Before I first heard the call to prayer, the sound of an itinerant junk collector reached me: Bring me your broken... your useless things... yearning to be free. There would be others like him, old men pulling flat 3 wheeled carts, saving what others no longer want.
But who are these others?: with two-wheeled rickshaw-like rolling rubbish bins, they flow from trash can to trash can, picking through waste. They collect bits of wire, great piles of cardboard and plastic- the walls of the tarp-made bin expanding to hold impossible looking loads.
These garbage scavengers are an army of children and young men. Unlike the garbage collectors working for the municipality, they have no affiliation with the government. They flow around the rest of society unobstructed, unrecognized. On their errand, they cross the busiest traffic without pause, eliciting nary an angry horn; like birds or rain, they are in The City -but not within the bounds of society. The very lack of protest when one of these vagabond gleaners passes in front of a manic bus driver testifies: I could be you. Complete anonymity being the only courtesy or respect payed.
Many neighborhoods are broken into scavenging territories, with bosses running gangs of young gleaners. Territory may be protected by the point of a knife; after paying kick-backs for the privilege of toil and a place to flop, these street urchins may not be left any better off.
But who are these others?: with two-wheeled rickshaw-like rolling rubbish bins, they flow from trash can to trash can, picking through waste. They collect bits of wire, great piles of cardboard and plastic- the walls of the tarp-made bin expanding to hold impossible looking loads.
These garbage scavengers are an army of children and young men. Unlike the garbage collectors working for the municipality, they have no affiliation with the government. They flow around the rest of society unobstructed, unrecognized. On their errand, they cross the busiest traffic without pause, eliciting nary an angry horn; like birds or rain, they are in The City -but not within the bounds of society. The very lack of protest when one of these vagabond gleaners passes in front of a manic bus driver testifies: I could be you. Complete anonymity being the only courtesy or respect payed.
Many neighborhoods are broken into scavenging territories, with bosses running gangs of young gleaners. Territory may be protected by the point of a knife; after paying kick-backs for the privilege of toil and a place to flop, these street urchins may not be left any better off.
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