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Al-Ahram Weekly 1 - 7 June 2000 Issue No. 484 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 1 - 7 June 2000 Issue No. 484
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Focus Features Heritage Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Clean-up drive
By Fayza Hassan
My husband always claimed that Cairo in its entirety had been built on a large garbage dump. Of course this allegation stemmed from his poor opinion of the metropolis that never managed to live up to the standards of his beloved Alexandria, the Eden of his youth. A more honest student of the history of the purported city victorious, I can affirm that his description was only partially accurate, applicable to a few old quarters, but nevertheless definitely imbued with a clear vision of things to come. Whether or not it was originally constructed atop mounds of debris will soon be a moot point, however, since in the near future Cairo will no doubt sink under the immense quantities of waste it produces and is unable to dispose of appropriately.
Much has been made of the zabbalin's plight and it is not considered kosher nowadays to remark in casual conversation that, no matter how creative and deserving they may be, they are rather below par when it comes to the task of rubbish collection. Pointing out that their carts are in a hopeless state of disrepair, or that they treat their donkeys in the most beastly way, working them literally to death, is tantamount to blasphemy, regularly attracting dirty looks from the group of well-meaning society ladies who apply their combined energies to upgrading the "garbo" community. One is likely to be accused of disparaging the sacred mission of Sister Emmanuelle and her ilk, and to be in dire need of a full-blown and often tearful account of the calamitous circumstances in which the poorest of this world's poor are forced to live in order to rid the affluent of the litter their lifestyle produces.
I have no bone to pick with charity work -- on the contrary. I simply resent the fact that, in my mind, it is now somehow connected to the seven large blue plastic bags, full of the week's garbage, that obstruct the entrance to my apartment. I am not always in touch with local news and therefore must have missed the information that the zabbalin were on strike, putting down the unfortunate accumulation to simple neglect. Horrified by the heap's ominous size, I called my neighbours, who brought me up to date on the dispute that has pitted the traditional donkey-cart collectors against the government-backed, mechanised company, Europa 2000, poised to take over their lucrative enterprise.
"The thing to do," said Rafi'a Hanem, who lives on the ground floor, "is to grab one or two of the young beggars who haunt our street and tell them to carry the bags away. This is what I just did." I noticed that indeed her garbage bin was empty and freshly washed. Knowing full well that this was not the right way to go about solving the problem, especially in the long run, I did as instructed nevertheless, and returned with two rather reluctant young boys in tow. They seem to think that it was a silly idea to perform an unpleasant task in order to earn the few pounds they usually obtained with less exertion simply by pestering the clients of the nearby supermarket. I was trying to coax them towards the stairs when a white truck, sporting the words Europa 2000 on its side, pulled up in our street. At the same time, Abeer, the landlord's pretty daughter-in-law, came charging down from her fourth-floor apartment, shouting that the bags had to remain where they were, that she was going to the police station to file a report and would return with the proper authorities whose job it was to clean the area. At her words, the two boys inched decisively towards the supermarket, once more confident in their belief that an honest day's work was not worth the trouble, and Abeer was left to face the man who had jumped off the truck and was attempting to push her out of the way "to perform his job of collecting the garbage," he told her, sternly. "The regular zabbalin will not be coming," he announced gleefully. "They took their donkeys away; we are in charge now."
I noticed that Abeer's flawless complexion was turning an interesting hue of purple and reflected that, unlike me, she must have been battling with the problem since the beginning of the week. "And why have you not been doing your job then?" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. "We did not know if the flats were occupied," lied the man. Seeing her face contort with wrath, he changed tactic. "There are an awful lot of stairs, and we could have found nothing at the top," he whined. "You should have registered with our company, so that we are sure that you want us, not the zabbalin, to operate in this area. You should start by paying us for the month of May, since we have not received any bakshish yet," he added, struck by an interesting possibility. He smiled ingratiatingly and extended his hand towards Abeer, who was about to pop a vein. She roughly pushed him out of the way with her handbag and got into her car. "Go to work," she told me firmly. "I will take care of the situation. Tonight, order will be restored."
When I came back in the evening, I noticed the bags standing in front of my door. That day's yield had been added to the pile. This morning, the situation was unchanged and tomorrow, Friday, is the zabbalin's official day of rest. Who should I call now, I wonder: Abeer, Europa 2000, the ladies whose mission it is to improve the zabbalin's lot, or the police? Shouldn't I just let things be and, having abandoned the old city to slowly drown in its own left-overs, hope that in another century, a new, improved and even more victorious version will rise, complete with a high-tech system of painless garbage collection?
