Pondok Indah junk turned into money

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.