The stench of rotting garbage burns a hole in my nostrils as the van rolls into the dump. Anonymous faces travel back and forth carrying loads of trash over their shoulders. Their clothes look foul, the dirt clinging to their jeans like a virus. Masks cover everyone’s faces and the air smells of sickness. Hope seems absent.
Vultures crisscross the sky and thick steam funnels out of steep piles of garbage. Trucks arrive, bringing even more trash. Men dash for the truck and climb aboard before it has a chance to deposit its payload. It’s a race to grab the garbage first. I’ve seen pictures of this sort of thing, but to smell it and be there is different. It’s more visceral.
We didn’t wander far from the van. Even amidst of all the pungent aromas of rotting garbage, a group of gringos still smells like money. All the passing stares made me a bit uncomfortable and we only stayed a half hour. There’s a part of me that wants to go back and an awful lot of me that never wants to see anything like this again. The images are burned in my mind like a branding iron.
