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On Republic Day, some friends—mainly from the journalism world—reconnected at my home for lunch. It was a delightfully memorable afternoon, recalling stories of the craziness of the newsrooms and their eccentric characters.
We drank a toast to our departed colleagues as we reminisced. But that’s not where I am heading today.
As the meal ended, and plates were being cleared, someone asked where they should put the scraps. I indicated a plastic container which I had placed on the kitchen counter for that purpose.
I don’t throw leftovers in my bin. I keep them in the fridge until I am ready to put out the garbage for the truck which passes three or four times during the week.
I explained that donkey years ago, when I was new to the business of housekeeping, I had a fairly large bin, and tossed everything—until one day I was aghast and sufficiently traumatised by the sight of maggots crawling everywhere.
It was a life-changing experience. I never put foodstuff in the bin anymore. It made a huge difference.
I don’t have roaches. No rats or mice, or any of the vermin that terrorises many communities. I also switched to a small bin, which can quickly be filled and disposed of.
My explanation launched a series of questions and stories—these were journalists of the classic tradition after all, full of curiosity. What ensued was a fascinating discourse on the way we treat the garbage we generate within our homes and the various collection systems from different neighbourhoods.
Which is why I am convinced that the adage that curiosity kills the cat is a horrible and mind-numbing bit of advice, designed to keep people from questioning things. I have always been a curious cat, asking about things that I didn’t understand.
Our society is quite voyeuristic, loving up its capacity to macco people’s business, and happy to pass judgement and pelt ridicule. That’s not the kind of curiosity I mean.
I have never been impressed by gossip. When I hear it, I recoil—because I immediately imagine what the people being gossiped about would feel, and I am always offended by the idea that gossipers think I would welcome it.
My response used to be to ask: Why are you telling me this?
The curiosity I encourage is the kind that seeks to understand, to embrace knowledge that helps us to better negotiate our way through this complicated world.
So, the talk about garbage went down that road. My friend who asked where to put the scraps said she keeps hers in a bag in the freezer. She lives in a cul-de-sac and the once-weekly truck doesn’t come all the way in—so with her neighbour’s permission, she puts her frozen bag into his caged receptacle.
Another one said her sister has a garbage fridge. She stores it all in that spare one, and then can’t bear to put any usable foodstuff in it!
I’d thought I was quirky in my habits, but it turns out that everyone has had to improvise to manage not just the vermin and the smells from decomposing food, but also the patterns of garbage collection in their areas.
I discovered that I was fortunate to have multiple days weekly, although that seems to be changing too.
There was a time when the truck would pass before daylight, and if I put a black bag onto my wall, they would not see it in the dark, and it would remain there. I had had to make sure I used the white grocery bags instead. Now they pass close to midday.
Another hazard of putting my refuse out at night, is that the feral cats prowling the neighbourhood would tear through the double bags and scatter everything.
Annoyingly, our garbage collectors are not truly garbage collectors. If someone leaves bottles or food containers at the side of the road (as they often do), they would never scoop it up. If cats or dogs tear open bags, too bad, and if they themselves spill things, they are not picking it up.
In other countries, they have scoops, and can easily scrape everything up and toss it in their trucks. I know we are dutty, with little sense of civic-mindedness, but it might help if collectors could see themselves as not just haulers of bags, but sanitation workers. It would certainly ease the flooding caused by blocked drains.
Another thing that strikes me is the careless way people handle their garbage. When we were secondary school students, it was a big thing to compress everything as much as possible before placing them in the bins. Styrofoam cups, juice boxes, plastic bottles, you had to step on them beforehand.
The bins scattered around the premises used to fill up so quickly otherwise, that it made sense.
The daily reminders drilled it into our consciousness so that I am sure it became a lifelong habit for students. I see people tossing things without thinking of compressing, using twice as many garbage bags as necessary.
In compounds where there are gigantic garbage bins in peripheral areas, it might not be obvious that these are often the stomping grounds for vermin.
Convenience devalues our capacity to be thoughtful about the way we treat our environment.
It can be so useful to just be curious about the consequences of our actions, don’t you think?
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
