adventuresome

They say you can learn a lot about a man from the contents of his trash, I say you can learn a lot about humanity from the man who deals with other men’s trash.
In a small neighborhood on the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt I found all the components of a big-city dumpster, manifested throughout the entire city. In the midst of a cacophony of strange sounds and a barrage of putrid smells, my feelings were not of horror, nor of disgust. I found an oasis of love where I had thought to find only a ruined desert of humanity.
Despite the abuse to my pampered sensory neurons, the obstacle-course of dirty needles, soiled toilet paper and the refuse of a massive city, I found myself surrounded by some of the brightest smiles and richest lives I had ever encountered.
Garbage City is home to the Zabbaleen or “Garbage People.” It has a population of approximately 50,000 people, all of which take part in collecting, sorting, and recycling or disposing of the refuse from one of Africa’s largest cities. On a street corner, in the midst of the overwhelming barrage of noise and chaos, my senses were rescued by stepping into a simple café.
A behemoth of a machine dominated most of the café and was noisily pressing fresh sugar cane juice. In a small, dirty refrigerator on the opposite side of the room there were tall glasses of pomegranate juice with the seeds still swimming in them. I struck up a conversation with the owner of the little shop. The man seemed unsurprised to find a foreigner in a place so far off the normal tourist routes and as he answered my questions about the Zabbaleen, a curious smile developed behind his eyes.
When my friend found out that he and I shared the same God, the smile behind his eyes burst forth onto his whole face. Suddenly, all the things that had previously set us apart were completely overwhelmed by the bond created through our shared love.
I attempted to pay for my pomegranate juice but my new brother refused to take payment from “family.” I insisted but then realized this man who lived for a year on what I probably spent in a few weeks was richer than I…and he knew it. Through refusing my money, he taught me a lesson far more valuable than the entire juice industry in Egypt.
I stepped out onto the busy, smelly street crammed with people and trucks bearing the city’s currency. But this time the noises were like music and I found the atmosphere sweeter because of the lives of generosity and love that had been fostered there.