Sunday, October 22, 2006

One Man's Trash

There's a big pile of trash just about 20 feet outside our compound. I can see the pile through the window in front of my desk in my room. Today I noticed two primary school girls - maybe 12 years old - walking around outside the compound. They were moving slowly and looking up at the trees. I figured they were looking for fruit on one of the trees, although I'm not sure what kind of fruit they were hoping for since I don't think anything is in season. Then they saw the big trash heap and started to move towards it.
 
I watched them crouch down to pick things up and hold them out towards each other, probably inquiring whether they thought whatever it was was worth keeping. I wasn't sure how to feel about the whole thing. It's kind of strange watching someone go through your trash. I guess at first I was embarrassed. Your trash is kind of an intimate thing, when you think about it. It says a lot about how you live, what you consume, what you read, and what you don't value. Then I was curious. I wondered what kinds of things they thought were valuable that we - apparently - thought were trash. They picked up milk cartons, big pieces of paper from an old calendar, some plastic sacks, and a couple other things I couldn't identify. I wanted to know what things are valuable to them so that I could try to clean them up and set them out for people to take so that they didn't have to go through my trash.
 
I wondered if they would have been embarrassed or ashamed if they had known I was watching them. I don't think that there's anything to be ashamed about. I and many others I know go dumpster diving in the U.S. In fact, in college towns such as Boston around September and May, when people are moving into and out of apartments, it can be a great way to make a few extra bucks, furnish your room, or find some surprisingly nice things for your place. Is there anything shameful about picking things you value out of heaps of things that someone else doesn't value?
 
Maybe it's all the filth that's mixed it with the valuable stuff that made me uncomfortable. I really wished that the girls didn't have to touch all the dirt and rotten food scraps that were out there. Maybe I should separate my trash from now on. Maybe we should burn our trash or put it somewhere where it's not just out to be picked through. Maybe I shouldn't do anything. Maybe there's not really a problem. Maybe if these girls' families made a decent income and could afford the nice things I can afford, the things I think are trash would be the same things they think are trash.
 

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