Pondok Indah junk turned into money

By Mehru Jaffer

JAKARTA (JP): Driving out of the glittering Kristal Hotel in South Jakarta's Jl. Tarogong, it is difficult to imagine what lies across the busy road.

As, beyond the gaily painted walls made from sheets of tin is the neighborhood's largest garbage dump.

About 100 people live here in shelters made from pieces of plywood, cardboard and textile, dug out of the dung hill they call home, where tons of rubbish is dumped daily.

"Of course it is only a temporary home for us. But it is the only home we have for the moment," explains 73-year-old Pak Afad bin Murta, who moved to this site from the Manggarai area about a year ago with his wife and six children.

The people living in this cesspool could be evicted any day. "We will definitely have to move on once the litigation over this piece of land is settled with the owners," Pak Afad says.

In fact Pak Afad has not had a real home since he left Sukamaju, a village in the Sukabumi area, West Java, in 1942. At first he traveled around the country, including to Sumatra as a construction worker. He returned to Jakarta in 1972, and, finding that younger people were preferred at construction sites, he took to inspecting garbage dumps.

Now, as a senior citizen, he is treated with respect by the community of 100 people that have made the garbage dump their home.

At the crack of dawn, sometimes up to 2,000 scavengers from the wealthy Pondok Indah neighborhood alone can often be spotted sifting through the refuse of the rich in the hope of finding something that can be recycled, something that can be exchanged for at least one meal. On other mornings, about 100 people rummage through the rubbish, including children as young as five, until the heat of the sun drives everyone under cover, sometimes after a dip in the nearby waterway.

When asked about his education, Pak Afad replies with a laugh, "What school?" He says he knows nobody from his generation that ever went to school. But it is no laughing matter that he does not think it important for his children to be educated either.

He has adult children from previous marriages, some of whom live in Medan, North Sumatra. His present wife, Ani, hides her face with one hand and sits giggling far away in a corner. The eldest child is Bibin, 13, who dropped out of school before the krismon (monetary crisis) to join his father in the garbage dumps.

Sometimes Bipin brings out his wheelbarrow and leads his younger brothers and sisters into the leafy paradise of Pondok Indah, where they compete with the cats and dogs from the street to look for their own treasures.

Bibin gives a glazed look when asked what his dreams are.

What would he like to do with his life, if he was given a choice?

He becomes tongue-tied, and looks away in embarrassment as his father and friends poke him in the side. "Say that you want to be a minister. Why don't you say you want to be a politician?" There is much laughter around Bibin, but he remains silent.

"What can I say? This is the only life I know. I cannot imagine ever doing anything else," speaks up Asep Krya, 18.

Asep came to Jakarta from his village when his father died a few years ago, leaving behind four siblings. He has completed eight years of schooling but doesn't think he can go back to school.

"I am too old. But if I ever get the opportunity I would love to be a businessman. I hear they are very rich," he says.

Few of these children express any thoughts about the future. It is as if they are being deprived not just of a decent home, education and diet, but also of their right to dream.

Years before the krismon hit Asia Pacific economies, the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) warned that, despite the region's high investment in education, millions of children dropped out of school each year.

Although basic education improved under the booming economies of many Asian countries, quality teaching and a relevant curriculum were still absent.

Sheldon Schaeffer, UNICEF's regional adviser in 1995, pointed out that one obstacle to increasing school completion rates is the ongoing political and economic transition in many countries. Participation in the new market economy is either more immediately profitable or necessary for survival. Schaeffer loudly and clearly announced that this had wide-ranging consequences for the 35 million children born in Asia each year.

With the collapse of the economy here, ever more children are spilling out of schools and onto the streets, exchanging pens for all kinds of tools.

Minister of Education and Culture Juwono Sudarsono said that under the weight of the economic crisis, about 2.5 million students have dropped out of the nation's schools and universities over the past year.

Luckily for Imi, a mother of five, her eldest son has made it to technical high school. The second son is not interested in studying, and works as a gardener for a Pondok Indah household. Her 15 year-old daughter, Nawiya, still goes to school, but whether she continues to do so depends on what her family can afford. "After all, I have two younger children after Nawiya to think about too."

And even more children could still come. When asked why poor people like them have so many children that they cannot afford to feed or educate them, there is silence until one adult says, "They just come".

Sixteen-year-old Ipang from a kampong in Pondok Cabe says he will have a smaller family when he marries. His father is a becak driver earning Rp 10,000 a day. This is not enough to feed a family of six children, especially since the youngest is bed- ridden. The worst nightmare of Ipang is that he might have to give up his studies.

So he wakes up at 4 a.m. and, after his dawn prayers, walks down to a newspaper agent five kilometers away, from where he bicycles in and out of homes in Pondok Indah delivering the day's newspapers and magazines. At around 10 a.m. he has about Rp 5,000 in his hand, which buys him his first meal of the day. The rest of the money he gives to his mother. Between noon and 5 p.m. he attends school. His dream is to graduate and go on to computer studies.

Another boy, Nedi, gave up after nine years of schooling. He finds it distasteful to work at the stinking garbage dump where he lives. So the 18-year-old crosses the road to the Hero supermarket, where he might light a cigarette as he waits for workers to discard cardboard boxes. He collects as many as he can, and each day gets up to Rp 3,000 by selling them.

His immediate family lives in another part of the city, and he says he cannot help them at the moment. He hopes he can become a soldier one day. Sporting a baseball cap salvaged from the mountain of garbage rising behind him, Nedi smokes constantly and says soccer is his passion.

Dozens of other children like Lina, 15, and Depi, 13, play in the garbage dump like other children would play in a park. They happily pose for photographs, too, not at all ashamed of the smelly surroundings that forms the backdrop.