Accents
The scavengers of Florvel
Scavenging in garbage cans has become a common sight every Sunday morning at Florvel Subdivision Phase II in Oton, my hometown. That's the day when the municipality's waste disposal truck transports the residents' weekly accumulated trash to the dumpsite.
Last Sunday, I was up at 6:30 a.m. picking up wind-blown mango leaves in the yard of our Florvel abode when a boy called my attention saying, "Lata kag plastic, Lola." (Cans and plastic, Grandma.) Matias (not his real name, so with the other names of the children mentioned in this article) was the earliest of the pack of scavengers—a word so abhorrent yet so descriptively apt—to scour the week's refuse.
A few Sundays ago, while taking a morning walk in the streets of Florvel, I came upon two girls and a boy, no more than ten years old, untying reused shopping bags containing the households' refuse. One said she felt a can was placed inside and she was going to retrieve it. Scavenge for cans and bottles in bags with crawling ants and foul odor—that I got to know is the Sunday morning routine of the kids from the economically depressed sitios near Florvel, the UP Village, and the Sta. Filomena Subdivision in Brgy. Buray, Oton.
Matias, the early riser, knows that in previous garbage pick-up days, I have the recyclables ready for him and his fellow scrappers. Now that one is a kindlier word: scrappers. Scraps are tins from canned goods, soft drink and water bottles, damaged plastic furniture, a variety of iron and steel, etc., etc. "Ang indi nabubulok," that's how 15-year old scrapper Perla made plain one garbage day, taking after the trash can label in the poblacion: Nabubulok, Hindi nabubulok (biodegradable, non-biodegradable).
With plenty of time to spare, I held Matias in conversation after handing him the soft drink bottles and a piece of candied cashew. Too early for breakfast as yet, he hoped to have rice and fish later. Never had a glass of warm milk, said Matias. The little his father makes as a sikad driver is augmented by his mother as a labandera (laundry woman) of some well-off folks. The fourth in a family of eight children, Matias is 13 and is a first year high schooler. His daily baon (allowance) is P15 with P8 for transportation and the rest for whatever the pitifully impossible, miserable amount can buy. He usually earns P20, more or less, for the scraps he gathers.
About an hour later, Justo, 13, came along, a sixth grader son of a carpenter and a manicurista mother who doubles as a labandera. He said, on a very lucky day of scrapping, he makes as high as "Cien" (P100); on a bad day, it's P5. I just hope recycling centers are giving these kids a fair deal.
Justo let on a whim as to the names of his six siblings. Except for the eldest who is a Junior named after his father Rico, the five kids that follow have names beginning with letter J: Justo, Judy, Jonas, Jose, Julieta. See, the fanciful name-game—as well as with dreams and aspirations—is for all brackets of society, from low-end Florvel to the gated, high-end Ayala-Alabang or Forbes Park in Makati.
Justo and Matias are typical of the scavengers, nay scrappers, I got to talk with—belonging to families typified in the song, "Isang kahig, isang tuka/Ganyan kaming mga dukha…" (Literally, one footstep, one mouthful of feed one at a time for us the poor, or a day-to-day fending for food or subsistence of the marginalized sector of society.) Could they be the target or one of the targets of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo's call, Labanan ang Kahirapan? Infinite other ways or opportunities to fight poverty, but definitely not through scavenging or scrapping by innocent boys and girls.
At the moment, the easiest suggestion I can think of is not about fighting poverty, but how to make a bit decent and clean earning measly centavos from scrapping. All homeowners must segregate the indi nabubulok from the nabubulok. Have the recyclables ready for the kids on weekends (what some caring residents already do). Better still, a municipal ordinance for households to observe—to spare the scrappers from crawling ants, foul odor, and possible germ contamination.
Better yet, for one Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, the vaunted Doctor of Economics, to show her mettle in fighting poverty. In her call to fight poverty, GMA's happy face on the billboard cannot rid the country of scavengers. Neither can charitable institutions nor can the smug rich and famous of Forbes Park and Ayala-Alabang.
I wonder what became of GMA's plan to subsidize poor families with P500.00 — which is but a drop in the great ocean of deprivation. Providing livelihood opportunities is the challenge to the Doctor of Economics. The dole-out mentality should be banished from the scene. I can't give out candied cashew nuts forever.
(E-mail: lagoc@hargray.com)