Our logistics man, Jake (who truly has a heart of gold), literally wept bringing us the news of the dumps. Nearly five thousand people call the dumps home. They are squatters who have nowhere else to live or are scrappers who try to scavenge for material to turn into the smallest bit of profit. It’s hard to imagine. Manila’s daily flow of 8000 metric tons of solid waste are brought to the dumps amidst a web of dripping garbage trucks. These industrial hearses form a solemn funeral procession as they travel along the rutted dirt road. Flies are everywhere. Rats and cockroaches engulf the piles at night. After a heavy rain the smell is almost unbearable, as the water drives methane gas to the surface.
Instead of walking down a paved street, I find myself walking through barren sludge. Instead of leaves blowing in the wind, candy wrappers and toilet paper flutter about. We trudge through inches of wet muck in our rubber galoshes while barefoot children skip along beside us. We went home tonight to take thorough showers under a sheltered roof while they remained in little shacks built out of scavenged garbage. We watch the tropical storm from a roofed veranda while their few possessions are being washed away by it. I write this blog with the convenience of electricity and light while they are blanketed in total darkness.
It’s a lot to process, and I wouldn’t mind writing about my team’s first impressions of our locale, but I think a movie is better suited, and my team wants me to stop writing and post the darn thing. Hope you enjoy!
