rubbish!
Wednesday, December 31st, 2008by someone with questions
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
It’s four hours later and my eyes are still stinging, there’s still that catchy taste lingering at the back of my throat, despite having eaten an ice-cream and a plate of rice noodles.
Where’s the sense in that? We turn out backs on lives at the rubbish dump to eat ice-cream. Today’s tasted different to other desserts, and it wasn’t just the bad taste already in my mouth. There was nothing sweet about what we had witnessed.
How do you make sense of the smoking fume-y haze almost obliterating from view a man squatting beside his two sacks atop a mountain of rubbish?
How do you make sense of the flies buzzing around three barefoot boys walking down the “road” sharing a piece of bread, one of them sporting a white bandage on his almost-bald black head?
How do you make sense of a young lad hitching a ride on a rubbish truck when my own children climb trees?
How do you make sense of burnt trees, grass sprouting from rubbish, temporary-natured shacks and the pristine brightly-painted brand new apartments rising behind them?
How do you make sense of an eight-month-old baby in a party dress, dirt and snot mingling on her face?
How do you make sense of rubbish trucks spewing treasure?
How do you make sense of a drink of water being offered to a friend?
How do you make sense of the paths we get to take?
How do you make sense of literacy amongst piles of paper?
How do you make sense of a discarded shoe? Or the slight triumph on one lady’s face at securing a matching laceless pair?
How do you make sense of orderliness in chaos?
How do you make sense of open windows beside the stench?
How do you make sense of burden?
How do you make sense of a smile?
How do you make sense of coke?
How do you make sense of filth?
How do you make sense of irony?
How do you make sense of a business shirt?
How do you make sense of colour?
How do you make sense of contemplation?
How do you make sense of sacks?
How do you make sense of life experience?
How do you make sense of the beauty above?
How do you make sense of what these eyes see?
You don’t.
You eat ice-cream.
You pray that your six-year-old will never forget saying, “I’m so glad we were born in a rich country” and that a maturing view will accompany the coming years that will be added to his life.
You determine to encourage your eleven-year-old as he sits on his bed “just thinking how to fix poverty.” Today we discovered he now goes to sleep every night pondering this question. He’s grown up a lot in the last two months.
And you hope you made the right decision to take the children to that desolate place, but you’ll never know.
There is no sense.
pictures from Stung Meanchey rubbish dump, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
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