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Global Urban Trek 2008
Black FeetJuly 20, 2008
We want to experience the reality of Mokattam.
In a way, just working in our ministries is still letting us maintain a superior status. We're working at hospitals and schools while the commoner is knee deep in filth on a regular basis. So we go.
We go to Ayoub's house in the afternoon. His family is sitting outside. We say we want to work, and immediately they are heaving bags of garbage upside down. These bags are about six feet tall and three feet in diameter and they take four people to flip, and out comes a pile of trash.
So let the shuffle begin. Separate the aluminum, plastic and glass bottles into one bag and start flinging plastic bags into a pile. The main thing is carton, or cardboard. Throw it into the pile in the garage. Put the food in this bag for the animals (copious amounts of warm and moldy aysh). A dog and a goat mill around us chewing on everything. We throw cloth at Ayoub's elderly mother who sits at the door ripping them into strips. Meanwhile, we're right outside in the thick of it.
At first, we're zealous for sorting, and we're having fun just getting dirty and singing. But this is far from a romp at the beach. We start to discover more variety in the food we find: used meat packages, the red juices all over the casing, creamy goo oozing out. Medical supplies: plastic syringes and prescription drugs. One gem we find is a jar filled with a spice that smells like peppermint. They set it aside for use in tea.
The two toddlers wander about like the animals, but don't eat anything. Carolos, the littlest, probably one-and-a-half years, picks up a piece of carton and holds it up to me. I notice the growths on his and his sister’s chins. They look like pimples (the youngest are more susceptible to skin disease from the trash). I smile at him and take the carton, hurling it deep into the garbage. He never smiles, all he does is stare and continue to hand me carton.
“Shukran (Thank you), Carolos.”
Dimyenna, Ayoub's little sister, is a hoot. We romp around on top of all the carton and laugh and sing "Abuna Ibrahim" (Father Abraham). At some point we are served the best tea I've ever had in my life. After we start again, we are not so zealous.
The smell. The enormous bags and plastic stuffed into other plastic bags. Jealousy over the uneven contributions to the job. Our hands and feet. They're black. We're tired, sweaty.
Then Ayoub shows up and we all kiss him. We realize we have to go meet the others for dinner, so we go into the house and wash. We walk out to find that they've bought us cokes. We only hope we're not burdening them. We say "Masalaama" (“Take Care”) and walk away with clean hands on glass bottles.
Our feet are still black.
- Tim
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