At the Garbage Site
Staring at the decaying morsels of food
remnants, yellowish green rotting vegetables, churned on top with ash and human
feaces and all mode of garbage waste, provokes the urge to vomit. The air is
thick with pungent smell that chokes and suffocates one at the same time. A
cloud of flies buzzes hovers, flies and lands here and there on the rotting
waste, and like a rioting mob in public gathering. Complementing the scene are scavenger
birds flying high and low allover the place pecking and scratching the plastic
bags in a bored manner. Street children also inhabit the place making it their
territory after resisting “the swoop” by city council askaris to be taken to
orphanages. This sight provokes me to thinking: if only the city council could find a better way of handling the waste,
the city can avoid such sites that not only creating health hazards to the
neighboring residences but also harbors thieves and dogs with rabies.
To the far right are walls of building ruins which
the owner, after voice of reason decided to abandon; for his safety because of
encroachment by waste and company. This is the headquarters of the ‘mayor’ of
the disposal site, a huge, soot black, robust being, sleeping spread outside his
‘palace’ enjoying the morning sun. The ‘mayor’ raises his head, scans around
his precincts, satisfied, yawns loudly and resumes his sleeping position by his
cane. Young street
children are quarrelling and fighting over a piece of bone, initially picked by
a small boy. The ‘discoverer’ not able to resist his elders is pushed, and falls
down away from the developing scuffle. He raises, disgusted, and dusts his
tattered, long greased shirt. I doubt that he has shorts. Convinced it is
‘clean’, he moves off to another heap of garbage and scavenges on, consoling
himself; someday I will grow strong to
fend off my bullies and establish my niche in the territory and may be became
the ‘mayor’.
The fight continues breaking up to series of
small fights of twos and threes. Finally, the strongest rules, takes the bone
and nibbles contentedly, moving away with pride registered all over his body
movements. The battle is worn but the war continues, waking up ‘his worship the
mayor’ who raises the cane beside him and threateningly, points to the fighting
boys. Abruptly, the fights stop and the boys run away fearing his wrath. He
would have stopped them before I think, but gave them time to sort out their
differences. He grew through these fights himself. They help one survive in
harsh environment like this and therefore are healthy for the young boys.
Tranquility returns around the ruins, the ‘mayor’ bored, goes to sleep again.
Power of words in bringing out sense of touch, smell, sight etc makes creative writing worthwhile...
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