I always thought that the way my parents managed our house was because they were immigrants, and because I saw other Caribbean immigrant families using their stuff the same way—I figured it was a behavior associated with individuals starting over and holding on to pennies to do better for their kids. I still think this. But now that I have traveled abroad—I also think it is has to do with that fact that many immigrants come from places where there isn’t a lot to choose from—everything is scarce as well as too highly priced because it is imported from the U.S., Canada or Europe—so you learn to beat the life out of whatever it is you own before you purchase a new item: whether it be a refrigerator, a sneaker or even undies. Now that I am living in Mozambique, I can certainly testify that I have a few Victoria Secrets that now look like Granny’s Secrets, and because they are still wearable-- I just tie a knot at my waist.
Once I got into development work, one of the issues that would come up would be folks living off of garbage. I’m not going to lie and be all high and mighty and say the first think I thought of was, “How can I make a difference?” I actually just remembered those 1980sFeed the Children commercials with Sally Struthers, her big girl-self surrounded by hungry looking black and brown kids where I thought,“why doesn’t Sally share some of her food with those kids?” So I wasn’t surprised when I saw people going in and out of our city dump. I understood that they were not city employees.
B and I in fact live on the other side of the city garbage dump. I didn’t realize this as I have always seen the dumpsite from the road where the government has built a large wall, so that people do not have to experience the uncomfortable feeling that comes with seeing little kids going in and out with piles of dirty trash on their heads—as the saying goes, “ignorance is bliss.” And I may have continued to be just as ignorant if B didn’t point it out to me. Of course I started to say how hard it must be to be all knee deep in other people’s dirty, smelly, sometimes literally, shit. B’s immediate response was “NA-DA”(get the hell out of here!) and to translate to my NYC lingo “Those bitches are rich!”and my mouth, literally went ajar. “What do you mean rich?”and he said, “better than telling you, I will show you.”
As he takes me on a walk to the other side of our neighborhood, I comment that I can see in the distance a mountain with misty, morning dew floating above it, “we should go hiking up there one day.” B laughs and says, “No babes, that’s the mound of garbage, it’s higher on this side than on the roadside. And that ‘mist’ is the smoke from the small fires that are the result of instantaneous combustion.” As we get closer, I could smell slight whiffs oftrash, but nothing that would scream garbage dump. But it was a pretty cold day. For a time, I lived downwind from a slaughter house in Costa Rica, and I can tell you that on hot, windy days things probably get pretty ripe around here. But B tells me anyway not to cover my nose as it would offend the neighbors and they could issue me a serious ass kicking. But I do sneak a photo, pretending to take a photo of a house: partly because I didn’t want to offend anyone—this is their way of living and it is enough that I’m walking on their turf but then to document my voyeurism snapping multiple pics was even for me a bit too much. But more so because B said that folks would get pretty angry if they saw me taking photos—as 90% of people on the other side of our neighborhood make a living off of the garbage—they would want compensation over their proprietary rights to the rubbish (if I didn’t have the money, again, I would be issued a serious ass kicking.)“What?!?! How can people have rights over garbage?”, and B just smiles all--my-baby-is-so-naïve--like, and says “you’ll understand.”
When we get to the actual dump site, the mound, as I have already described, is monstrously high. On top of it are just a scattering of old women, some young women, and barefooted kids, holding old rice sacks and sifting through what B calls “sua riqueza” (their wealth): beer bottles, cooking oil containers (that are re-sold to store water which we do in fact buy); and on lucky days discarded construction items like old toilets or sinks to be refurbished and re-installed. The large mound is on my right, and I have to crick my neck to the left to see the top. At this point, B says, now look left, and across from this huge mound is a line of houses. Some are what you would expect, tin shanties. But what was not expected, were some of the actually large, cement houses, with proper walls and driveways that were sitting next to those shanties--and there were more cement houses than shanties. “Those,” B says, “were built by scavenging off of that” and he points to the garbage dump. At this point, the situation is becoming slightly tense, as not too many outsiders come around these parts. People have stopped what they are doing to stare at us, luckily being with B helps and it also helps that we do in fact have another place we need to be, and this is a shortcut B decided to take me through so I could get another perspective of the garbage mound.
As we make our way past the actual dumpsite, B explains that most of the stuff you see for re-sale on the side of the road in Maputo is from the garbage dump. He goes on to say that people make a living and meet their economic needs the best way they can and if the government can’t give people jobs, or put a garbage dump that is not in our backyard, then these folks have every right to take possession over as well as make money off of it. And he is right, as it is rumored that there is actual gas underneath all that garbage, and a private company wants to come in to extract it. But now that people have made a living off of it, can the government really afford to 1) compensate residents when they kick people off the land they have acquired squatter’s rights to? 2) reimburse residents for money spent on building their homes on that land? and 3) compensate individuals for loss of livelihood, in which the government didn’t provide in the first place, hence the reasons they turned to sifting through garbage? I doubt it. And if the issue is pushed, there will surely be a fight—as there will be two parties with vested rights to the dumpsite.
I wanted to dedicate this post to a socio-economic issue that is usually used to show people as helpless and in need of outsiders to relieve their suffering. Instead, I wanted to highlight that many of them do not need others to do anything for them, as they have shown that they can do for themselves when they were tossed to the side---that they not only survive, but they are strong and empowered, and this is evidenced by the food they put on the table, the clothes on their kids back, and the houses they have built off of the waste of others. Of course, efforts to help people stop living off garbage should never end and those who give that $1 a day to feed a child should continue to do so—because maybe without it, we would totally be blind to how some people live and not do anything at all to make it better, deepening inequality even further.
I live in a country rich with natural wealth (e.g., oil, coal, diamonds) but it is accompanied by deep and unnecessary economic and social inequality—it is crazy to witness every day and not be in a position to do anything about it. It is frustrating. It is even more frustrating that I in the past, and sometimes today, am part of the problem because I am part of a capitalist culture of consumerism. I am part of this culture at times voluntarily (who doesn’t love a good NYC shoe sale!) and sometimes involuntarily (when my cheap Chinese made Nokia breaks in 2 seconds I will have to buy a new one).But I am learning a few things in this particular phase and in this particular place, in this journey of life.
First, I’m learning to differentiate between what I need and what I’ve been told I “need”, which is actually just a want. Second, I’m learning to get over my Catholic guilt, and not dropping to my knees and saying a Hail Mary every time I use a plastic fork instead of a washable one. Third, I’m learning to accept the crazy world we live in even when I don’t understand, as sometimes, even when I use a washable fork and tie my Granny panty at the waist, the world just keeps staying crazy. So, sometimes, accepting the crazy, and doing our best not to make the world crazier in our own little ways, is the most any one of us can do in life.
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