ugo De Censi, his “spiritual father,” and like that of the many missionary “daughters” and “sons” he became, heirs to a love capable of regenerating them to a new life. (Fides News Agency, 16/6/202)

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